Riders of the Apocalypse (Book 2): Burning Rubber

by Alex Westmore

  She wished she could protect Luke right now. “Come on, Lucas Scott, where are you?”

  Hearing footsteps, she turned to find Einstein. “Got it.”

  She nodded, glad for the distraction. “Let’s hear it.”

  “Well, I found a channel where a Brit and a German were playing chess, so the conversation alternates from chess to what happened today.”

  “Uh huh.” Butcher was only half listening as she stared at the ship.

  “The Brit laughingly said how foolish it had been for the Japanese to send their men out, but they heard from a Brit today who said it was much warmer in the Pacific and he was pissed he didn’t get to go. The German guy agreed and said he was…surprised, I think. His accent was pretty thick. Anyway, I guess he was surprised the Japanese hadn’t pulled out sooner. I guess other nations pulled their guys when some new war broke out in Serbia or Syria or someplace. I only caught the S.”

  “So he admitted the crews in most of the ships are minimal.”

  Einstein shrugged. “No, he said it was a rumor, but Luke and I can confirm that rumor on the Japanese ship for sure. It was like a ghost ship. We ran into only one guy. One guy, Butcher.”

  “Really? One guy?”

  “Yeah. We killed him.”

  “I see. Anything else?”

  Einstein consulted his notes. “Yeah. Here’s the interesting part. The Brit was talking about missing his family and how he hoped the U.N. would hurry up and allow the Chinese to test their bioweapon.”

  Butcher slowly turned. “What kind of bioweapon?”

  He shrugged. “They didn’t go into it, but both men said they were looking forward to this being over and hoped the Chinese had created a weapon that would finally work.”

  “They must have meant—” Before she could finish, a huge explosion rocked them off their feet. “Holy sh—” More explosions filled the night air as Butcher rose to her feet and looked through her binoculars. `”Oh. My. God.”

  Einstein rose to his knees and looked over the railing at the orange balls of flame shooting straight up from the Japanese ship.

  More explosions ensued, and by this time, the waves began slapping against the sides of The Survivor, rocking it back and forth.

  “What’s going on?” Someone asked as everyone filed out onto the deck. Murmurs of conjecture filed the air.

  There was a final explosion and a loud groaning sound as the ship began breaking apart. People whispered in hushed tones as they watched the orange flaming vessel slowly list to one side.

  Butcher watched it all through her binoculars, muttering, “Oh Luke, what have you done?”

  “He blew it to smithereens,” Einstein answered softly. “I can’t believe he did that. Why would he do that?”

  Butcher knew why: he was sending a message to the global guardians that the Americans weren’t out of the race just yet. He was letting them know they had underestimated the fortitude of the American people, taking the game to them to see where the rest of the world stood. “Okay everyone, everything is okay. Please go back to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow. We’ll debrief what that was all about in the morning.”

  When everyone went below, Butcher reached for Einstein’s hand. They stood there like that for a long time, just staring at the sinking ship.

  “You think he made it off the ship?” Einstein asked.

  Butcher kept her eyes on the water between them and the listing ship. “He sure as shit better have.”

  With thirty miles to go to Angola, Dallas’s group came to a roadblock made with two lines of cars and cinder blocks that stretched from one embankment to another.

  Stopping a hundred yards before it, Dallas asked Roper for her thoughts.

  “We could detour around it—but we’re much safer staying away from towns—or we could go right through it and hope the bus makes it without too much damage.”

  “Collateral damage.” Ferdie offered from the back. “We could also leave the bus here and see what they want.”

  “They’ll want the Fuchs.”

  “And maybe the women.” This came from a woman named Jamie, who came to them just before they shoved off. Only under the cover of darkness did this woman feel comfortable enough to finally admit who and what she was.

  Roper leaned into the back. “Why would you say that?”

  “Besides food and weapons, what men are eventually going to want and need is women. If we are to continue on, reproduction is mandatory. Who knows how long those other countries plan on containing us?”

  Roper nodded. “Where you from, Jamie?”

  “Santa Cruz, California. I am…was…a professor of gender studies at the university there. Trust me. When a society collapses and there is no one to keep the men tame, they will resort to their most primal state. They will start seeing women as trophies, as something to be hunted. Their innate brutishness will emerge and they will feel the fear of extinction. This fear will drive them to enslave women once more. This does not bode well for our gender, especially since the majority here now are not interested in the big salami.”

  “She’s got a point,” Roper said to Dallas. “I’d never thought of it that way, but we’re really at risk.”

  “Well, whatever the reason, putting up a road block is a desperate and overtly hostile move that gives away their intentions.” Turning the Fuchs off, Dallas unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to address the group.

  “I’m not inclined to go around. The longer we are on the road, the more dangerous it is for those in the bus. So, here are my thoughts. Feel free to chime in if you have an opinion.” She pointed to the middle of the roadblock. “I think if we plow through that line and take out everyone we can, we could get to the other side and finish off anyone still standing. Then we can assist the bus in getting through.”

  “You don’t want to give diplomacy a try?” Ferdie asked.

  Dallas shook her head. “That would merely give them a hostage, and we can’t afford that. No, we need to hit them hard and fast. Churchill, you take the turret. Ferdie, you and Hole take the portcullis. Jamie, you take the back of the Beast and let the guys know if there are any issues behind us. Everyone shoot sparingly but well.” To Roper she said, “Would you tell Zoe what the plan is? Make sure they watch their flank. If they get into trouble, tell her to come through the roadblock hole we create and not to stop. Be sure Fletcher is ready.” Dallas felt a line of sweat trickle down her back. “We have to keep that bus full of people safe.”

  Roper grabbed her rifle. “No heroes, okay?” Then she jumped out and ran back to the bus.

  “Just seems a shame to have to kill other survivors,” Jamie said softly. “But when you’re in a Lord of the Flies scenario, man’s baseness rises to the top like soured milk. They want what we have and will do whatever they can to get it.”

  Dallas checked her ammo as Churchill waited at the bottom of the turret ladder. “Which is why we will do whatever we have to do to keep it.” Dallas counted eight men posted in front of the roadblock. “They’re obviously not afraid of a horde since there are at least eight well- armed men waiting near the blockade.”

  “Maybe they already cleared them out.”

  “Maybe.”

  “We can take out eight guys, no problem.”

  Dallas shook her head. “There’s only eight you can see. We’re going to have to be ready for anything. Assume there are sixteen more behind them.”

  Jamie peered through the small window. “No zombies anywhere. Given that there are so few vehicles on the road these days, I’d guess they knew we were coming.”

  Dallas and Churchill exchanged glances. “She’s right. They must have a look out post somewhere.”

  “I got us covered,” Churchill said, climbing up the ladder. “Just say the word.”

  “What does that mean to us?” Jamie asked.

  Before Dallas could answer, Roper hopped back into the cab. “They’re ready.”

  “All right everyone, hold tight.” Shoving
the Fuchs into first gear, Dallas laid on the pedal.

  The moment the Fuchs sliced through the barricade, Dallas had to slam on the brakes to avoid crashing into a huge steamroller parked twenty yards from the barricade. The Fuchs fishtailed and jostled everyone around, but she managed to miss the steamroller by a few feet.

  “Holy shit!” someone shouted.

  As she started backing up, she looked out the side view mirrors just as a dump truck pulled in behind her, blocking off the hole she’d just created, hemming her in and keeping the bus on the outside. “Damn it! Fire away, Churchill!”

  Not a shot was fired.

  “Churchill?”

  “Oh fuck,” he cursed, coming down the ladder and locking the hatch. “There’s no one to shoot at. They’re going after the bus in a military vehicle of some sort.”

  Dallas took off up the ladder and watched helplessly as a second vehicle making its way for the bus joined the eight men. “Churchill, cover us.”

  “Cover you? Are you insane?”

  “Yeah. Roper, Ferdie, and I are going to defend that bus.”

  By the time the three left the Fuchs, several of the hostiles lay on the ground, victims of arrows or bolts from Fletcher and Hunter.

  This did nothing to stop the fifteen or sixteen men and women rushing from the first transport toward the bus screaming like banshees and waving weapons in the air.

  Roper knelt down and took aim to wipe out one from the left hand side, but she never got a round off. Three women piled out of a van wedged in the roadblock wielding baseball bats and screaming like wild creatures.

  The first woman swung her bat and knocked Roper’s rifle from her hands. Before the woman could swing a second time, Roper jammed a forearm into her throat and shoved her away, the bat clattering to the dirty street below. As Roper reached for her battered rifle, a second woman wielding a tire iron screeched while running forward, whipping the weapon back and forth as she made her way toward Roper.

  Torn between letting the first woman go and reaching for her rifle, Roper slammed her fist into the first woman’s face, her nose making a cracking sound like a walnut beneath the tire of a car.

  Before Roper could get to her rifle, Dallas shot the second woman through the back of the head, but not before a third woman brought a meat cleaver down on Dallas’s forearm, cutting through her shirt and slicing into her flesh. Blood spurt out of the gash, making Dallas drop the rifle so she could slam her hand down on the seven-inch gash pouring blood into the fabric of her shirtsleeve. “God damn it... son of a bitch!”

  The woman raised her butcher knife to deal a death blow to Dallas, but Ferdie popped the knife-wielder in the face with his gun, whipped it around, and then shot a fourth woman making her way out of the van, blowing off the left side of her face.

  She hit the dusty road, screams still caught in her throat.

  “Motherfucker!” Ferdie yelled, shooting all four women again just to make sure they were truly dead.

  All the while, the hostiles closed in on the bus, taking shots at Fletcher and Hunter, who were pulling and shooting arrows and bolts like two machines, taking out nearly every target they shot at. Their targets were shooting only at the men in their group.

  That was when Dallas realized how right Jamie had been. These people didn’t want the Fuchs. They wanted their women, and the man nearest them was taking pot shots at Hunter.

  Pulling the butcher knife from the hand of the dead woman, Dallas cried out before leaping over the dead women and cleaving a guy’s head in two. He dropped like a rock.

  “You okay?” she asked Roper, who took off her belt and wound it around Dallas’ upper arm.

  “Better than you.” Tightening the belt, Roper looked into Dallas’s pale face. “You’re out. Go to the Fuchs and send Churchill.”

  Dallas shook her head. “I’m fine. I—”

  “It wasn’t a suggestion. Go. You’re out. Get Jamie to patch you up. This is really deep.” She leveled her gaze at Dallas. “Now.”

  Looking down at her bloody arm, Dallas nodded. “Ferdie, get that dump truck out of the way!”

  Ferdie nodded and started for the truck, fighting off two hostiles along the way.

  Roper climbed onto the roof of one of the cars and took aim. She killed two outlaws with three shots. Lowering her gun, she knew they wouldn’t be able to keep the marauders off before one of their people was dragged off it or worse.

  The bus suddenly lurched backward as Zoe threw the yellow vehicle into a hard reverse. She wasn’t going to stand still and let these hoodlums take her ride.

  Fletcher and Hunter kept firing, but the movement of the bus knocked them both forward, allowing the group of men to close in.

  “Shit,” Roper said, shooting off errant shots. “Come on!” As she took off, Ferdie and Churchill were right behind her. “Keep shooting!” she yelled, pulling her sidearm and shooting in the direction of the raiders.

  As three returned fire, she knew they were doomed. There were simply too many, and the bus’s reverse speed was too slow. They would catch up to Zoe sooner rather than later.

  “Stop and aim! Stop and aim!” Seeing they were close enough, Roper dropped to one knee, took a deep breath and fired, taking out a heavyset man with a bullet through the neck.

  Just as Fletcher and Hunter regained their footing, Zoe pulled forward, nearly running over two men who had reached the accordion doors. She was doing everything she could to keep the men from gaining access to the bus, but it was a battle she was going to lose.

  That was when Roper saw it.

  A black minivan came barreling out of nowhere and sped around the bus, kicking up dirt and sand like a dust devil.

  “Get down!” Roper yelled, dropping to her belly.

  The car had three rifles sticking out the left hand side window, and they easily picked off any aggressors within range, dropping half a dozen in the blink of an eye with heavy machine gun artillery.

  “Cover them!” Roper yelled, going up on one knee. She sighted one man aiming at the black van, so she slowly squeezed the trigger and sent him to his death. Her ammo was running low but they couldn’t afford to have her out of the game.

  Churchill managed to take another out, and by the time Fletcher and Hunter regained their footing, the outlaws turned tail, running back into Roper’s fire where her people mowed them down one by one.

  Shots were being fired everywhere. It was mass confusion. Dozens of rifles fired, resulting in plenty of death. Once the smoke cleared, the people in the black van withdrew their rifles and drove right up to Roper, who kept her rifle trained on them.

  When the door opened, Z.Z. Top got out with his hands up.

  “You?” Roper asked, lowering her rifle. “Well, this is quite a surprise.”

  “We took a vote, ma’am, and my guys outvoted me. We’d like to join up with you.”

  “And not a moment too soon,” Churchill muttered.

  Roper raised her weapon and shot a hostile who was trying to get up. She made sure he was truly dead.

  “Looks like a good thing, too,” Z.Z. Top continued. “This thing was turning ugly fast.”

  Dallas appeared from the Fuchs, her arm bandaged up. “Henry?”

  He bowed. “At your service, ma’am.”

  She extended her left hand to him. “I owe you a debt of thanks.” Before he replied, there came a THWUP sound, followed by a thud of a body falling on a car hood.

  “Mind if we get to a safer area?” Dallas asked.

  “Right behind the bus, ma’am.”

  Ten minutes later, Roper pulled the Fuchs over, and the bus and the black van pulled over, too. People spilled out of all vehicles, hugging, crying. A couple vomited. Everyone chattered about. A few tried coming to Dallas, but Churchill waved them off.

  Fletcher and Hunter stood at the ready, and Roper saluted them when they made eye contact. Both father and son saluted her back.

  Their group had suffered two casualties besides Dallas�
�s forearm and a small gash on Hunter’s forehead from falling forward. One young kid took a bullet through his shoulder, and a woman sprained her wrist falling forward when the bus lurched..

  When one survivor from the bus told Dallas about the wounded, she sent them to Jamie to be tended to.

  “Mind if we have a word?” Henry asked when she exited the bus.

  Henry and Dallas walked out into a field while Roper and the others calmed the bus riders.

  “Thank you so much,” Dallas said softly. “That ambush—”

  “Came outta nowhere like they always do. No worries, ma’am. Like I said, my fellers outvoted me. They like the idea of fighting, and they’re pretty damn good at it.”

  Dallas watched the small red dot beneath the gauze slowly spread. She’d already lost a lot of blood and was beginning to feel the effects as her vision blurred and her legs felt like soggy noodles. “And you don’t?”

  Henry grinned, though it was barely visible through his beard. “Well, to be honest, I didn’t see them capable of following a woman. Lotta guys are still set their old ways.”

  “And they aren’t?” Dallas blinked several times to focus.

  He shrugged. “They wanted to come, Dallas, and join you and your folks. If you’re amenable to that, I reckon we’ll find out soon enough.”

  “We need good fighters who can follow orders and work as a team.”

  Henry beckoned for his men to come over. They did, along with Churchill, Ferdie, and Zoe, who brought up the rear. “Fellas, ya’ll voted to come to Angola with Dallas and her crew. Dallas, these are my cousins, Otis, Kevin, JP, and Frankie.”

  Dallas shook each extended hand with her left hand. “Thank you for helping us out here.”

  Otis took his filthy John Deere baseball cap off his head. He was bald. “Ma’am, we seen you fight. You got a warrior’s spirit for sure. You managed to get your hands on that Fuchs, your people are disciplined and trained good, and we’d like to start killing these things. I can follow a good leader. Don’t matter what body parts ya got.”

  Dallas smiled slightly. “Excellent. Let me just say, if you think or have any notion about taking the Fuchs from us, there’s already a whole trail of dead bodies who have tried.”