The Remnants of Yesterday

by Anthony M. Strong

  We sped up, the woods whipping by faster than before. Danny waited a moment, then, seemingly pleased with our forward progress, reached into his trench coat and pulled out a walkie-talkie. It was angular, metal, painted dark green, and didn’t look like the kind of thing you could buy at Walmart. It looked more like a military model. I wondered where he’d gotten it.

  He lifted the unit close to his mouth and pressed the talk button. “Mother Bird to nest, you there? Over.”

  There was a moment of static, and then there was a new voice. “I read you loud and clear Gary. Come back.”

  “Goddammit. Don’t use my real name you moron. It’s Mother Bird. Over.”

  The radio crackled again. “What difference does it make dude?”

  “We went through this already. And say over when you finish. Over.”

  “Sorry.” The radio went silent for a second, then hissed again. “Over.”

  “That’s better. I have the bus. We’ll be at the crossroads in about five minutes. Tell the others to get ready. Over.”

  “Will do Mother Bird. Over.”

  “Amateurs.” Danny - real name Gary – mumbled, and pushed the radio back under his jacket.

  “Just can’t get the staff, huh?” I looked up. “Why did you call yourself Danny when your real name is Gary? I mean, it’s not like we can run to the police or anything.”

  “Shut it.”

  “Seems to me you’re as much an amateur as the guy you were speaking too.” I knew I was needling him, but I didn’t care. Chances were I was going to end up dead anyway, and right now he needed me alive to keep Clara driving.

  “We were professional enough to find you and take the bus weren’t we?”

  “You were waiting for us?”

  “What, did you think I was just standing in the middle of the road on the off chance someone would actually get something working and drive on by?” Gary said. “Of course we were waiting for you. We saw you when you passed the gas station back there.”

  “That’s impossible.” I had a vision of the dead body next to the Jeep, of Gary standing over the poor guy, executing him. “There’s no way you could have gotten here ahead of us.”

  “We didn’t. We left someone there to clean the place out. Load up on supplies.” He tapped his pocket, the bulge of the two-way radio. “You were just a bonus.”

  “Lucky us.” I glared at him.

  “A pretty sweet one though.” He glanced at Clara, his eyes glinting with lust. “It’s like Christmas come early.”

  “You touch her and I swear to God, I’ll kill you.”

  “I’d like to see that.” Gary poked me with the gun barrel. “Really I would.”

  “Put that gun down and I’ll oblige you.”

  “Let me think on that.” He cocked his head. There was a moment of silence and then he spoke again. “You know, I’d rather keep the gun if that’s all the same to you.”

  “Asshole.” I looked down at the ground, trying to control my anger. As I did so, a movement caught my eye.

  There, in the seat well opposite, between the first and second rows, crouched as low as he could get, was Darwin.

  68

  DARWIN PUT HIS finger to his lips. His eyes darted from me to Gary. He lifted his hand, and in it, I saw the screwdriver Clara had used to pry the plastic surround from the steering column back at the clearing.

  I glanced frontward. We were approaching a four-way intersection - the crossroads. Waiting for us, standing in the middle of the road, were two men, both armed with what looked like semi-automatic rifles. A pistol hung in a holster from each man’s belt. Had these guys raided an armory or something?

  “Almost there kids.” Gary looked pleased with himself, like a hunter bringing his kill back to the fold, providing food for one more day. He reached out and stroked Clara’s face. “I can’t wait to show you to them.”

  She shuddered and pulled away, shooting him a glance that surely would have struck him down if looks could kill.

  I risked a surreptitious peek back toward Darwin. If he was going to do anything, now was the time. If those other men boarded the bus, all bets were off.

  He must have read my mind, because from his hiding place there was no way he could have known about the waiting men. He rose up, holding the screwdriver like a knife, and lunged forward.

  The blade of the screwdriver hit Gary below his left shoulder and twisted sideways, glancing off his shoulder blade. A few inches to the right and the sharp end of the tool would have pushed through sinew and muscle, piercing Gary’s lung, but Darwin’s aim was off.

  “What the…” Gary staggered forward. He emitted a howl of pain and twisted around, bringing the shotgun to bear on Darwin. “Who the hell are you?”

  Darwin dropped the screwdriver, a look of panic etched on his face.

  “You know what? I don’t give a rat’s ass who you are.” Gary’s finger flexed on the trigger.

  Clara slammed on the brakes.

  Gary lost his balance. The gun jerked upward as he toppled backward. His finger clenched on the trigger. There was a bright flash, a roar of sound. A ragged hole appeared in the roof of the bus. Daylight pierced the opening, illuminating Gary’s face as he fell.

  He hit the windshield with a sharp crack and crumpled sideways. The shotgun fell to the floor. It bounced once, twice, then came to rest at Darwin’s feet. He looked down at it the way a child might peruse an unexpected gift from a stranger, unsure if they should accept it. Then, coming to his senses, he snatched the weapon up.

  Gary lay unmoving in the aisle next to the driver’s seat, knocked cold by his encounter with the windshield.

  “Give me a hand here.” Clara jumped from the driver’s seat and knelt next to the prone man, rifling through his pockets.

  I pushed past Darwin, glancing outside as I did so. The two men waiting at the crossroads were moving now, running toward us. We only had a few moments before they reached the bus. I reached out to the door release and pulled it. The bus door opened with a whoosh of compressed air.

  “Here. Take these.” Clara offered me a handful of shotgun shells. She reached under his coat and jerked the two-way radio from an inside pocket. “No point in leaving this with him.”

  “That’s good enough.” I looked up. The men were almost upon us.

  “Hang on. He might have other stuff we can use.”

  “We don’t have the time,” I said. Another moment and it would be too late. “We need to ditch him right now.”

  I took hold of Gary’s jacket and pulled him from the floor, wrestling him toward the bus door. Clara took his legs and together we hefted him to the steps and pushed him over.

  I expected him to slide down, but he didn’t. Instead, he just stuck there with his legs in the air, his head resting on the bottom step.

  “They’re coming,” Clara said, risking a sideways glance through the windshield. She bit her bottom lip, pulling at it with her teeth.

  “I know. Get back behind the wheel. Go.” I maneuvered myself past Gary. I motioned to Darwin. “Give me a hand.”

  Clara slipped back into the driver’s seat. “Hurry up.”

  Darwin stepped forward, putting the gun on the seat.

  “Grab his legs.” I reached down, put my hands under Gary’s head, and gripped his coat at the shoulders. “Quickly.”

  Darwin took hold of Gary’s ankles, grunting as he straightened, lifting them off the steps.

  I took a deep breath, mustering all my strength, and heaved forward.

  Gary finally budged. He slid off the last step and toppled from the bus. I rushed back up the steps, waving Clara forward. “Get us out of here.”

  She threw the bus into gear, and stomped her foot on the accelerator. The bus shuddered, the engine raced. We lurched forward, our wheels spinning for a split second before they gained traction. Then we were off, slicing between Gary’s accomplices as they leaped out of the way to avoid becoming road kill, their angry shouts quickly fading as
we left them behind.

  I turned to Darwin and raised my hand for a high five. He slapped my palm and grinned at me, our differences put aside, at least for the moment.

  69

  “OH YEAH.” DARWIN whooped. “We did it.” He looked pleased as punch.

  “And we’ve got ourselves a new gun.” I picked up the shotgun. It felt different to the pistol. Darker. Meaner.

  “That was too close,” Clara said. “Assholes.”

  “Let’s not stop for any more hitchhikers, okay?” I sat down, my legs suddenly feeling wobbly.

  “Works for me,” Clara replied. She twisted in the seat and spoke to Darwin. “Good job with the screwdriver. You saved us.”

  “Not that good a job. I wanted to kill the bastard, not scratch him.” Even so, he smiled.

  “Doesn’t matter,” I told him. “Without you, we’d probably be dead now.”

  “Not all of us,” Clara reminded us. “He had other plans for me.”

  “Don’t think about that.” I placed my hand on her shoulder.

  “Easy for you to say,” she replied. “He just wanted to shoot you.”

  “We’ll he didn’t get a chance to do anything,” I said.

  “We should have killed him before we tossed him out of the bus.” Her voice was hard, emotionless. “People like that shouldn’t get to survive.”

  “Too late now.” Her newfound ruthlessness concerned me. Then again, we might all need some of that attitude in order to stay alive in this new world. Things had changed. The rules of society no longer applied. There was no safety net.

  “Doesn’t seem fair.” Darwin reached down and picked up the screwdriver. “It’s bad enough dealing with Crazies and monsters, now we have to be on the lookout for garden variety psychos too?”

  “Just because it’s the end of the world, doesn’t mean all the bad people are suddenly going to play nice,” I said, gripping the back of the seat to keep my balance as the bus lurched along at a reckless pace. I was about to suggest that Clara ease up on the gas, figuring that Gary and his goons were far behind us, but I never got that far. It was at that very moment that the back window of the bus exploded inward with a mighty bang.

  70

  BEADS OF SAFETY glass showered down like glinting crystal rain onto the back seats of the bus. Everything was suddenly much louder.

  “What the hell was that?” Darwin leapt to his feet, a look of panic on his face.

  “Someone is shooting at us.” As if to prove my point, a bullet whizzed past me and embedded itself into the back of a nearby seat with a popping thud.

  “It’s Gary and his cronies.” Clara glanced up to the rear view mirror. “They have a truck. How is that possible?”

  “Well, we have a bus don’t we?” I raced down the aisle to the back window, grabbing the shotgun as I went. Sure enough, there was a pickup truck right on our tail. It was one of those big quad cab affairs, sitting on raised suspension so high you could almost see clear under it. A sturdy looking cowcatcher bumper was bolted to the front. I saw Gary hanging out of the passenger window, a rifle aimed at us. “They must have figured out how to get it working.”

  “Or they stole it from someone who did,” Darwin said, hunkering down under the between the back seat and the seat in front. “After all, if they knew how to get cars working again, why bother to come after us?”

  “Good point.” I ducked as another bullet slammed into the back of the bus. A picture of the dead guy at the gas station crossed my mind. Were they driving his truck? “I was hoping we’d sent a message by throwing Gary out of the bus.”

  I don’t think they got it,” Darwin said. “I think we just made them madder.”

  “Told you we should have killed him,” Clara shouted.

  “Too late now,” I said. Another bullet flew past my ear and ricocheted off a handrail. “Damn. That was close.”

  “We’ll never lose them in this thing,” Darwin said, watching the truck accelerate toward us. “And I don’t think they are going to give up.”

  “Then let’s give them something to think about.” I knelt on the back seat and pointed the gun through the shattered back window, aimed as best I could, and fired. At the last moment, the truck veered to the left to avoid the gunfire, then swung back in behind us, unharmed.

  Gary returned fire, his own aim as bad as mine. As far as I could tell, he missed the bus entirely.

  “Again,” Darwin said. “Shoot back.”

  “Hang on. I’ve got to figure out how to use this thing.” I examined the gun, finding the action and pumping it, before taking aim again. This time I anticipated their swerve. The truck’s windshield imploded.

  “You hit them,” Darwin whooped. “Oh yeah. Score one for the little guy.”

  “They’re still coming though.” I might have reduced their windshield to shrapnel, but I’d missed the driver, my primary target. Worse, it appeared the gun was out of ammo. “I need to reload.”

  “Hurry up,” Darwin urged as another bullet smacked into the back of the bus. “They’re aiming for the tires.”

  “Give me a minute.” I’d never loaded a shotgun before. “I need to figure this thing out.”

  “Rest the gun on the seat,” Darwin said. “There’s a loading flap in front of the trigger guard. Push the shell in until it clicks.”

  “How do you even know that?” I dropped down out of sight behind the back seat and found the loading flap, then pushed a shell up and in with my thumb. “You don’t strike me as the gun toting type.”

  “I’m not,” He replied. “But try telling that to foster dad number three who thought the best way to bond was over a loaded gun. He took me hunting every Saturday for six months. It was pure hell.”

  “I see.” I fired off another shot, surprised to find the truck closer than before, and then called down the bus to Clara. “Can this thing go any faster?”

  “Not really.” She shook her head. “It’s like driving a tank.”

  “They’re pulling around us.” Darwin warned, a grim look on his face. “What are they up to?”

  As if to answer him, the truck drifted sideways, hitting the rear of the bus, pushing us toward the road’s edge.

  “Damn.” Clara fought to keep control. “Did they just ram us?”

  “Yeah.” I shifted position, scrambling over to the side where the truck had hit us. If I could get off one clean shot I should be able to take out the driver at this range. That was, if the bus didn’t veer too much. “Keep us steady.”

  “I’m trying,” Clara shouted back. “It’s not easy.”

  “I know.” I raised the butt of the gun and brought it down against the side window, intending to smash it out, fire at the truck. Instead the gun skipped on the smooth surface and was almost wrenched from my hand. For a brief moment, I saw the driver look up at me. Our eyes met. He waved and floored it.

  The truck sped past us, the engine screaming as it approached the front of the bus.

  “What are they doing now?” Darwin raced down the aisle.

  The truck drew level with the front passenger door. A portion of the quad cab’s rear window slid sideways. The muzzle of a gun poked out. My heart skipped a beat. They were going to shoot Clara, and there was nothing I could do about it.

  There was a flash. My eyes darted toward the driver’s compartment, expecting to see her slumped over the wheel, but she looked just fine.

  For a moment I thought he’d missed, then I felt the back of the bus drift to the right, saw sparks flying from where I imagined the front right wheel arch to be, and knew that he hadn’t.

  “The tire,” Darwin shouted. “They shot out the front tire.”

  The bus pivoted, the front slowing as the back kept going. I felt my stomach do summersaults as the cumbersome vehicle lost its fight to stay in a straight line. We started to drift sideways. The truck surged forward to get clear of us.

  “We’re starting to skid.” Clara sounded scared.

  “I know.” I ran
down the aisle, fighting to keep my balance. “Open the door.”

  “What?” Clara shouted. “Why?”

  “Just do it.” I brought the shotgun up. “Now.”

  Clara reached up and pulled the door release.

  As the rear of the bus turned, carried by its own momentum, I aimed the shotgun, waiting until the speeding truck appeared in the doorway, in my line of sight. I fired one last round, all I had time for, through the open door.

  I got lucky.

  The truck’s rear window disintegrated. The vehicle veered left off the road, up over the shoulder, straight into a tree. It tilted almost vertical before slamming back down hard, a curl of dense smoke rising from the hood.

  “Got them.” I allowed myself a moment of exhilaration. It didn’t last long.

  “I can’t hold on,” Clara said. “Better grab onto something. We’re going over.”

  I reached out, gripping the back of a seat just as the left side of the bus started to lift.

  Darwin shouted something unintelligible, a curse word perhaps.

  Then the bus flipped, tumbling two, three, four times. The windows blew inward, first the right side, then the left. Glass flew in all directions. Everything that wasn’t either strapped or bolted down took flight, filling the space inside the bus with a barrage of deadly objects. Baked bean cans became lethal weapons, blunt objects capable of cracking a skull.

  Chaos reigned. I had the crazy thought that our bus resembled a snow dome shaken by some almighty hand, only instead of fluffy white flakes it was our provisions and possessions that flew around in the maelstrom.

  My feet lifted from the floor. I did my best to hold onto the seat, but it was no use. I hung in mid-air for a moment, my stomach in my mouth, before slamming into the roof. Pain shot through my body. Bright flashes of light danced before my eyes.

  The last thing I heard before blacking out was Clara screaming.