Last Fight of the Valkyries

by E. E. Isherwood

  Milk run

  My foot beat down the clutch as my hand rattled the shifter in between gears. There weren't a lot of choices when you're moving close to a hundred miles per hour, but I always sought out my car's limits.

  “Take it easy K-bear.”

  That's my dad. Koala Bear: my nickname since birth. It went with my given name, Perth, though I'd grown to hate both as childish nonsense. Everything was “Australia” with my parents. Blech! He knew I hated being told what to do, though I never understood why he waited until I was going dangerously fast to start up with me.

  In response, I downshifted and crushed the gas pedal to the floor as I rounded the sweeping turn on the desolate two-lane blacktop road. I leaned against my bucket seat and hung on to the steering wheel as the powerful car shot me around the bend and up the gentle hill beyond. If I'd kept on the gas I could have probably caught some air going over the next rise, but I finally listened to my caution and let the speedometer return to safe pastures.

  Wilmore was a hundred miles south of Hays, my home. The windswept plains between the two was the area of safety where the youngest girls drove as couriers. They kept us there because it was safe. Thus, we were called ponies. Get it? I know: totally lame.

  The town was one of the most distant settlements in the south. More of a village, if you ask me. They needed me to run some parts up to Hays and have the machine crews fix them. I arrived with the repaired parts in my trunk, and all I had to do was dump them off so I could get back out on the road.

  It's what the other girls called a milk run.

  I saw Captain Ross in front of the feed store when I pulled up.

  “Ahoy, madam Perth!” Ross wasn't the captain of a vessel; by some agreement early on, town leaders were called captains. Some took the title more seriously than others. Even though he came in the with refugees, locals tolerated him as captain because he managed the town's supplies like a “big city accountant.” Those were his words, anyway.

  When I looked at him I saw a tired old man with a left eye that always seemed half-shut.

  “Ahoy captain.” No reason not to humor the man with the nautical nonsense.

  “Did you bring them to me?”

  I handed him the box of parts, but he grimaced. I read the disappointment as he set the box on a nearby table. So much about dealing with people revolved around things left unsaid. I'd just delivered the parts he needed to run his farm equipment, or machinery, or whatever, but he was worried about something much less important—at least on the grand scale.

  “No, silly girl. I'm talking about the other things.”

  I looked around to make sure no one else was watching us. There were people out and about in the one-block row of storefronts, but everyone appeared consumed by their own problems. I kneeled over to fiddle with the laces of my driving boots and I threw the badly creased brown paper bag near his feet. He pretended not to see it.

  “You're a lifesaver, Perth.”

  “You just like me because I'm fast.” I laughed, thinking I had made an innocent joke, but my own words soon left me feeling cold despite the July heat. Though my shrug's long sleeves were already tight, I cinched up each arm in turn, as if to make it clear the skin underneath was not for sale. If the Captain read anything into what I'd said, he made no show of it. He was all smiles.

  Note to self: never tell a strange man, no matter how amiable, you are fast.

  Before the awkwardness engulfed me, he grabbed the bag, bid me goodbye, and went inside his shop.

  As I walked back to my open door I wondered if it was all in my imagination. I tried to believe the best in people, and the Captain was one of the few men on my routes that seemed normal by apocalyptic standards, but everyone had needs—thus the bag. Maybe he was already planning what he'd say on our next meeting. Of course, I realized I was already planning what I'd say at that meeting.

  That's why I liked driving. I always knew what to do. I could always get away from trouble.

  I hopped in my Old World IROC-Z and made my way out of town.

  My dad, always patiently waiting to point out the obvious, said, “You need to watch what you say out here.”

  I looked over, shocked that he'd lecture me in anything less than fifth gear. I was also angry because the man was right. Just because I was a pony didn't mean I had to act like one.

  Penn and Garth

  I didn't get far out of town before I saw two young men walking along the roadway's shoulder. They were holding hands, but something was wrong in the way the taller one walked. I recognized the shorter one as I closed the distance, so I slowed to talk to them with my windows down.

  From across the front seat I yelled to them. “Hey Penn, how's things?”

  I knew Penn from our time in the relocation center. Kids were grouped and called to meals by first names, so we were buddies.

  The nearer boy bent down to look into the cabin. He had stormy gray eyes and well-cropped hair, which was the style of the men and boys up north. Part of me registered him as not unattractive. “Oh hey, Perth. Things are...” He looked tired. I expected the happy Penn I knew from our prior meetings.

  “You guys want a ride?” It was the friendly thing to do, though it wouldn't be comfortable for someone to ride in my backseat—I had it ripped out.

  Penn considered, eying the back and perhaps picturing himself in the cargo area. He would have to squeeze back there, given the size of his brother.

  “No, I do appreciate it, but Garth here needs his exercise.” His words conveyed the sadness of his eyes, though he was ever-trying to smile through it.

  I got a good look at Garth, who naturally turned toward the car with the conversation. It was clear why he was holding the hand of his brother—he'd been grievously wounded on his head. A large swath of his brown hair had been shaved. The still-red wound scar was impossible to miss.

  “Hang on a sec.” I goosed the car ahead so I could pull over, then I jumped out and walked back. Out of habit I grabbed my leather jacket and pulled it on.

  Next to us, a small stream cut through the pastures and provided enough water to support some large cottonwood trees. They dropped shade just off the roadway. We all made our way out of the sun.

  “What happened, Penn?” I looked at his brother, and got the sense he wasn't there. It wasn't that unusual given the state of the world and mental health, but anyone who could survive such a wound had to be a survivor. I remembered seeing Garth—he played protective older brother—at the relocation center, but hadn't seen him with Penn in the two years since.

  Penn sat his brother in the shade and faced him so he could look at the waterway. He then came over to me. I felt myself take a step back as he neared. He spoke in a quiet voice.

  “Garth was driving with the oil convoys up north this spring. After the deep snow of the winter, the town captains all wanted to get up there as soon as it melted. It was clear down here, but too much snow remained in the Dakota's—the convoys had to go slower than normal. Lots of losses, but we got our damned oil and they got their food, right?”

  He pointed back toward the creek. “And Garth got a hole in the head as a souvenir. Now I have to take care of him, or he...” Penn was only slightly taller than me—I've always been the tall girl in school—and he was an epitome of strong and confident, but when he looked at me I saw nothing but heartbreak in his soul. Loss was expected out here, and us outsiders all lost pretty much our entire families during the early months after the war, but I could tell Garth was suffering something worse than death. Someone who couldn't contribute would not have a long life. Penn knew where things were heading, and what he might have to do to his brother.

  I changed the subject. “Are you still driving?” There were few good opportunities for kids who gave up driving. Unless you were older, it was farming or wrenching, take your pick.

  “Nah, I need to take care of Garth. I moved us into a farmhouse not far up the road. We work with the other families there.”


  I wondered if it was true they both worked up there, but I didn't press.

  I was starting to get fidgety. They didn't want a ride, and I was caught up on Penn's unfortunate life. I'd been standing still for too long.

  “Well, I have to—”

  “Wait, before you go.” He also seemed anxious. While he rubbed the back of his head he looked at me with embarrassment. It was kind of cute. “I, uh, thought maybe you'd come by sometime and I could look under your hood.”

  My eyes must have lit up with surprise because he was quick to continue. “No! I mean look under your car's hood. Oh, man. Sorry, no. Let me start over.” He took a quick breath. “I've spent a lot of time up in the big garages working on cars. I could look under your Camaro's hood and help you tweak her.” He pointed to my car. “Find a few more horsepower. That's all.” His red face practically glowed.

  I imagined my dad's response if he heard us talking. “Danger K-bear, danger.” Always danger.

  I'd almost never turn away help with tweaking my car's engine, but seeing his brother, knowing the situation of them both, and feeling the strange attraction despite all that was too much for me at that moment.

  I took one last peek into his eyes—I hesitated beyond my comfort zone—before I turned around with a stiff wave. I shook my head no.

  “I'll see ya round, Penn. Good luck.”

  I practically ran to the car, jumped in, and drove off.

  “You should belt in K-bear. It isn't safe to drive without a seatbelt.”

  “I know, Dad. Damn.”

  I was up over a hundred before I finally listened to his advice. My mind was still a quarter mile behind.

  ###

  Thank you for reading this short sample of Post Apocalytpic Ponies. If you enjoyed the sample, you can continue the story for free on Kindle Unlimited.

  About the Author

  E. E. Isherwood has penned two books about post-apocalyptic driving, four books about zombies, and several short stories from both genres. He has designs for many more tales. His long-time fascination with the end of the world blossomed decades ago after reading the 1949 classic Earth Abides. Zombies are just a handy vehicle which allows him to observe how society breaks down in the face of such withering calamity. Fast cars can also help it along.

  Isherwood lives in St. Louis, Missouri with his wife and family. He stays deep in a bunker with steepled fingers, always awaiting the arrival of the first wave of zombies.

  Find him online at www.zombiebooks.net.

  Books by E.E. Isherwood

  E.E. Isherwood currently has four books in the Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse universe. He also has a series of high-octane post-apocalyptic stories called the Revolutions Per Mile series. Visit his website at www.zombiebooks.net to be informed when future titles are launched.

  The Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse series

  Since the Sirens

  Siren Songs

  Stop the Sirens

  Last Fight of the Valkyries

  Zombies vs. Polar Bears [Release date June 23, 2016]

  ***

  Book 1: Since the Sirens [BUY ON KINDLE]

  When 15-year-old Liam goes to stay with his ancient great-grandmother for the summer, he immediately becomes bored around the frail and elderly woman. He spends most of his time at the library texting friends, playing video games, and reading dark novels. But one morning stroll changes everything as the Zombie Apocalypse unloads itself directly into his life. Now he and his 104-year-old guardian must survive the journey out of the collapsing city of St. Louis while zombies, plague, and desperate survivors swirl around them.

  Book 2: Siren Songs [BUY ON KINDLE]

  After escaping the chaos of the collapsing city, teens Liam and Victoria are faced with a difficult choice. Do they try to find Liam’s parents or defend their suburban home from refugees and the infected? They find new allies to hold things together, even as the government appears increasingly impotent in the face of a mutating virus. And why is a representative of the CDC trying to enlist Liam’s 104-year-old grandma to his cause?

  Book 3: Stop the Sirens [BUY ON KINDLE]

  Liam and his parents are reunited at last, but the matriarch of their family has been taken to a covert CDC location for medical experiments. Liam wants to mount a rescue operation, but they must first reach a refuge, endure warring government agencies, and learn Grandma’s location—not to mention survive a world awash in zombies. With Victoria at his side, Liam finds his fortitude bolstered by her faith. Together they begin to unravel the mystery of the zombie plague.

  Book 4: Last Fight of the Valkyries [BUY ON KINDLE]

  Liam, Marty, and Victoria are rescued from St. Louis. Now safely in the defenses of the town of Cairo, IL, they are once again free to look ahead—into the headwinds of the Zombie Apocalypse. Liam is separated from his parents, Mel and Phil are missing, and Grandma's status as a sane person is very much in doubt in their new town. But when Liam finally realizes what's on the chip given to him by Colonel McMurphy, he sees the way forward. Always with an eye toward saving civilization, he takes his first steps in that direction.

  Book 5: Zombies vs. Polar Bears [PRE-ORDER ON KINDLE][Release date June 23, 2016]

  Liam is more resolved than ever to solve the mystery behind the zombie plague. He now has several clues—some gleaned at great personal cost—about the zombies, although he remains unsure who's behind the creation of the plague. Was it the secretive National Internal Security division as he was originally told, or was it the Patriot Snowball movement as reported by remaining government officials? Everyone has an opinion, but the truth might lurk within his own family. Meanwhile, Grandma Marty remains in Cairo, Illinois. She is confused by her strange dreams by night, and afraid of what she hears over the great defensive levees of the town by day.

  COMING SOON

  The My Zombie Apocalypse series

  These short stories explore characters from the Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse world.

  Liam

  What if Angie had gotten to Grandma Marty on Day 0? How might that have changed Liam's life as the Zombie Apocalypse began?

  Jones

  As far as we know, Officer Jones fell to his death during a heroic rescue of many of his fellow citizens. But what if he survived his crash?

  OTHER TITLES

  The Revolutions Per Mile series

  A new series of driving adventures from post-apocalyptic author E.E. Isherwood.

  Book 1: Post Apocalyptic Ponies [BUY ON KINDLE]

  When the world ended, Perth Hopkins was one of the lucky few. She jumped in her father's sports car and drove like a girl possessed to escape the nuclear fires. Today, years later, she drives as a high-speed courier between the small farming towns in the breadbasket of a new nation. She's learning the rules of the road in the safe interior—the pony pastures—but she craves the speed and danger of the interstate. Those routes are run by the older girls... When one of those girls shows up in her life, she's forced to consider whether she really wants to see what's over the distant horizon.

  Book 2: Post Apocalyptic Mustangs [PRE-ORDER ON KINDLE][Release date May 12, 2016]

  Perth is tossed into the high-speed world of "The 70." Interstate 70 was once a major artery across the United States, but what's left of it in Kansas has become a dangerous route traversed by brave couriers carrying pieces of the Old World between the surviving towns. Perth's driver, Jo, claims she is the best of the best of the couriers remaining on the highway and she wants to introduce Perth to how things work by doing a simple run from Hays to Salina. But Perth quickly suspects she's been seduced into being her co-pilot for an entirely different destination.

  Book 3: Post Apocalyptic Chargers [June, 2016]

  ###

  All these books are self-published. Self-publishing runs on word of mouth. Your review on the product page is that word. It's like fresh blood to my zombies. It keeps them going. It makes them stronger. Please consider taking a few moments to pen a b
rief review of my book on Amazon. Just a few words of encouragement will help me write many more adventures.

  Review or not, you've already shown your support when you invested your time and treasure in this tome. From the bottom of my heart I thank you for purchasing and reading Last Fight of the Valkyries.

  E.E. Isherwood

  Connect with E. E. Isherwood

  Thank you for being a reader of my work. I value your support more than I can say. I also love interacting with fans. To contact me, yell at me, become a beta reader, or find more stories about the end of everything, look for me online:

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