American Apocalypse Wastelands

by Nova

  “So how are we going to be sure that’s the house, G?”

  I had been looking the house over with the binoculars. “Well, there is a sheriff’s car parked in the driveway. Damn, it looks like he has someone posted outside.” I was also not thrilled to see a couple of kids running around. It hadn’t stopped the sheriff from raiding our place, but I didn’t want to go shooting into a house with little kids in it. I passed Ninja the glasses.

  “He has kids there, G.”

  “Yeah, I know. We’re going to have to move down to the intersection and check the street signs.”

  “What if they’re down?”

  I had to bite off the irritation that I was starting to feel. “Then we watch and see who gets in the car tomorrow morning.”

  I could hear the defensiveness in his voice. “G, look, I just want to make sure, okay?”

  I laughed. “I know. So do I.” He looked relieved to hear that. “We should also plan some kind of exit strategy. They are going to be pissed off after we kill his dumb ass.”

  “Yeah. Then again, we might be doing them a favor.”

  “That kind of luck I don’t want to count on.”

  We waited until nightfall to hike through the cornfields to the intersection to check the signs. We wore our night goggles, which was cool but also very weird. After the novelty passed, I found I didn’t like them, so I took mine off. I felt I could see better without them. Plus, they messed with my depth perception and made me feel disconnected from the world. Just more plastic gun shit.

  The corn was over our heads and I swear it was talking. There was no wind, yet a constant barely audible crackling and popping surrounded us once we got into the field. The combination of the corn hemming me in and the sound of it talking spooked me. I was beginning to feel claustrophobic, and I was very happy when we came to the end of the field.

  The street signs were still there. We were in the right place. When we got home I was going to suggest that we pull all of our signs down. Why make it any easier for people who weren’t local?

  We turned around and headed back without talking. Max had impressed on me that if we used more than a few words once we started an op, then we had talked too much.

  When we got back, I could tell Ninja was tired and I let him sleep first. I sat up and watched falling stars and thought about how we were going to do this.

  When it was time I kicked Ninja’s boot and told him he was up. Then I crawled into my bag and went to sleep. It wasn’t a peaceful slumber.

  I dreamt I was being hunted through a cornfield and the corn kept reaching out to grab me. I would slash my way through it but it was slowing me down. Whatever was coming for me was gaining on me, and I knew when it caught me I would be torn asunder. That is exactly what I heard in my head. A voice like crackling electricity warned, They will tear you asunder! I was glad when Ninja kicked my feet and whispered, “Get up! We got something!”

  He handed me the binoculars. I saw the sheriff step out of the house and climb into the back seat of the squad car that was parked there. The same deputy we had seen walking around outside yesterday got into the driver’s seat. They pulled away, and the driver switched on the lights. I checked my watch: 0645. The sheriff was an early riser.

  I told Ninja, “We go on half rations starting now. We are going to have to bag some squirrels or waste a lot of deer meat on the way back.” Inwardly I was kicking myself. We should have hunted on the way here, but I was in too much of a hurry. Or we should have brought more food. Was I even fit to do this?

  Ninja interrupted my self-hate session. “So what’s the plan?”

  “We set up at the intersection.” I watched the squad car stop at the four-way stop. “We ambush them. Kill them. Take the car and drive home.”

  He nodded. “Okay. That sounds good. What if he doesn’t come by at the same time tomorrow?”

  “We pull back and see if we can bag a deer. This is a cornfield. There have to be a few survivors wandering in to graze. Then we come back and wait.”

  “Okay,” he shrugged, “whatever. I know you got it under control.”

  The next morning we set up in the field. The plan was so simple I didn’t see how it could fail.

  There was no traffic. None. It was entirely possible that the clip-clop of horse hooves would become more common than the sound of automobile engines in the next few years. The sheriff was on time. The rotating lights were easy to spot through the rows of corn.

  I yelled, “Go!” and we popped out of the cornfield and opened fire. I’d had us sit back about eight feet in the cornfield so we wouldn’t be seen. Ninja was to my left. But we were too far back and had to take too many strides to get to the road.

  The driver saw us and punched the gas.

  He accelerated and was already fifty feet down the road when we cleared the corn. I had to take an extra step to clear Ninja, who was firing three-round bursts into the back of the car.

  I took an extra second and aimed at where the driver’s head should be. Then I started walking toward the squad car, pulling the trigger with every step. The car slowed suddenly and rolled to a stop after crossing into the other lane. That BAR sure was a showstopper.

  I looked over at Ninja, who looked back at me and said, “Well . . . shit.”

  We approached the vehicle slowly, separating just in case. I heard the engine hissing and thought, Not good. The back window was completely blown out, as was the front.

  That’s when the sheriff rose from the dead—or at least from the back seat. He got off two rounds before I blasted back and he disappeared from sight. I charged the car, vaulting from the bumper to the trunk, and put two more rounds into his body.

  I stood there breathing heavily for a couple seconds. Then I realized there was no Ninja.

  Where the hell was he?

  I turned around. He was sitting in the middle of the road holding his right arm, his M-16 lying where he had dropped it.

  “Shit!” I leaped from the car and raced over to him. “Where’re you hit, Ninj? Talk to me!”

  “My arm. It really hurts, G.”

  “Don’t worry, Turtle, I’ll fix it. C’mon, let’s get you off the road and out of sight.” I helped him into the cornfield and sat him down. Then I raced back to get his weapon.

  “Okay, let’s get you out of the armor so I can take a look at this.” I eased off his vest, wincing mentally as he winced for real. The shot had missed the bone, which was good. I tried to remember what Donna had taught us about treating this kind of wound. Shit. I knew I had to stop the bleeding and watch for shock.

  “How bad is it, G?”

  “Not bad. Not bad at all. Probably have a cool scar.”

  “That’s good.” He tried to smile.

  Looking at him I suddenly realized he wasn’t even eighteen yet.

  “You’re going to be alright.” I fished out his med kit and started to work on stopping the bleeding. We had some fancy blood stopper in a foil envelope. It was effective, but hard to find and expensive. When I finished, I had him lie back and raise the arm above his head.

  “Hold on. Let me see if I can start the squad car.” I ran back, opened the driver’s door, and dumped the deputy on the ground. Then I slid behind the wheel and turned the key. It was already turned. I switched it off and back on. Nothing. Not good. I smelled gas, too. Very not good. I got out of the car and hustled back to Ninja, trying to think of a viable Plan B. Hijack a car? Run for it? Both?

  “C’mon, Ninj. I need you to sit up. I am going to put your vest back on.”

  “We going to make a run for it?”

  “Going to have to. At least get away from here and find a vehicle. Then get you home.”

  I went through his pack and got all the food. Then I quickly dug a shallow hole and buried his pack. “Don’t worry,” I told him. “We’ll get you another one.”

  He grinned wanly. “I did pretty good, didn’t I?”

  “You sure did. Without you it wouldn’t have worke
d.”

  I slung his M-16 over my shoulder and gave him a hand getting to his feet.

  “Okay, we are going to head over the hill and start looking for a farmhouse with a car. With a little luck we will be home in an hour. We just have to get across that pasture before anyone comes.”

  He nodded. I took one more look at him, and then we started back through the cornfield. We were taking the fastest way, which meant going back the way we had come. It also meant leaving an obvious trail, especially since Ninja was not really worrying about where he put his feet. He was moving, though; that’s all I needed of him right now.

  We had cleared the cornfield and were halfway across the pastureland when we had to stop. Ninja was looking a little gray. We decided we would sit for just a minute. We heard the sirens at the same time.

  Ninja spoke what I was thinking. “We’re fucked, aren’t we?”

  “No. We just got to move.”

  He nodded his head.

  I put him in front of me.

  “Head for the tree line and don’t look back, bro.” I was the one doing the looking back and not liking what I saw.

  Three squad cars pulled up to the scene. Two deputies jumped from each of the first two cars. The third driver was alone, probably the supervisor. They checked the deputy on the ground and peered into the car, where the sheriff lay.

  “Freeze, Ninj!” If they didn’t see us, they might think we had driven off. One car raced down the road toward the sheriff’s house. Then I saw one of the deputies point into the corn. He went to the trunk of his squad car and reappeared with a pair of binoculars. I watched as he started sweeping back and forth.

  “Please, God,” I prayed, “let me get Ninja home.” God, as usual, was not listening to me. What a surprise. I watched as the deputy swept across and then came back to us. We stared at each other across the distance until I flipped him off and put away my binoculars.

  “Time to run, Ninj.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  We were almost to the tree line when I heard gunshots. We were not the only people in the world with M-16s, and they were using theirs. It gave us the extra jolt of energy we needed to get to cover.

  Fuckers, I thought. I steadied the BAR on a tree branch, compensated for shooting downhill, and shot Binocular Man in the chest with the third round. They were all wearing vests, but the BAR would pierce everything but the best quality. Plates might stop it, but wearing plates was rare. The weight was just too much for day-to-day work. I hit the next deputy low in the throat. That was a spectacular mess. The other two dropped behind their vehicle. I put a couple rounds in the engine and it was time to move again.

  “Come on, Ninj. Got to roll.”

  We began making our way back along our path. For the next hour or so I kept up a steady stream of encouragement to urge him on. Then he stopped.

  “Sorry, G. I’m just really tired and cold.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” I told him. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

  I set him down and elevated his arm again. Then I start digging clothes out of my pack to cover him. We had just come up a slight hill and were about three quarters of the way across a meadow. We had stopped next to a quartz outcropping.

  “Ninja, I am going to brew you up some coffee. How’s that sound?”

  He nodded, smiled, “Sounds good, G.”

  I was willing to chance a fire at this point, especially when I heard dogs barking far in the distance. I got a small fire going next to the outcropping and moved him near so the heat would bounce back on him. I had enough coffee left for one more cup. It was instant anyways.

  While the water got hot I tried to calculate when they might get here. On the other ridge I saw a glint from steel or glass. I pulled out the binoculars. It was a four-wheeldrive truck moving really slowly. They must have come up on one of the old hunting or logging roads. It made sense that they would have people who knew these woods.

  “Am I going to die, G?”

  “No, you are not going to die. Though it would be nice to have the extra room in the trailer.”

  “You’re an asshole, G.”

  “So I’ve been told.”

  As he drank the coffee I came up with Plan B. It wasn’t much of a plan. Basically it was to kill as many as I could before they killed me. Hopefully they would take Ninja into town and fix him up. Max would figure something out to get him back. I mentally shrugged. I had nothing else.

  “You know, Turtle, if this was the movies, an F-18 or a Blackhawk would appear just about now.”

  “Yeah. The Blackhawk would be cool.”

  “Sorry I messed it up.”

  “You didn’t mess anything up. Shit happens.”

  I took a deep breath. “Yeah.”

  The dogs were getting louder.

  “Those dogs for us, G?”

  “Yep, I’m afraid so.”

  “You going to cut their heads off, too?”

  “Naw. Probably shoot them if they come too close. Otherwise they can just hang out with us.”

  We spent the next twenty minutes reminiscing about the good old days. By then the dogs had gotten closer. I could hear the truck. It looked like everyone was coming together. This promised to really suck.

  I got up and took a kneeling position behind a chunk of quartz. I put four magazines for the BAR where I could reach them, then pulled my bayonet out and set it next to them.

  “You only put out four of your magazines, G.”

  “Yeah. I doubt if there are more than eighty of them.”

  He thought about it for a second and grinned. “I might as well go to sleep, then, if there’s less than eighty.”

  “Yeah, you do that.”

  That’s when the two dogs appeared at the foot of the meadow. They looked at me. I looked at them. I shot them. “Sorry, doggies,” I whispered. Then I waited.

  “Give me my weapon. I will help.”

  “Stay put. I may need you to reload.” That seemed to satisfy him.

  There were, by my count, maybe only ten of them. They were not that good at moving in the woods, and the department uniforms did not work well as camouflage. They were using shrubbery as cover, which was not real smart.

  “Come out with your hands up! You’re surrounded,” someone yelled. It went through my mind that, in so many ways, my life was becoming one bad movie. Who the hell really says shit like that?

  I didn’t bother to answer. I just shot the two guys on my left. Then it was time to try to become a turtle inside my vest as they proceeded to chip away at the quartz outcropping that I huddled behind. I got as flat as I could and poked my head out near the ground. I couldn’t see anything because of the grass and weeds, so I just started shooting from one side and worked my way across, hoping to hit something.

  From the scream of pain that I heard, I think I did. Then it was their turn to mow the grass where I had been. I reloaded the BAR. The five or six seconds it took felt like a year. By the time I got that done the return fire had stopped. Either they had all decided to reload or they were getting ready to rush me. I knew it was over regardless.

  I set the BAR down, looked at Ninja and winked, and then slid backward, keeping the outcropping in front of me. I got my legs under me and sprung up. I landed awkwardly in a crouch on the lower part of the outcropping. My leg was still not completely right. I stood up and saw that the deputies were out of the cover and moving in a line toward me. I shot the two in front of me.

  Then I leaped off the outcropping, aiming at one on my left as I dropped. I was hoping to kill a hole in the middle of the line and roll into it. But his head exploded before I got a chance to pull the trigger. I landed and did my roll, crossing my arms so my pistols pointed away from my body. Doing that also made it easier to extend my arms into position to shoot when I came back up. My unseen helper made it easy for me to decide where to focus my fire.

  I took out two guys on my right. They were trying to compensate for my new position, but they were too
late. The tree line behind me exploded with automatic rifle fire. The guys to my left didn’t have a chance. Another BAR was in there somewhere punctuating the M-16 bursts. The last guy on my right wasn’t bringing his rifle up; he was just staring at me wide-eyed. I shot him, too. Just to be safe.

  People came charging out of the tree line. At least two of them were screaming something.

  It was my squad, with Diesel yelling at them to push out a perimeter. Max strolled out from the woods behind them, carrying the Barrett. Even from this distance I could tell he was pissed. The squad streamed past me, giving me some seriously weird looks.

  What the hell was going on?

  Diesel was checking the downed bad guys. “I got a live one here! Medic!”

  Max said, “Forget it, Diesel. She is taking care of Ninja. Get someone else to take care of him.”

  The perimeter team found the ones I had shot in the bushes. When Max reached me, he just stood there and stared at me while I reloaded. I finished and slid the Colt into my belt.

  “Hey, Max. What’s going on?”

  “Get in over your head again, Gardener?”

  “What’s with this ‘again’ shit, Max?”

  “We’ll talk. We need to find that truck, get Ninja on board, and clear the area.”

  That’s exactly what we did. It wasn’t easy. The wounded guy was coherent, and after we told him he might lose a leg if he didn’t help us, we got the directions to the main road. We were packed tight in the truck. I rode in back with Ninja.

  I asked the squad, “How did you end up saving our asses?”

  The story, it seemed, was that Max found out I had left with just Ninja. A day and a half later, he rolled the squad out after us. They had no idea why the delay.

  I asked, “What’s up with everyone and the attitude change?” It was like a sudden distance had sprung up between them and me.

  Grace answered for them. “You don’t know? We saw you jump up on that rock and start shooting. Then we saw you just leap at them with your guns blazing and kill even more. We spread out the perimeter and we find more dead bodies. Plus, there are probably more further down. You’re like . . .” Her voice trailed off.