Pedal to the Metal (Riders of the Apocalypse Book 4)

by Alex Westmore

  “The writing’s on the wall,” Einstein interjected. “We are all screwed unless somebody can stop them.”

  Dallas held up her hand to silence everyone. “First things first, please. To start, this is important information everyone should hear. Also, thank you so much for defending our people again. If you would still like a place among us, we would be more than happy to have you join us.”

  Roper’s head swiveled around. “Dal––”

  Dallas held her hand up. “We decided long ago this isn’t a democracy. I think the least we can do is give them a place to belong.”

  “And what about their suits?”

  “Keep ‘em. Who knows when we might need them?”

  “They’ll need to disarm the radios, though, Dallas. That’s how these two found us even after a detour.”

  “We can do that.”

  “Excellent. Then you both are welcome to come to San Francisco with us.”

  Akiko frowned. “San Francisco? Why in the world would you choose to go there when it is overrun with zombies, marauders, and probably cannibals?”

  Dallas grinned. “We’re starting a new life in an old prison...Alcatraz.”

  Dallas stood still, listening keenly for the telltale sounds of the living dead. The hordes had continued moving eastward, and the further west Dallas’s group had traveled, the fewer man eaters they’d encountered.

  That was a good thing, right?

  Dallas rubbed the back of her neck with her free hand. This was the first real break from the group she’d had in a long time and it felt good to be alone with her thoughts, even if it was just for the moment.

  As the hordes gathered steam and momentum, they moved like a magnet through metal slivers, each sliver clinging to the group as a whole, thereby clearing whole cities and towns of the monsters.

  The strays which now lingered––those undead who were locked in a room or caught on a fence, or trapped in a car––they were the ones who could start the process all over again if they bit someone.

  A snap of a twig made Dallas pull her machete out and wait.

  There would be no moaning. They moaned when food was near and Dallas wasn’t that. She was too far outside the campgrounds for the lone man eater to know there was food nearby.

  “Come on, mother fucker,” she growled, waiting with both hands on the handle of her blade.

  One zombie could start the apocalypse all over again. One bite could lead to five or ten, or fifteen more.

  It could happen that quickly.

  She wouldn’t let it.

  Stepping out from the darkness of the shadows, she swung her machete like a bat, severing the head from the body, which crumpled to the ground, black goo gurgling from the open neck.

  “Not tonight,” she whispered, wiping off her blade but keeping the machete out.

  “Nice kill.” Dallas turned to find Roper hanging back in the shadows. “That looked personal.”

  Dallas shrugged. “Aren’t they all?”

  Roper threaded her arms around Dallas’s waist and pulled her closer. “What’s going on in that head of yours? You’ve been so edgy lately.”

  Dallas closed her eyes to enjoy the nanosecond of peace that rarely stayed. “You all question my motives for keeping those two. You took off to rescue people we don’t know and don’t care about. I seem to be losing my leadership grip. I don’t know. Maybe I ought to step down or something.”

  Roper let the rhetorical statement float in the air a moment. “There’s no stepping down, lover. You are our leader plain and simple. But lately…” She shook her head. “I don’t know. It’s like you’ve changed your mind. Like you’ve shifted gears.”

  “Maybe I have. Maybe, when I look at Luke and wonder if he is dead or alive, or when I look at Egypt’s chubby little face, all I want is for our people to find some place to live out the rest of our lives. Maybe, in the end, it’s not really our job to save this fucked up country.”

  “So you want to give up.”

  “No. Not give up. Change directions. Stop caring about saving the masses. I just want us to worry about the family we have here. Is that so wrong?”

  Roper kissed her softly. “Not at all, but you might want to let us all in on your thoughts because frankly, love, I’m having a hard time following them. You want to take care of our people, but then you let in two of the hazmatters.”

  “They’re snipers, Roper, and they are incredibly proficient. We have no one who can handle a ranged weapon like they can. No one. Akiko sewed up Fletcher as if he was in the ER. Don’t you think our group is made stronger by having them in it?”

  Roper pulled away and looked at Dallas’s moonlit face. “If they are, in fact, who they say they are, then yes, but damn it, Dallas, you’re all over the charts. I can’t keep up.”

  “They didn’t have to help us, but they did. Twice. What you see as inconsistency is actually part of my plan. I’ve decided that we will take only those people who make us stronger. Better. We’re done carrying dead weight around.”

  Roper pulled back. “Dead weight? Honey, do you even hear yourself? You sound more like…well….oh fuck it…more like me!”

  Dallas sat cross-legged on the hard ground. “Look, we came out west because we had a plan to make a living, a home on Alcatraz. It was a solid plan––a good plan––but we have to drop back and punt now. Everything has changed. Everything. Can’t you see that?”

  Roper leapt to her feet. “Of course I see that, but you’ve not bothered to share any of this with anybody. If our goal has changed, you better step up and let everyone know, because we’re all expecting to land in Alcatraz to start a new life. We’re still going there, right?”

  Dallas nodded. “Yes, we are, but I’m suggesting that the game is over. The Asians have the technology, the man power, the money, and the weapons to come in here and do precisely what Akiko says they want to do. Fighting for our country when we were fighting brainless man eaters was one thing, but fighting this Asian Nation is an automatic L in the ‘Loss’ column. We can’t do it. Besides, we have a greater obligation to our unit here than we do to the rest of this country. I won’t stay and be made a slave any more than I’ll watch the rest of us made into one.”

  “We are this country now. Us. We and other pockets of resistance are the only thing between the Asian Nation and what’s left of ours.” Roper picked up a rock and chucked it.

  Dallas remained standing. “Do you hear yourself? Pockets of resistance? Now is not the time for abject patriotism. You heard them. We are disdained by a world that probably threw a going-away party for us when the virus broke out. This isn’t about gay or straight anymore. It’s about the rest of the world turning its back on the good old US of A and tossing our carcass to the Japanese. I don’t want to be a part of their New World Order. They’re no different than the Jethros and Bubbas. They just have cooler suits and better weapons.”

  “Just when we got more rights, the shit hit the fan, but we gained those rights, love. Now, a whole new terror against our people is being unleashed against us and you want to run from it?” She picked up another rock.

  “Roper, I’m tired. We’re all bone weary. Surviving day in and day out is crushing the life from us. Don’t ask us to fight another enemy. Don’t ask us to face nations who still perpetrate human rights violations. I just don’t think we have it in us.”

  “You disappoint me, love. You, of all people, know how bad this is going to be for gay and lesbian Americans. How can you so easily turn your back on us? How can you just walk away?”

  Dallas shook her head. “Wrong us, lover. The us I would die for are those people sleeping near the Fuchs. That’s the only us I recognize now––the only us that matters.” She poked Roper in the chest with her index finger. “I’d eat hot coals to protect you…them…all of us. There is nothing I wouldn’t do or sacrifice to make sure we all see another day, but this fight? It’s not our battle, sweetheart. This is for what’s left of our military. The way
I see it, my only job now is to keep us alive. Everyone else? Well, they’re on their own.”

  Roper put the rock down. “So we’re still going to Alcatraz. To do what?”

  Taking her hands, Dallas pulled Roper closer. “To figure out a way out of here.”

  Dallas’s Journal

  She’s always been a fighter, this lover of mine. I knew that the moment I met her, with her rope hanging from her belt like Barbara Stanwyck, her childhood idol in Big Valley. I think the moment I fell in love with her was when I watched her walk precariously across a steel beam over the Bay Bridge.

  My girl was fearless back then.

  After all we’ve been through, she still is.

  I wasn’t surprised she had decided to go in after those prisoners. It’s usually how she operates. Her knee jerk reactions scare me some times, but it’s who she is, and I love her all the more for it. She’s a fighter––I’ll give her that, so I am not the least bit surprised that she wants to keep fighting.

  But for what?

  There comes a time in every soldier’s life when you realize you are overrun and outgunned, when you know when to fold ‘em, and I think that time has come. We cannot possibly hope to win. Hell, we don’t even know who’s on our side anymore.

  After Roper stormed off, we had an impromptu meeting with all of us. I was amazed my people preferred escaping to fighting. We lost three lives last night…killed by marauder bullets. Killed for no damn good reason.

  My family is weary and exhausted from the trek across the country. They’ve now heard, firsthand, how the rest of the world hates the United States. We are no longer Americans fighting the undead to reclaim our lives; we are a group of survivors who for the first time, I think, realize we need to find a new place to call home.

  So I let Roper speak her piece to see whether or not the majority of the group wished to stay and fight or consider making a move away from this bloody mess.

  Not one person sided with her.

  Not one.

  And I, for one, was thrilled.

  I wouldn’t call it a test, but I guess that’s pretty much what it was. I needed to push them hard enough to really see where their hearts were, and their hearts aren’t into fighting any longer.

  Who can blame them? We’re nobody’s heroes. We just want to find a place where we can sleep through the night without fear. We need a day, a week, a month of not having to constantly fight.

  This is a vital piece of information to know because when people are weary of fighting, they make mistakes…they cause others to get hurt or die.

  They die.

  I’ve dragged this poor group of ragtag survivors all over hell and back. I’ve made promises I’m unsure I can keep. I’ve sacrificed lives, my own principles, and quite possibly my soul to keep these people alive. To ask them once more to mount an offensive against a foreign invasion was too much even for me.

  I knew they’d do it if I asked.

  I didn’t have the heart to. We’ve been fighting non-stop for over a year. Even in Angola, we still had to fight.

  Angola, an island in a blood-red sea of carnage. Thousands have been saved there––thousands more will be as well. Of that, I am sure. I am proud of what we’ve done and want to be able to replicate that success on Alcatraz. I just needed to know if they were willing, once more, to go after the big game or to hunker down and wait for the right time to get the hell out of here.

  Message received loud and clear.

  They want to rest, to regroup, and then to find a way to escape what’s coming.

  Because what’s coming for the U.S.is nothing short of Nazi work camps and oppression on the scale of pre-Civil War slavery.

  And not one of us believes America is worth saving.

  Just Roper, and even she finally shook her head and sat down.

  I guess that’s the reason we’d made it so far so fast. Somewhere along the way, we truly became a family, and now it’s up to me to get us the rest of the way up to Northern California and to Alcatraz. From there, we could make a plan to escape.

  While I am unsure of its sustainability, I know one thing for certain: once it is cleaned of zombies, it will be one of the safest places from which to launch our new lives. We may not be able to do it as one large group, but I am committed to getting as many of us out of this country as I can.

  Even if it kills me.

  Traveling north, they met with very little resistance. A couple of lone man eaters needed to become truly dead, but that was about it for adversaries.

  Dallas wondered if the Safe Zone in New England had fallen to the hazmatters or if it was even there.

  Along the way to the Safe Zone, many had stopped at Angola. Fewer left than came, having tired of risking everything on the roads for the uncertainly of government safety.

  Angola’s population had quadrupled since its reopening, and Dallas was pretty certain it was safer than the government Safe Zone. The prison had everything: a farm, cement walls, and protocols that people followed to keep everyone safe. It was her baby, and she was proud as hell of it.

  Dallas asked Roper, “Baby, you think the boys in Angola can fend off the Asians?”

  “Shit, yeah. They’ll crush them. Why? You’re not thinkin––”

  “Of going back? Not at all. I just...I miss everyone there, you know? I wish I knew that they could sustain an attack from a highly weaponized group like the A.N.”

  “Wendell and Elliott have that place running like clockwork. With the military might the President supplied, they’re pretty well-defended.” Roper took Dallas’s hands in hers. “What’s eating at you?”

  Dallas stared into her brown eyes. Her hair had a few more strands of gray in it––“stress gray” was how Butcher described it. It was why presidents aged so quickly while in office. “Once we get to Alcatraz, I want to get a plane up and running and send someone back to Angola to let them know we arrived safely and to see if there is anything we can do for them. I don’t want them to feel like we abandoned them.”

  Roper studied her lover’s face and reached up to run index finger over her eyebrow. “And then?”

  “I think there’s a reason the President wanted Angola, and I believe the A.N. is that reason. Why else would he have paid us a visit? What was he trying to see back then?”

  Roper kissed her softly. “Smart. I’ll bet you’re right.”

  “It’s the only explanation I can come up with as to why he sent troops to Angola and why he paid us a personal visit. He wanted to know how it was we made it all work.”

  “Yeah, that always bothered me. At first I thought he just wanted to keep an eye on us. Now, I think you might have hit the proverbial nail.”

  “If he knows what we were able to do in Angola, then he can fix his own fucking country. He doesn’t need us anymore.” Dallas watched an eagle fly overhead. “We set up shop in Alcatraz. Rest. Get healthier. Regroup. Then we head to some Pacific Island and see if we can make a living there.”

  “Guam, maybe?”

  “Maybe. It’s just a thought. I think we need to have options, and the first option is getting out of here. We don’t have to stay in Guam, but we can sure as hell use it to leapfrog to someplace better.”

  “What if the boys back in Angola want to come?”

  “They can start flying folks out here who want to join us. Only those we know, though. I don’t trust anyone else.”

  “And where are we getting this plane?”

  Dallas smiled. “Same place we’re getting the horses.”

  Roper perked up. “Livermore.”

  Bringing Roper’s hands to her lips, Dallas kissed each one. “That’s the plan. There’s that small airport off the freeway near the lab. We can check there for any planes we might be able to get running.”

  “It’s a brilliant idea, love, and letting others know they can still join us is perfect. We could use minds like Wendell’s.”

  Dallas turned. “I know you’d rather stay here and fight, lo
ve. Do you feel like a coward for leaving?”

  Roper laughed. “Me? Hell no. Next to you and Butcher, I’m the biggest bad ass there is. The group made it clear they are tired of fighting. I just appreciate the fact that you opened up a dialogue.”

  Dallas cocked her head. “You think Butcher is badder than you?”

  “Seriously? I can kill a lot of things and take a beating and a half, but cut your arm off without so much as a thought? Uh-uh. She wins by a long shot.”

  Dallas leaned over and kissed her. “A really long shot.”

  Roper’s Journal

  A thousand years ago, or so it seems, I left my four beautiful horses on a hillside overlooking the valley. As much as I’d wanted to bring them with us, there just wasn’t time or space. We had to leave them to their own devices. So, Dallas gave me time to put them out to pasture in an unfenced area of the hills in the hopes they could stay alive...in the outlandish hope that we might one day come back for them someday.

  Well, “someday” is coming…and that outlandish hope is more real than just an intangible dream.

  I’ve dreamt of that moment more times than I dare count––more times than was reasonable, given our situation.

  But I did.

  Maybe it was my faith in Dallas, or maybe it was my faith in the cosmos. I don’t know, but suddenly, here we were in the same vicinity that we dropped the horses off. This time in a far safer state than when we left.

  I’ll never, ever forget that day when we dropped them off for the last time.

  It nearly broke my heart into tiny pieces leaving them on the hills outside Livermore, California. They were my babies. We’d roped cattle, won rodeo awards, and solved most of life’s worries together on the many trails around the valley’s vineyards.