Red Robin: Post-Apocalyptic America

by R. B. Tetro

  The fact that Candle was an oversized, repulsive rat didn’t bother Darius in the slightest, because when you’re in the basement of hell on earth, you take a friend where you can find a friend.

  He followed Candle back into the Keep, staying close to his whip like tail, until they came to the secret entrance to his sleeping quarters. After hearing nothing, Darius slipped the false door open just enough for him to slide through. He smiled and nodded at Candle before closing it and disappearing into his closet, feeling his way from the back to the front where again, he stopped and listened.

  After hearing nothing, Darius stepped back into his sleeping chambers/slash cell, closing the closet door behind him. He’d just managed to breathe a quick sigh of relief when the oak door, leading out into the corridor, swung in and his step-father Magnus stood glaring at him.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  After finding a suitable cave on top of the cliff to spend the night in and starting a small fire, Scout took out his second most prized possession… a waterproof, hand- cranked, marine radio, setting it up so that he could listen to the Red Robins nightly broadcast. He rolled a smoke and lit it, kicking back just in time to hear the rebel DJ lay it down for the masses.

  “This is the Red Robin. Listen up all you wasteland walkers and Blood-eye stalkers… Fortress is gone.

  The rebels are scattered in the mountains.

  If there are any survivors that can hear me out there, go to the Cavern of the Light. I repeat, we must unite and fight at the Cavern of the Light.

  What we need is a leader, people, a bull strong, not afraid to get bloody, follow me or get the hell out of the way leader.

  True American’s the times are dire. We must unite and fight for what’s left of our country… as our founding fathers gave their lives for liberty… so to must we, the resistance.”

  A long pause ensued. Scout smiled. That’s just how the Red Robin made sure everyone was listening. He broke the seal on a bottle of brandy. He was a little worried there would be no brandy in heaven. Scout had a hard time wrapping his torture damaged mind around that idea. He was worrying about it, when the Red Robin came back on.

  “Listen up you stubborn, stars and stripes waving rebels. The time is coming soon when I will no longer be able to broadcast. We must prepare. We must unite and fight… but that’s enough of reality… let’s get back to the music. They can’t change the music, fellow patriots, and they can’t change what’s in our hearts. Goodnight true Americans. Hold on, stay strong, and fight on.”

  There were a few moments of silence; as if the freedom loving DJ were giving his secret listeners a chance to absorb his heartfelt words. “Fight for your Right to Party!” by the Beasty Boys came in subtly, then louder and louder as the Red Robin released his frustration out through song.

  Scout jumped up, banging his head in time to the music; smoke in one hand, bottle in the other. He danced like a free man; his long, dirty-blond hair, casting strange shifting shadows on the cave ceiling in the glowing firelight.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Darius’s mother, Constance, was a bikini model before the world burned. Her life was considerably different now, and although she was the wife to the most powerful man in the territory, she still found herself missing the days when all she had to do was stand in front of a camera and look sexy.

  Two weeks after she’d been let out of the dome she’d been taken prisoner and shipped along with her twelve- year- old son to the human farms on an island behind the Keep. It had been there, amidst all the unbelievable pain and suffering that Magnus had found her. Naked, beaten, and half- starved, he’d loved her at first bite- so to speak- and after showing her how to eat other people, they’d been together ever since.

  Unfortunately, Magnus wasn’t overly fond of the fact that she had a boy, especially a boy who would not eat human meat. He allowed the pitiful human child to live locked away, but would not allow him to be in his presence. It seemed Constance had a taste for blood and darkness and being with Magnus had been a match made in Heaven, well, maybe Hell was more like it. After a while, thoughts of her life before the bombs went off, came to her less and less often.

  Constance proved a worthy ally and soon became Magnus’s most trusted advisor. As time passed, she started to realize her power and the extent of it, and began to make plans of her own. Those plans included a course in black magic, compliments of Magnus’s Uncle Siros. Constance had figured out that although her husband was an unequalled warrior, his uncle held the real power.

  So she went to him, asking him to take her on as an apprentice. Siros hastily agreed, and after getting permission from Magnus, she began to learn the art of dark magic. And, she grew stronger and stronger. Although she remained loyal to Magnus, he could see her starting to develop her own way in the world.

  As Constance and Siros began to spend more and more time together, they started to develop a relationship of sorts. Now, she was a dark witch, no longer beautiful, but powerful and dangerous. Even Magnus stepped carefully around her, and dared not voice the concerns that he’d been having as of late, about her and his uncles’ relationship. Siros bided his time as Constance sank further and further under his control.

  Magnus had performed well. He’d almost wiped out any competition and soon Siros wouldn’t need him anymore and he could reign with his dark queen, no longer in the shadows, but on the throne, so that everyone would know that it was him that ran the territory, and not his pompous nephew.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Pop’s and his party could smell the flesh of their friends and possible family members burning as they looked down on the ruins of the Fortress they’d helped build and protect. Nobody said anything while they watched the snogs, and the Blood-eyes fight over the remains of the dead.

  Pops swallowed hard, blinking back tears; worried about the fate of his eldest son and unable to do anything about it. He blamed himself for getting mixed up with the wanderers they’d found while searching for supplies. If he’d just left them to fend for themselves, he and his sons would have been back in time to help; although from the looks of things their help wouldn’t have made much of a difference. Now there was nothing, only a few smoking timbers remained as the screeches from the vicious snogs filled the air around them.

  Jessie stood beside his father, his silent tears dropping on the scorched earth between them.

  Lucas was on his knees, sobbing quietly. His oldest brother had been his hero. That place and the people in it was the only life he’d ever known.

  Pops lifted his head slightly as he noticed the wind changing directions; coming from behind them. ‘’We have to go now,’’ he said wearily. It wouldn’t be long before the wind carried their rank, unwashed smell to the snogs.

  “Where?” Daniel asked Pops.

  “Up, and up some more,” answered Pops. He frowned, turned and led them up a barely visible game trail, into the dense boulders of the ridge top.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It was cold, damp and smelly under the overhang the old lady and Poet had crammed themselves into just before dark. They’d tried taking turns keeping watch but the combination of injuries and exhaustion overcame them. The sun found an angle in which to illuminate their hiding place, gently nudging them awake with its mid-morning warmth.

  The old lady woke first, her face just inches from Poets. Recoiling suddenly, she saw that maggots were munching on his once- handsome features. The wound had stopped bleeding so bad, but without medical attention, in this environment, it would surely become infected, killing the best and only friend she had left in this violent, miserable world.

  She sat up- as much as she could- under the confined outcropping, watching Poet with concern. His face had slid down during the restless night and was uneven and ghoulish looking. It would have to be sewn today she decided, first thing. The only problem was she’d never sewed someone’s face back on before and she wasn’t looking forward to trying.

  Poet opened his red rimme
d eyes, smiling weakly at her.

  “Good morning sunshine, it’s your turn to cook breakfast,” the old lady said; trying to keep it light.

  “I’ll have some cold… clean…water,” Poet muttered between what remained of his lips.

  The old women nodded, it’d been since before the battle that either one of them had eaten or drank, and it was starting to take its toll.

  Poet tried to sit up, holding his shredded face in his hand. He only made it halfway before he started throwing up from the pain. To make matters worse, he had nothing in his stomach, so he was dry heaving violently, his body convulsing and shaking, while his friend held her hand on his shoulder, trying to lend heart-felt support. After a full minute, he lay back down, gingerly holding his ruined face in place, while his hot tears dropped on the ground beside him.

  “Wish I had something to catch those in,” the old lady chuckled. She gently wiped his tears with the tips of her fingers, putting them on his ruined lips. He thanked her with his eyes; his face unable to smile.

  She lit one of her last joints and blew the pungent smelling cannabis in her friend’s face. Poet tried to nod, but he was in so much agony he could only manage a shrug, gritting his teeth against the pain.

  The old lady kept her leathery hand on his chest while she puffed on the joint, smoking some herself, blowing most of it toward her friend. “I’m going to take a look outside,” she announced.

  Poet nodded, but didn’t answer. He had his eyes squeezed shut.

  The old lady crawled out of their meager shelter on her belly. Stopping at the entrance, she poked her head out like a cautious turtle. She wasn’t expecting much, probably the same dangerous rocks and cliffs they’d been climbing since they’d left Fortress. Although she was as tough as they came, the thought of losing her friend and being left alone in this desolate place was almost too much for her to bear. She dabbed at her own tears and tasted them while she thought about their dire situation and looked around for the easiest route.

  She whispered a small prayer to match what was left of her faith. “Please God… we’re all alone, send someone, anyone that will help us,” she whispered under her breath.

  She dried her eyes and dusted herself off. The fresh air helped clear her head. She looked around nervously for any sign of trouble, while she sat on a small boulder and lit a smoke. She waited for inspiration, or something to tell her what to do. There was only silence and the hungry cry of the vultures as they scavenged the cliffs they were hiding in.

  “Guess you’re busy, Lord,” she muttered respectfully. She finished her smoke and dropped to her knees to crawl back under and bring her friend out.

  “I told you… I’d know that bony ass anywhere,” a deep, husky male voice startled her from behind. She turned slowly, keeping her hand on the handle of one of the many long bladed skinning knifes in her belt. “Thank you Jesus…” she whispered, as she recognized Junior and some of her friends from Fortress.

  She rose to greet them too quickly. The cliffs around her closed in on her weakened body and started to spin. She held her trembling hand out to her friends, stumbling to her knees, before passing out.

  The Fortress survivors rallied around her. Some of the women in the group came forward to tend to her, while the rest of them kept a watchful eye. They fashioned a small travail and put her on it. She was sleeping peacefully with a funny little grin on her face that made the whole group feel a little better as they set out climbing, pulling her behind them.

  Poet had passed out again. The survivors had no way of knowing that he lay dying under the rocks while they made their way up the mountain, and further away from him.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “This is the Red Robin. All you wasteland walkers and Blood-eye stalkers better listen up. You are not alone in your fight for liberty. Our thoughts and prayers go out to the bad-ass Fortress survivors. They’re still standing strong and calling for fellow patriots to join the battle. People, we need fighters who are willing to die for the fundamentals our once great country was founded on. If you’re out there and listening, it’s time to lend a hand. Goodnight, true Americans. Hold on, stay strong, and fight on.”

  The customary few moments of silence ensued followed by “The Sound of Silence” by Simon and Garfunkel.

  The Red Robin rubbed his tired eyes and took his headset off, setting it down gently on the table beside the battered ham radio. He looked at the half- empty bottle of whiskey in front of him. Shrugging his shoulders, he opened it and took a long pull on it before taking out his leather bound journal and bending over it; pen in hand.

  Journal entry:

  My dearest son and grand-son. I know it is too much to hope that you’re both doing well, but I do hold out hope that you’re both still alive. There’s just something in our blood that makes us too stubborn to kill, even for the blood- thirsty Magnus and his puss-filled uncle Siros.

  I need to leave you with a few things that may or may not help you as you continue on your life’s journey after I am gone.

  Please don’t think me foolish, but I am foolish enough to believe that you can benefit from some of the wisdom in my feeble letters. At least I hope you can, or at least I can hope that you will get a chance to try.

  The world’s gone to shit in short order, my grand- father used to love to say to me. I never listened to him, until after he died. Then, after watching the news

  and remembering the things he used to try and tell me, I knew that he knew what he was talking about.

  The weekend that we buried your great grandfather, son, and your great, great grandfather, Grandson I remember going through his things at his house and finding a box of letters he’d written to me before he died.

  At the time, I thought them the ravings of a senile old man, but as I watched our great country begin to crumble, I found myself turning to those letters more and more for comfort and much needed guidance.

  I found that as I read the letters, I was with him and that he was in no small way, with me.

  I still have those letters today. They, along with the lone picture I have of you both are my most valuable possessions in a time where possessions are at a premium.

  I pass those letters on to you, my son and grandson along with some letters of my own.

  Now, enough of that silliness…

  Here are a few things to think about.

  Never walk up to a person and look down. It tells them two things. The first thing it tells them is that you have no confidence, and the second thing is that you got no game.

  Keep your head up… look them in the eye, that way you, at least, look like you know what you’re doing.

  Always go out of your way to avoid trouble. You can bet your sweet momma’s ass that it’s not going out of its way to avoid you.

  Be your own man. There’s more than enough of the- I want to be like everybody else- men to go around in the world. Be unique. Do your own damn thing.

  My prayers go with you. I miss you both and believe with all of my heart that one day we will see each other again, whether in this life or the next.

  Until then, hold on, stay strong, and fight on.

  All my love, Red Robin

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Jessie spotted the large group of Blood- eyes first, on the opposite ridge while he was scouting for a water source. They were in the midst of an argument. There was a lot of them pushing and screaming, while they all tried to squeeze through a narrow opening between two gigantic boulders.

  Pop’s and the ragged group of survivors took turns watching them through his binoculars.

  “Go… around…we could,” a stout, Mexican woman, suggested in broken English.

  Pop’s smiled patiently at her but shook his head. He pointed up to the greenish-black, swollen storm clouds gathering above them. “We can’t hope to survive out in the open.”

  The woman followed his gaze, looking up at the ominous sky. Ever since the bombs went off, the weather had become dangerousl
y unpredictable, with sudden violent storms becoming the norm. They were dangerously low on food and needed to get to the Cavern of the Light. Unfortunately, the ridgetop the eaters were on happened to be smack dab in the middle of the path they would have to take. It was either fight the Blood- eyes or risk going back and around a four- day detour.

  “We have to take them out,” Lucas said casually, while he looked through Jessie’s binoculars.

  Daniel knelt off to the side by himself. After studying the group Pops was trying to save, he came to the conclusion that without his help, Pops and his sons had very little chance of making it alive with Chloe to safety. Daniel hated to admit it, but he’d grown close to her and he wanted to make sure she was safe, as well as feeling a deep sense of respect and loyalty to Pops and his sons, not just for saving him, but because he genuinely liked them and was pulling for them. “I’ll go with you,” he offered finally.

  The look of relief on his face was thanks enough, but still Pops nodded his gratitude to him. He knew there was a lot more to Daniel than met the eye. “Your help and your battle axe are gratefully accepted.”

  While they were speaking the group closed in around them.

  “That’s crazy talk! Surely you can’t expect for us to fight that many. We’re in no shape to walk, let alone take on a tribe of Blood-eyes.”

  Pops didn’t answer. He didn’t like the man that was doing the talking. The man had

  owned a luxury car dealership before the end, and he felt like that should entitle him somehow.

  “There’s no shame to anyone that doesn’t want to fight. Stay or go, it makes no difference to me,” Pop’s said wearily.