Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors (A Duck & Cover Adventure)

by Benjamin Wallace

  Years ago, the look on her face, like someone had pissed on her pony, would have stirred pangs of guilt. Years ago, there was no way he would have been able to raze a town or incarcerate innocent women and children. But, times had changed. He was not the man he was years ago.

  He smiled at the little girl who only stared back at him. “What’s your name, little girl?”

  The girl didn’t make a sound. She just stared at him with big eyes of innocence. He could feel the gaze pass his eye and peer deep inside him. There was a discomfort that he welcomed. Guilt had resurfaced. It was a terrifying and invigorating feeling. It quickly overcame him and he began to plead with the girl.

  “I’m doing this for your own good, sweetheart. The world is too dangerous. I’m taking you to a safer place.”

  Brown eyes stared back.

  The major grabbed the slat and pulled himself to the little girl’s level. “Can’t you see that?”

  The little girl, as cute as she was obnoxious, sighed and spoke, “I can see fine. You’re the one with only one eye.”

  The guilt ebbed and disappeared. He reached through the slats and tried to grab the little girl. She easily ducked the awkward grasp and backed away from his reach.

  “Get back here, you little brat. I’ll slap some respect into you.”

  A women’s face appeared before him. Throwing herself between the major and the little girl, she fumed at the one-eyed monster. “Don’t you talk to her like that, you bastard.”

  The major grabbed the woman by her hair and pulled her face into the grated wall so it was close to his.

  “Don’t you talk like that. This will be the last time I show compassion.” He pushed her back from the wall just far enough to slap her across the face. The woman shrieked and fell back. The brown-eyed little girl rushed to her and put her arms around her.

  He smiled at her again, but bared his teeth this time.

  “I hope someone kills you good,” said the little girl.

  The major laughed and walked back to the cab. He climbed inside and moments later the rig belched a fury of black exhaust. The chassis rumbled on the frame as the monstrous truck was forced into gear. Chains rattled as the four trailers joined the forward surge down the road to New Hope.

  TWENTY-NINE

  There was a rustling about the motor coach. It was still outside. The creatures that weren’t burning had fled. The raspy voiced continued.

  “You always did like that song, Librarian. You played it constantly, safe inside your little hole.”

  The voice seemed to come from all around them. Erica and the boys looked to Jerry. He wasn’t moving.

  “Jerry? Jerry?” Erica shook his shoulder. He remained still.

  The older boys saw this and clutched their weapons tight. Peering out the windows, they tried to spot the unseen enemy. They saw nothing.

  “And the louder I pounded on the door, the louder you would play your tunes, Librarian.”

  Austin crouched on the floor and felt secure in his bear suit.

  There was a violent rustling. The coach shook as vines quickly entangled the vehicle like tentacles, rushing across the windows as the structure of the vehicle creaked. Light faded in the cabin as the vines fully encompassed the coach.

  “Jerry?”

  There was no reaction.

  The movement of the vines continued. They were quick. Each moved so fast that detail was indistinguishable. Erica spun, looking from window to window for any indication of what was attacking them. She saw it.

  Its face dragged across a window of the Silver Lining. The skin was thick and brown as if grown of bark. The eyes were not lifeless like the other creatures; these eyes were sharp and darted back and forth scanning the interior looking for his prey.

  The voice spoke again, “Ah, it is you, Librarian. I never thought I’d see you again. We have so much catching up to do. Why don’t you come out?”

  Chewy bristled and began to bark.

  “And your little dog too. I’ve really missed him since that day.”

  This jarred Jerry from his frozen state.

  “We have nothing to talk about. We’re just passing through.”

  “Oh, I don’t think so, Librarian. This is my city. You saw to that. Didn’t you?”

  “You know that wasn’t my choice. The door was time locked.”

  The volume of the voice rose, but it still sounded faint, like a fierce burst of wind through a tree with only so many leaves to rustle, “Liar!”

  The motor coach rocked up on two wheels. It slammed back to the ground. The occupants were thrown off balance and each grasped for support.

  “You locked me out. You made me this. You took my humanity!”

  “There was nothing I could do,” Jerry pleaded. “I would have saved you if I could.”

  “You can’t save anybody, Librarian.”

  The window above the sofa shattered. Vines poured into the cabin. The thick roots moved like snakes and encircled Erica around the waist. She screamed as the vines ripped her from the vehicle.

  Jerry roared; rage filled his scream. He sprung from his seat and rushed to the rear door. It wouldn’t open. He threw his weight against it. It didn’t give. Vines held it shut.

  Frantic, he tore open a closet door. He grabbed a machete that lay on the floor and rushed back to the front of the motor home. He snatched the shotgun from Alex’s hand, crashed shoulder first through the windshield, and rolled into the street.

  Chewy scurried over the seats and through the broken glass after her friend and master.

  The creature had gotten bigger.

  When Jerry had first emerged from the shelter, the creature was little bigger than the man it had been. The transformation from man to plant had increased his bulk. Vines had only begun to sprout from his arms back then. Now they sprouted from his entire body and writhed like sentient creatures.

  The beast’s skin had been dry and scaly seven years ago. It had cracked and hardened a thousand times since that day to form a dense bark that appeared completely bulletproof. For every crack, the creature’s height and mass had increased.

  It stood twelve feet tall at what Jerry assumed was the shoulder; countless vines reached three times that into the air. The shape of the human that it had once been could barely be distinguished from the myriad vines.

  “There you are,” the beast rasped.

  Erica continued to scream. She tried to grab at the vines about her waist, but the violent thrashing forced her limbs to flail helplessly.

  “Put her down!”

  “Or what? You’ll read me a fairy tale?”

  Before he had tried to drown out the man’s constant pounding with music, and after he had pleaded with the man to find help elsewhere, Jerry had read to him from inside the shelter. He did this to calm a man he thought was dying, but the stories only caused the man to beat harder against the reinforced steel door.

  A vine wrapped around Jerry’s ankle. Jerry swung the machete and severed the vine.

  Chewy held several more vines at bay, catching the occasional growth in her jaws and tearing it to pieces.

  “I’ve got more vines than you have swings in your puny arms, Librarian.

  Jerry slid the machete into his belt and held up the shotgun. He charged towards the body of the creature firing into the mass of vines that tried to grab him. A substantial enough hit caused the vine to go limp. But there was always another to replace it.

  Jerry ran out of shells fast. He dropped the gun and drew the machete. Hacking his way closer to the body of the beast, he screamed as he sliced his way closer.

  One of the thicker vines struck him across the chest and drove him against the coach. He landed hard on his tailbone.

  “For six months I beat on that door and begged for you to let me in.”

  A second vine launched at him like a spear. Jerry fell out of the way. The vine grazed his cheek and embedded itself into the quarter panel.

  “But you were too scared to h
elp a fellow human.”

  Jerry regained his feet and charged again.

  Leaves and vines fell to the ground as he struck them. Hacking and chopping, he managed to kill several, but there were too many. He had not even come within striking distance of the creature’s body when several vines ensnared his feet and pulled him to the ground. He was overcome as countless more vines entwined his arms.

  “And, when you finally came out, what did you do? You tried to kill me. You caged me and left me to die.”

  Jerry struggled, “You tried to kill us first.”

  “You deserved it! Me? Not as much. Hadn’t I suffered enough?”

  Chewy rushed to aid the fallen nomad. The mighty dog tore at the vines that held her friend fast. Vines launched towards her and she was soon caught within the living jungle of the creature’s mutation.

  Jerry was lifted from the ground. He gripped the machete tight, but he could not move his arms. He had no leverage. Whenever he managed to wrestle his grip free, other vines intercepted the blade and prevented the warrior from taking a full swing.

  The creature drew him closer until the two were face to face.

  “Finally,” it rasped. “With every pound I cursed you. With every bud I pictured your death at my hands.”

  From inside the flurry of vines, a hand, a human hand, emerged and wrapped around Jerry’s throat.

  “The fairy tale is over, Librarian.”

  “Grrrrr!”

  The creature turned his gaze to the motor coach. Three bears, small, medium, and large sizes, had emerged from the vehicle.

  The creature looked back at Jerry and laughed, “Oh, my. Grizzlies. I’m going to kill you and finish off the three bears. But her?” He moved Erica close so Jerry could see her. “I think I’ll keep her alive for, oh, six months.”

  Jerry spit on the creature’s barely human face.

  “Keep it up, Librarian. I love the rain now.” The creature turned suddenly. He dropped his hand from Jerry’s throat and he began to thrash and stumble.

  Jerry looked back to the coach.

  The three boys, dressed as bears, assaulted the creature on three fronts. The blades affixed to their paws tore through the vines.

  The creature grabbed them, but struggled to hold them. The suits were loose enough that any grip on the costume left the boys room to wriggle their wrists free.

  They worked together slashing at the creature’s many serpentine limbs. Vines fell dormant all around them. If one of the bears fell, a brother was there to pick him up while the third held the vines at bay.

  Jerry felt the grip on his wrists loosen. The boys divided the creature’s focus. If they kept it up, he might have a chance.

  Austin roared as he attacked the plant. A vine engulfed his head and began to squeeze. He drooped to the ground, leaving the mask behind. Just as quick, he stood up and struck down the vines that held his bear head.

  “You little shits,” there was rage in the rasp now. The collected cadence was gone. The creature stumbled backwards and began to use its vines for defense instead of attack. It threw up walls of brown roots and leafy screens to protect itself.

  The boys’ bear claws cut easily through the vegetation. The blades were sharp and they were small enough that the surrounding vines could not interfere with their work.

  The vine holding Jerry’s left hand was needed in defense. Jerry gripped the machete tighter in his right hand and drew a knife from his pocket. With one flick, the blade exposed itself.

  Jerry spoke, “Phillip.”

  Hearing his human name spoken for the first time in years, the creature turned back to face him.

  The former librarian drove the knife in the creature’s eye.

  It screamed in its demon-toned rasp and reeled back. The vine’s released their grasp.

  Jerry fell to the ground in a crouch and rushed in, brandishing the machete.

  The boys continued their assault; claws flashed, pulp dripped, and vines fell.

  Jerry fought his way to the man inside the creature, taking huge slashes at his chest. It threw up its arm to defend itself. Jerry hacked through bark-thick skin into flesh, blood, and bone.

  Chewy was now at his side, her massive jowls locked around the creature’s leg, pushing it further off balance.

  It dropped Erica and brought its last few remaining vines into the fight.

  The boys made quick work of them.

  Roars of rage grew from inside the plant creature and turned to shrieks of pain as the vines fell and the man in the bushes emerged.

  Chewy twisted her head and pulled its leg out from beneath it to bring Jerry and the creature face to face.

  It began to laugh. “You can’t kill me, Librarian. My roots ...”

  The machete slashed through the creature’s head, exposing, to everyone’s surprise, brain, not pulp.

  The creature’s eyes went blank. Its vines collapsed. It fell over dead.

  Austin continued to growl at the fallen limbs.

  Jerry rushed to Erica. She was hurt, but she was alive. He helped her to her feet. She stood, clasping her side. Her waist was bruised and scratched from where the vines had assaulted her.

  She threw her arms around Jerry. He hurt as well. His limbs felt as if they had been stretched beyond their limit and were just now settling back into place.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as she held him tight. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s okay.” Jerry held her close.

  “I’ve been horrible to you.”

  “It’s okay.”

  “How can you say that? After the way I treated you?”

  “You didn’t know.”

  “But ...”

  “Erica, the first time we met I dove headfirst into a wall. I’m not sure that I would have trusted me either. And I know me fairly well.”

  She started to cry and buried her face in his shoulder.

  He pulled her closer and stroked her hair.

  When he finally looked up, he had an audience. Alex was grinning, Trent made lewd gestures, and Austin hid in his bear suit.

  “Good work, bear brigade. You boys just saved our lives.”

  Alex blushed. The smallest just stayed in his bear suit and saluted.

  “Let’s go guys. We’ve got to keep moving.”

  Chewy sat at his feet and panted. Jerry petted her head and looked at Erica, “You, too, girls. We’ve got to get to that town before that truck does.”

  “Hey,” Trent said, “before we go, could you never call us the bear brigade ever again?”

  “Get on the truck, Trent.”

  THIRTY

  The people of New Hope gathered before him. Strain from days of defense preparations had left them worn and tired. Several dozed while others batted their eyes in veiled attempts to stay awake. Logan paced the front of the room as everyone found their seats. All but the sentries had been called to the town hall barn.

  Behind Logan was a map of the town, an aerial view that showed the walls of the city and where defensive positions would be taken. Archers were denoted by arrows, which seemed obvious to Logan, but the symbol took three votes and a compromise with the flamethrower committee to be accepted as the “little symbol thingy” that would tell the archers where to stand. The compromise was that the flamethrower teams would be referred to as fire people instead of firemen and would be indicated on the map as a dove, because a flame seemed too violent. Medics chose ambulances instead of crosses in case some of the attackers were of a different belief system than the people of New Hope.

  A gnarled pool cue served as his pointer. As the last person sat, he banged it against the wall to get the room’s attention. It could never be used to shoot a game of pool again, but it was perfect for planning the defense of a walled town against the onslaught of merciless villains in a giant armored truck.

  “Now, when the lookout spots the truck ...”

  The door to the town hall barn burst open.

  “The truck is coming!” the yo
ung lookout panted.

  The citizens of New Hope began to panic.

  Logan bashed the cue against the steel wall. Thunder roared inside the town hall barn. “Calm down everyone. You all know what to do.”

  Various voices in the crowd responded:

  “No, we don’t.”

  “You hadn’t started.”

  “Am I an arrow or a fireman?”

  “Fire-person!”

  “Whatever.”

  Logan snapped the cue pool cue over his knee. The crack bounced off the walls and silenced the crowd. “Just get to your positions.”

  The town hall barn emptied. Logan took the lead and scaled a fabricated ladder to the outer wall of the town with ease. The people followed. Some hesitated. Others stayed close to Logan.

  The citizen soldiers grabbed tie-rod crossbows, shouldered rifles, or manned flamethrower turrets. Medics took position in doorways, ready to run to the aid of the fallen. Logan jumped from his perch to the roof of the cement truck as it rolled into place.

  Carl stepped from the cab.

  “Gadgeteer,” Logan yelled down to the small round man.

  The town’s gadget man looked up and smiled at hearing this. He gave Logan an enthusiastic thumbs up and an air fist bump. Logan held out his hand.

  Carl threw an air high five. Logan stomped his foot on the hood, “It means throw me the keys, you idiot.”

  Carl was surprised at the outburst, but obediently dug into his pocket and tossed the keys to Logan.

  The warrior grabbed them out of the air and stepped back onto the ledge that surrounded the wall. Pacing, his pistol in hand, he spoke to the people below him.

  He turned his back to the wasteland and did his best to prepare the people for the coming horror.

  “Remember,” he shouted to the town. “The truck is most likely armored. Do not fire at the truck. Its walls are impenetrable. You must wait for the men to disembark.”

  “It doesn’t look that armored,” a woman holding a crossbow argued.

  “Looks can be deceiving.”

  “It looks like it’s about to fall apart,” an older man said.

  “He said it was huge. It’s not that big.” This began a chorus of doubt that moved up and down the walls.