4POCALYPSE - Four Tales Of A Dark Future

by Brian Fatah Steele

  “They underground?”

  “No. They’s be asleep,” Toby answered sheepishly.

  “Toooby,” Jasmine said, dragging out his name as if talking to a child. “You know gypsies have foresight, right? We can predict the future, and we can tell when people are lying. You know that, right?”

  “Yes’m,” Toby answered while thinking, sumfuckingbitchen, gypsies. Owen is gonna have my heart for breakfast tomarra…

  Jasmine slowly turned, taking a few minutes to look around, looking for anything or anyone. Other than a light wind, sand, and dirt, there was no other movement. She turned back to the town and finally saw a guard. He had been sitting on the other side of the campfire. The glow from the fire blocked him from her vision. He stood and limped over to an old vehicle—she couldn’t tell the make or model—and unzipped and relieved himself. His back arched and he looked up to a dull brown-gray sky. He was dressed in the same old military clothing.

  “You guys ex-military?” Jasmine asked.

  “No ma’am, we’un’s got our clothes from the police when they’s tried to take us over—” he chuckled. “They’s tried a’fore, and they’ll keep trying but they’s cain’t beat us.”

  Jasmine asked, “Why is that, Toby?”

  “Cause you’s cain’t beat the ele’mints. Too harsh. And the people they send out here never trained in anything like this.”

  Jasmine didn’t respond—he was right—and she looked back at the camp, and that was when she saw another guard walking out from behind one of the lean-to’s. He was dragging a little girl, who, from this distance, looked to be about ten years old.

  Jasmine spun around and kicked Toby in the face. He slammed down hard, and when he tried to get up, Jasmine ran a knife across his neck, drawing blood. “You lied to me, asshole. Lie to me again and it’ll be the last words you’ll ever hear.”

  Blood seeped between filthy gloved fingers, and dripped from a broken nose. He groaned between slurps, but didn’t say anything. Then he looked into her eyes, which was something he had never done, she’d always worn her goggles, and she scared him more than Owen ever had. “Th-there’s always four g-guards at all times…” Jasmine put the knife to his throat again. “They’s all carry’n pistols. L-loaded. No rifles or anything like that… we’re, we’re just one of Owen’s outskirts to slow people down. Other than for food, he don’t really care if we live or die...”

  “And you protect him.”

  “Yes’m,” Toby answered with a nod. “His army is bu-big, and they’d kilt us and have us up on a sp-spit a’fore we knows what happened.”

  Jasmine pulled him to his feet and turned him to the little girl. “You said no kids.”

  “She be-belongs to a family that come out the same door a’fore you. People always come out that door. We always catch’em—” He laughed. “Like bugs to li-lights, ya know. They’s come out those doors and we catch’em.” He looked at Jasmine and hesitated. “But you stayed in the dark… I shud’a let you go. I knows you were special. I shud’a let you go.”

  Jasmine snickered, she really wanted to cut his throat and leave him here and it took all the will she had not to kill him. “What happens to them?”

  “We gives half to Owen.” He slurped. “He, he says the younger the better… I ain’t never et no young girl…” Then more in a mumble he finished, “Wa-wanted too, but never et one.”

  She pushed him toward the Harley. “Climb up there nice and easy, Toby, I really don’t want to kill you, but I will.” He did, and immediately laid his head on the gas tank. “Where are the men, Toby?”

  “B-building on the left. W-women on the right. We’s keep’em pregnant for Owen…” Toby said, slurping more, as his stuttering got worst. “We-we’s always hope fer twins… but…”

  Jasmine was stunned. The women were the cattle who would produce as many babies as they could to feed Owen or to expand the tribe.

  “What’s next for the family?”

  “We’ll keep the woman for breed’n. Kilt the husben fer food—he ain’t one of us—and send the b-boy and girl onto Owen.”

  She thought about it for a moment. She really didn’t want to stop at any of the camps. She wanted to go straight to Owen’s camp, but she couldn’t leave these people here. She couldn’t let these guys kill them. She wasn’t too sure if it was too late for the women but it wasn’t too late for the family. Then she remembered Dooriya’s card reading; you’ll need that family later. Understand? They’re a key to this whole thing… I don’t know why but it’s important. It was then the reality of what she was doing settled in. The cards said she’d stumble onto a family and that she should help them. The cards also said she was going to die.

  She stared at the back of Toby’s head and saw him taking three or four shots into his chest before the Harley crashed. He was driving. He was her shield. The Harley would explode. She wanted to stop that from happening but a shield was a shield, but on the other hand she wanted the Harley.

  “Tell me, Toby,” Jasmine said, gritting her teeth and holding back the urge to drop him here. “How long before everything happens? How long before you kill the husband and send the kids off?”

  “Tomarra. We been holding dem waiting for word. We got it dis afternoon a’fore I let out on my hunt...”

  Jasmine massaged the tension from the back of her neck. She had to go in.

  Chapter 9

  Toby sat up as he drove the Harley into the camp that looked as if it had been a small suburban community, scared out of his mind. Beneath his left armpit was the modified cannon, capable of firing off four rounds before Jasmine would need to reload it.

  He felt her breath on his right cheek, her chin on his shoulder, and her fingers on the triggers. He then thought of the pistol in his belt pointing at his crotch and wondered if he could get to it and maybe put a bullet in her. He knew she wouldn’t drop one of the weapons to protect herself, and if she did then it would still be to his advantage. It would be one less weapon she could use against the men that had been his friends for as long as he could remember. He didn’t want to die, nor did he want to see them die by the hands of a gypsy. A gypsy that he failed to stop. Anything she did, he thought, was his entire fault, and his alone.

  She leaned tightly against him and said over the roar of the Harley, “Don’t think about it, Toby. Believe me when I tell you this, I’ve been training for this moment for four years and I can’t wait to see how well I do.”

  Toby gulped and thought, sumbitchen gypsies can really read minds.

  The guard that had relieved himself spun around, raising his pistol, but hesitated when he saw Toby. Before he could get a shot off, Jasmine drew her Glock, leaving Toby shocked when he discovered that he was actually holding the shotgun. Then in the same fluid motion, Jasmine fired the cannon. The building exploded as the first guard dropped to the ground.

  “Sumbitchen Gypsy!” Toby screamed out in tears, the guard was his brother.

  The guard with the little girl fired off two rounds, which hit Toby in the chest, and the impact knocked Jasmine off the Harley. When she hit the ground, the blast from the shotgun hurled the shooter back a foot or so before he slammed down.

  Jasmine rolled and then fired the cannon, taking out the remainder of the building, which exploded and collapsed on two men who were running out. She twisted right as a third guard came around the building and, in the confusion, he shot Toby two times. Toby fell from the Harley but he was already dead and never felt the ground when he slammed down.

  The Harley veered off to the right, just as she saw it in her vision, and ran into a lean-to that was a storage area for gasoline and explosives. The lean-to exploded with an impact that killed the guard.

  Jasmine crab-walked across the ground and grabbed the little girl, and then lay down on top of her just as another guard came around the corner. Jasmine then fired several rounds from her Glock, dropping him mere feet from where they lay.

  “Where’s your mom and dad,” Jasmine
asked in a near whisper, unsure of how many men were still alive, and even more unsure if any of the women would put up a fight.

  “Behind that building,” the small girl answered between sobs, pointing to the building where Toby had said the women were held prisoner.

  Off to Jasmine’s left, another gunman barged around the corner, firing round after round. Once again, Toby had lied, as repeated fire hit the ground in front of her. Jasmine crab-walked again across the ground while firing off several rounds in an automatic fashion. She whipped the cannon from her shoulder and fired. The grenade hit the shooter in the chest, exploding on impact.

  Except for the wind, silence draped the camp like a halfhearted hand across the mouth of crying child. Jasmine stood, waiting, looking around for another guard to appear. She couldn’t remember if there were three or four, and, if it were four, did Toby lie about that as well. She looked over to the lean-to and the watched as the Harley burned. She mumbled, “Well, crap. There goes my ride...”

  She then helped the little girl to her feet, pulled her close, and hugged her deeply. “Are you hurt, baby girl?” Jasmine said, nearly suffocating the child. “You didn’t get hit, did you?”

  “No... I’m okay, but I want my mommy,” the girl answered, sobbing.

  Jasmine looked around, waiting. When she felt safe, she holstered her Glock then picked up her cannon and shotgun and holstered the two weapons. She made a mental note to tell Tank the cannon was too heavy to control. Although she had practiced every day, the kick was horrendous when in motion, but she didn’t believe he designed it for the way she used it. It wasn’t meant to be slung around and literally used one-handedly in a firefight.

  “What’s your name, baby girl?” Jasmine asked.

  “Sara.”

  “Let’s wait a moment, Sara,” Jasmine answered. She then reloaded her Glocks, and then her shotgun. She’d have to wait to load the cannon.

  “Are you a real gypsy?” Sara asked. When Jasmine nodded, Sara continued, “You don’t act like a gypsy.”

  “What do I act like?” Jasmine asked with a chuckle. She loved the reputation. Nearing the beginning of the twenty-second century and people still held ancient notions of what gypsies were like.

  “I don’t know,” Sara answered. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

  Jasmine hugged her again and then gently led Sara to walk behind her. They started in the direction where the women were kept and the other building her parents should be.

  Sara stopped and looked at the building. “They keep the women in cages,” Sara said, looking at the door. “Most of them are hurt. The men beat them.”

  “Let’s get your mother first,” Jasmine said in a tone that she hoped would help calm Sara, as well as her own rising anger. She’d be sure to kill every man in the camp and set the women free.

  When they came around the building, Jasmine stopped. Something didn’t feel right. She shoved Sara against the building and covered her as two men dropped down on them from the roof. Jasmine slammed her palm in the nose of the first man, breaking it, dropping him to the ground in agony. The second one managed to grab Jasmine by the throat, choking her. She brought her knee up and slammed it into his groin but the kick didn’t faze him and he punched Jasmine in the face.

  Jasmine saw a bright flash from the punch and fell back against the building and as the man drew back to punch her again, Jasmine desperately groped for her gun but found the knife instead. She slammed it into his forehead. When he fell back, Jasmine pulled her Glock and shot him between the eyes just beneath the knife.

  Jasmine dropped to her knees. The pain was excruciating and she wondered if he broke her jaw. The first man moaned and began to sit up. Jasmine shot him.

  Jasmine quickly turned to Sara and pulled her into her arms. “I’m so sorry you had to see that,” Jasmine soothed, gingerly rubbing her hand across Sara’s head as if smoothing down Sara’s hair. “Do you know if there are more men I need to worry about?”

  Sara shook her head no.

  “Walk behind me,” Jasmine said. They waked toward the back building. She saw the pistol in a split-second vision, pulled her Glock so quickly that Sara didn’t notice what was happening, and Jasmine shot the owner. After a beat, maybe two, the potential shooter fell out the window. “Any more?”

  Sara shrugged. She was much too young and too frightened to know how many were at the camp.

  Jasmine edged the door open.

  Chapter 10

  Inside were Sara’s parents and brother, bound and gagged and sitting on the floor with their backs to each other. Both parents had been beaten, the son, about Jasmine’s age, even more so and looked to be unconscious.

  Sara darted out from behind Jasmine to her mother and wrapped her arms around her, all the while screaming and sobbing.

  Eyeing the father, Jasmine nodded, and the father replied by shifting his eyes to a door in the center of the room. Jasmine, with the speed of a frightened cat, pulled the cannon and fired her last round. The door and the room on the other side exploded. When the dust and debris settled, another guard lay in several pieces. Still clutched in his hand was an AK47. Damn it, Toby, Jasmine thought. I need to start using my senses…

  Jasmine quickly untied the father, and while the father spun around to his wife, Jasmine untied Sara’s brother, and took in a quick gasp of air. She was stunned at how handsome the young man was. Even through bloodstains and bruises he was probably the most handsome man she had ever met. He had doe brown eyes that most women would kill for. Dooriya was right, Jasmine thought as the guy stood up slowly, and with much effort. Two inches taller than she was, Jasmine had to look up at him.

  He tried to smile, but his busted lips made it difficult and painful. He then turned to his mother. She was hurt, but Jasmine didn’t believe it was serious. Jasmine then dropped her pack and removed her first aid kit. “I have a painkiller, that will help for a while at least,” Jasmine said, and then began examining her. “Looks like a little internal bruising but I think you’ll be okay.” While Jasmine shook out a pill the son handed her a canteen.

  “I’m Eric,” Sara’s brother said. “I, I don’t know how to thank you. My father was on the menu tonight.”

  “Jasmine,” Jasmine said with a nod while proffering her hand. While they shook hands, Jasmine, her eyes never leaving his, continued in an almost embarrassed fashion, “Is everyone else okay?” She’d have to give Dooriya hell whenever she next saw her. The last thing she needed was some love-struck guy.

  “The name is Bill, Bill Cotter,” Bill said while nodding toward his wife, “This is my wife Evelyn and, yes, I believe we’re all okay, but we owe you our lives.”

  Jasmine took a moment to clean the blood from Eric’s face, and then dabbed a salve on the cut beneath his gorgeous right eye. While lightly pinching the cut, she dabbed it with glue. “It’s a small laceration,” Jasmine said, smiling. “I’d be real surprised if it leaves a scar.” She shook out another painkiller into her palm and handed it to him.

  “Thank you,” Eric said, “but I’m sure my dad could use it.”

  Jasmine then turned and handed another to Bill. “These are fairly strong without any side affects. They’ll last twenty-four hours, hopefully long enough to get you to safety.”

  After putting away her first aid kit, Jasmine loaded her last three shells into the cannon and returned it to her holster. She then pulled on her pack and, as she fastened it, she noticed Bill Cotter’s family was staring at her.

  “Not much for words, I take it,” Bill said, holding back the slightest grin.

  “What brings you here,” Evelyn asked.

  “I’m on my way to Dallas and happened onto Toby… well… Toby happened on to me but he blinked, and then we were on our way to see Owen—“ Evelyn gasped. “No worries, I’m not one of his people. Anyway, I saw Sara and well, I had Toby bring me here.”

  Jasmine turned, and started for the door, and as she reached it, Eric came up behind her. “I’d li
ke to go with you.”

  “And where am I going?”

  “To release the women,” Eric answered.

  Jasmine smiled. She had to admire his courage. It was obvious Eric never exercised a day in his life, and if it wasn’t for his good looks she didn’t think he’d ever have a date. Obviously meeting Eric was for other reasons that didn’t include a love affair. She nearly laughed and thought, Jim is safe for the moment. Other than those doe eyes there was nothing about Eric that attracted her.

  Chapter 11

  Following Jasmine’s instructions, Eric walked closely behind her. He held her Glock in his right hand pointing upward, while she held her Mossberg pointing at the door. She only had three grenades left and wanted to save as many as she could. Since the weapon was new to her, she was extremely overzealous and used it even though her pistols were sufficient. It was the same for the shotgun, and although she was a better shooter with her pistols, in the darkness and the harsh elements she felt safer using a wide blast. For the first time in her life she was nervous, even close to being frightened. The tarot cards played on her mind like a mosquito landing on the back of her neck biting her time and again. That damned death card over the nine of swords was starting to worry her and she wondered if she had done the right thing.

  They stopped and Jasmine ever so cautiously eased the door open with the tip of her shotgun and cringed as the hinges let out a wretched squeal as if connected to an alarm system. She bounced back, expecting an onslaught.

  Nothing.

  Just as Eric started to speak, she held up her hand quieting him. She then pointed to the right side of the door. Then in two quick flashes, she fired into the door where a cry erupted from the other side. She then crouched down, banged through the door, and rolled to a crouch position looking for someone pointing something at her.

  Inside lay a man who looked to be an old prospector in his seventies; however, upon closer examination he was nearer to his late thirties; possibly due to cannibalism, or due to the elements, but more likely both. He lay on his back, dead; half of his face ripped off from the headshot. Pieces of wooden shrapnel stuck out from what was left of his face in a porcupine fashion. Looking at him lying on the floor, she was surprised the pellets from the body shot penetrated the many layers of clothing. A large crimson patch darkened his chest.