Tara looked at Carl, then at Shyanne. Her worried expression melted into a smile at the sight of the child’s big eyes. “No fair. You’re holding a cute little child in your arms. You probably could get anything you want.” The redhead then laughed. Shyanne laughed with her.
Finally, Tara sighed. “Alright. Count me in, but I warn you, Sergeant, I still might be a little messed up for a while.”
“Just call me Carl. What do you say we turn around, head back down to that camp of survivors? Like I said, I promise to help you through it. Maybe you can run into your favorite political punching bag down there.”
Tara smiled. “Preston?”
“I’m sure you have a few scores to settle.” Carl turned back to the slope of the overpass. “C’mon.”
Tara didn’t move, but Carl wouldn’t find out if she did, for Preston shouted at them from ahead. He was sprinting up the overpass, arms flailing. “Carl!” His torso started to bow as he approached. “Carl…company…”
Carl quickly jogged up to Preston, then a little past him to get a look at what was behind him. Two men were trailing Preston and were about a couple of yards away. One was tall and thin, dressed in a dirty blue T-shirt torn at the collar and blue jeans. The other man was older, with thinning brown hair and a buttoned-up flannel shirt and dark pants.
“Hey, why you running from us?” the tall man said. He was the guy from before, sporting the Southern accent.
“We just wanna see if anyone needs help!” the older man called.
Preston stumbled over to a nearby car that had stalled on the highway. “They just popped up from below.” He caught his breath between sentences. “Had to turn around…and come back to you.”
“Are they nice men?” Shyanne asked.
Carl frowned. Wouldn’t these men have noticed the community of survivors down the highway and rushed to join them if they needed aid? Why come back this way? Did they really want to help Preston, or did they have something else in mind?
“I don’t know, but I don’t think we should stick around to find out.” Carl turned back to the overpass. “Looks like it’s that way for us.”
Carl stepped past the vehicle, back into open air. Tara and Shyanne followed. Preston, however, took one step beyond the car, then suddenly grabbed the vehicle as if it was a life preserver.
“Preston?” Carl stopped. “What’s wrong?”
Preston shook his head. “Holy shit, we’re high,” he muttered, “Very, very high.”
Carl looked around. He barely noticed, but they were by now a good four stories off the ground, and the peak of the overpass likely would add another one before it sloped back down the other side.
Preston started shaking. “I can’t do this. Damn, I didn’t feel it when those guys were chasing me, but man, oh God, I want to get off here.”
Shyanne clutched Carl harder. “Why is Mister Preston so afraid?”
“Acrophobia,” Tara rushed to Preston. “He’s scared of heights.” Then she leaned next to the frightened young man. “I’m not saying I don’t sympathize with you, really, but those two men coming up here might be dangerous. You’re not going to fall off. Believe me.”
“Yeah, I know that, but try telling my body that,” Preston said.
“Preston, you’re just going to have to fight this. Better for you to be up high and alive than dead,” Carl said.
Preston shaking only grew worse. “Just…just leave me. I’m screwed. I can’t move.” He sounded as if he was about to weep.
Tara then snapped her fingers. “I got an idea.” She unzipped her jacket and yanked it off. Then she pushed Preston’s right arm into the sleeve. “Here, put it on, quick.”
Preston obeyed. It seemed like the only thing his paralyzed body would allow. Tara then pulled the hood all the way over his eyes. “Here. Keep this over your eyes.” Tara lifted Preston’s hand and pushed it onto the hood. He grabbed hold of it. “I’ll lead you.”
Preston stood up. “Okay,” he said.
Tara coiled her arm around Preston’s and started walking. Preston, his head lowered, walked with her. She successfully led the man all the way to Carl, then past him.
God bless you, Tara, Carl thought. Blocking Preston’s view of the world freed him from his anxiety enough for him to walk, though Tara would have to lead him by the hand to keep him from walking off course and into one of the concrete barriers of the overpass. If he should open his hood and look over the edge…
Carl winced. Looking down to the ground from that height would be an acrophobe’s worst nightmare.
He just hoped they didn’t lose much time getting away from those two men. With Shyanne in his grasp, Carl quickly took the lead. “Tara, keep a close eye on me!” Carl called.
Heled his party to the very peak of the overpass. The two men drew farther and farther away until a quick glance told Carl they had given up and turned around. At least they could breathe a little easier.
Now on the overpass’s highest point, Carl could see down the other side. The slope all the way to the ground was thankfully free of human beings. Unfortunately, the highway approaching the start of the incline was not.
“Damn.” Carl turned to Tara. Her binoculars still were dangling around her neck. “Binoculars, quick.”
Tara complied. Carl took a look at the new approaching mass of people. Unlike the bunch on the other side of the highway, this one looked a lot meaner. The group consisted of young men with torn clothing. A few of them wore makeshift bandages made of rags or T-shirts around their legs or arms, possibly to dress up wounds. Some of them carried rifles, while others lugged gardening hoes, shovels, baseball bats, and one of them swung around a hockey stick. Any of those objects could be used as a blunt force weapon.
“Anarchists,” Carl said, “And they’re headed this way. They’re not on the overpass yet, but they soon will be.”
“What? What is it?” Preston then yanked off his hood. “What’s coming?” He then let out a yelp of shock as he took in his surroundings. He nearly fell over before Tara caught and steadied him.
“Moron!” Tara grabbed the hood and shoved it back over his head. “I told you to keep your peepers covered!”
“What do we do?” Shyanne asked.
Carl didn’t want to mess around with those other men, yet confronting them might be a preferable solution if they went back the other way and ran into them. At least Carl’s party had the advantage of numbers compared to the approaching mob.
As he panned back toward the overpass with the binoculars, he spotted an off-ramp on the right-hand side. Not too far away lay a stalled pickup truck, and it was pointed right at the turnoff from the overpass to the off-ramp. Suddenly, a plan started to form. It was reckless, dangerous, but it might just work.
He handed the binoculars back to Tara. “We’re getting the hell off here. Follow me.”
Carl dashed toward the truck as fast as he could while holding Shyanne. Unfortunately, Tara was lagging as she was running while clutching Preston’s right arm. The young man still had to keep his hood on to function.
Their flight took them closer and closer to the truck. Unfortunately, the mob was approaching just as quickly. By now the group of anarchists had crossed onto the overpass and was marching up the incline, so there was no hope of getting off the overpass by that route. This off-ramp was their best chance.
Unfortunately, events were not going in their favor. Carl reached the truck, but Tara and Preston remained a good yard behind him. Each second brought the mob that much closer. Carl would have to act fast.
After putting down Shyanne, he pulled on the driver’s side door. It was unlocked. Good. The vehicle’s driver likely had fled when he realized his vehicle wouldn’t start. He yanked it open. “In, now.”
Shyanne jumped and crawled onto the passenger’s side seat. “But you said cars won’t start anymore.”
“It won’t, but we don’t need it to.” Carl then looked for a gear shift. It still was in park. “We’re
on a slope. That means wheels naturally will slide down it. You stay over there.”
Carl then jumped out. Preston and Tara just had reached the truck’s rear bumper. “Hurry, get in!” He grabbed Preston by the shoulders, breaking him free of Tara’s grasp, and ushered him into the truck. “Tara, you’re driving!”
“I’m what?” Tara asked as she followed Preston.
“Give me your rifle.” Carl then took the rifle off Tara’s back without waiting for her to hand it over. “When I say go, shift the truck out of park. Steer it down the ramp. I’m going to give you a push!”
Tara hopped into the driver’s seat. “But what are you going to do?”
“I’ll be guarding your asses.” With the rifle slung over his shoulder, Carl raced to the tailgate of the truck. By now the mob was just a few feet away. Some of the men were pointing in his direction and shouting.
Carl pressed his body against the back of the truck. “Go!” he shouted.
Chapter Seventeen
Tara grabbed the gearshift and pulled it into drive. At the same time, Carl pushed hard on the truck. The vehicle’s wheels started turning. The force of gravity exerted by the incline already was claiming the vehicle.
Carl kept pushing until he was sure the truck had momentum. Tara gripped the wheel, ready to make a turn as soon as the truck hit the curve on the off-ramp.
One of the mob, a young man with a torn T-shirt, dashed up to the descending truck and Carl. “Hey man, what’s the deal? How are you doing that?”
“It’s magic,” Carl said quickly, with a little disdain for the man’s intelligence. Surely that man had to be familiar with pushing a stalled vehicle that was no longer in park.
By now the first wave of the mob had reached the overpass turnoff, but it was too late for them to stop the vehicle. The truck was already onto the ramp itself, so there was no way for any of the anarchists to jump in front of it.
A second man, shorter but with bigger muscles than the first one, jabbed a finger at Carl. “Hey, whatcha got in there? Any food? Women?”
Carl had no patience for all of this nonsense. These men would not listen to any pleas for reason. He simply punched the guy in the face to get him out of his way. Then he grabbed onto the truck’s tailgate and hoisted himself up onto the truck’s bed.
By now the mob was shouting curses at him. One of them threw an empty beer bottle. It missed Carl, but struck the back of the truck’s cab. Thankfully, it didn’t crack the glass. A few more came close enough to bang the sides of the truck bed with their clubs, but as the truck rolled down the ramp, most of the men backed off.
Carl’s blood boiled. “Don’t you assholes have anything better to do?” he screamed. But they would not listen. These people were the likely inheritors of this city. They would pillage at their own pleasure.
One of the men raised a rifle. Carl quickly drew his own weapon, but pointed it to the sky. If they were living under the law of the jungle now, so be it. Carl just would have to show he was the alpha animal here. He fired once into the sky, then shouted, “Get back! Get back! Get back!”
As the truck continued rolling down the ramp, Carl silently prayed the mob would be intimidated enough by his show of force to stop pursuing.
Fortunately, Carl’s display seemed to knock some sense into them, or at least turned on their survival instincts. The mob stopped and started pulling back onto the overpass. With each second, the gap between the truck and the mob grew wider. Still, Carl now turned his rifle toward the mob as a final display of force.
Carl’s message was simple, if you try anything, my gun barrel’s ready to blow your ass away.
Inside the truck, Tara’s nerves jumped when she heard Carl squeeze off the shot. She feared a melee of bullets would be headed their way. But the expected onslaught never occurred. A quick look in the rearview mirror told her the mob was backing off.
Shyanne was nestled between her and Preston. Tara had insisted on that. She didn’t want the child to be near any of the doors. In the event the mob did open fire, she or Preston would be the first in the path of any bullets before they could get to Shyanne.
The truck neared a point where the ramp curved. Tara turned the wheel right. The vehicle made the turn, but not perfectly. The left corner scraped the concrete barrier, but otherwise the truck kept going. Fortunately, the ramp continued on a straight incline for a few more yards until the next curve appeared.
“C’mon baby,” Tara said to the truck, “Keep going. Keep going.”
The truck picked up speed again. Tara’s knuckled tensed up. That turn coming up looked pretty sharp. As they approached, she pumped the brakes. But the truck wasn’t slowing fast enough.
“Damn!” She pumped harder. It worked. The truck slowed, but not enough to avoid hitting the concrete barrier again as it turned.
This time she heard a thud in the truck’s bed. She looked in the rearview mirror, but couldn’t spot Carl. “Preston! What happened to Carl?”
“I see him!” Preston had been keeping a watch on the scene behind them through the cab’s rear window. “He just fell over in the truck bed, but he’s okay. He’s sitting up and taking aim behind us.”
“Damn this thing,” Tara said as she steered the truck fully onto the next leg of the ramp. “The brakes are about maybe half of what they should be.”
She realized that without power, this truck’s power brakes were shut off. That meant Tara had no assistance from the vehicle’s electricity to suddenly slow down the vehicle. She’d really have to put her foot into it to cut their velocity.
All of a sudden, a beer bottle splattered onto her windshield. This bottle was also half-full of beer, and the liquid spilled all over the glass. “Shit!” Tara cried. Shyanne screamed as the bottle hit.
Preston looked through the right-side window. “They’re pelting us with garbage!”
Tara turned the windshield wiper switch, only to curse herself for forgetting that the damn thing didn’t work any longer. Fortunately, the truck’s driver’s side door window was hand cranked. She quickly turned it down to try seeing what was going on outside.
Bottles, rocks, nails, plastic cups and a few wooden bats rained down on them from above. The mob was no longer chasing them, but they weren’t letting them go without venting their frustration. Carl, in the truck bed, responded by firing off another shot, this time directly up at the mob.
Carl’s bullet must have hit the mark, for a man dropped down off the overpass and crashed into the grass beyond the ramp. The barrage of trash abruptly ceased.
Unfortunately, the smeared beer on the windshield distorted too much of Tara’s view of the road. It appeared as if a strange blob in the distance was headed their way. Tara looked out the open driver’s side window to take in a good look of what was ahead of them. However, it was too late. The ramp finally hit an embankment and leveled off, but it also turned sharply to the right.
Tara was not able to steer in time. The truck sped off the ramp and into the grass. The vehicle started slowing down, but another obstacle awaited them—a chain link fence separating a strip mall from the grassy area, likely the “blob” Tara had seen in the beer-soaked windshield.
Quickly, Tara slammed on the brakes, but to her horror, the truck wasn’t slowing fast enough. She hit the brakes harder. She got in one good push on the pedal before the truck struck the fence.
The sudden impact slammed Tara and Preston against the dashboard. Shyanne was securely tucked in between the two adults and did not get jostled much at all. Instead she just screamed from the shock of the impact.
The three of them panted loudly. Tara patted her chest. Nothing hurt. Her heart just was racing a mile a minute. “Everyone okay? Anyone hurt?”
Preston coughed. “I’m just winded.”
Tara looked down at Shyanne. “What about you, baby?”
The girl’s breathing slowed. “I’m okay.” She looked around. “What happened?”
Tara pushed the door open. “I thi
nk we hit the fence.” Then she jumped out the door. Her first thought was of Carl. What did the impact do to him?
She took a quick peek in the truck bed. Carl wasn’t in it. She worried he had been thrown off the truck. Then she noticed him on the grass, on his knees. “Sergeant!” she cried out.
“Easy.” Carl climbed to his feet. “I’m okay.” He brushed grass off his pants. “I saw you heading for the fence and I bailed out. Don’t worry, you weren’t going as fast as you thought.” Then he patted his chest. “And it’s Carl, remember?”
Tara nodded. “Sorry.”
Carl jogged over to the front of the vehicle. Shyanne already was climbing out. “Hey!” Carl reached down and hugged her. “Did you have a fun ride?”
Shyanne laughed. “Not when they were throwing trash at us.”
“Yeah.” Carl turned and gazed at the overpass, which now was high above their heads and a good distance away.
The mob remained up top. They had not decided to pursue them down the ramp, and they seemed to have lost interest in Carl and his party. As for the truck, it had rammed through the chain link fence and broke it open in one spot, leaving a gap easily big enough for a person to walk through.
Preston also disembarked from the vehicle, pulling off the jacket Tara had given him. Then he let out an anguished breath. “Earth.” He leaned against the truck, the exhaustion of the overpass ordeal finally catching up to him. “Ground. Solid ground.”
Carl decided to give Preston a moment to recuperate. There didn’t seem to be any immediate dangers around so far. His only disappointment thus far was their detour had taken them far from the community of survivors down Earhart. Now they were on the other side of the overpass, and with the anarchists still up there, using it to resume their course out of the city was not an option.
Meanwhile, Preston had gathered enough of his wits to stand up straight. Then he noticed Tara and approached her, jacket in hand. “Here. Thanks for letting me use this,” he said softly.
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