The Dodge was drifting left and almost followed the other car into the ditch. He overcorrected to the right and felt the car begin to roll. Turning left slammed the weight back to the ground and pulled him the other way. He floored it and pulled right again, swinging the car a full one-eighty, and stalled the engine.
The car on his right managed to slide to a stop and block half the road as the others that were in pursuit arrived and surrounded him.
Chewy barked at the Skinners as Jerry pulled several guns from the duffel bag and readied himself for a shootout that he didn’t see winning.
The radio speaker blasted static and excited screams as his imminent capture was reported back to Tolerance.
Men and women in masks leapt from the cars with weapons drawn and leveled at the Challenger.
Everyone was screaming at him. Some shouted curses, others were yelling at him to get out of the car.
Chewy forced her head into the front seat and worked it under his arm. She seemed to know what was about to happen.
He petted her on the head. He didn’t know what to say except, “I’m sorry, girl.”
The sound on the highway was thunderous as a dozen cars minus exhaust systems revved their engines, people screamed, and the dog barked in his ear. The sound was so deafening that he didn’t hear the gunshots. The men from Alasis started dropping as their shop-made armor splintered and their horrid masks did nothing to stop a barrage of bullets.
Jerry opened the door and rolled out of the car as his would be captors dove for cover. Over the roar of the engines and the blasts of the return fire, he heard the bikes as more than twenty men pulled into the fray on Harleys screaming and shooting at the bandits.
The Iron Eagles buzzed through the traffic on violent passes kicking at what they couldn’t shoot and dragging off the lighter and less fortunate.
Jerry took half a step back as a motorcycle buzzed by him. The rider made no move to attack him and only cast a wary glance his way.
Jerry joined the gunfight and focused his fire on the men from Alasis. The automatic bucked in his hand as he dropped a man in a gorilla mask that had been foolish enough to stick his head up from behind cover.
Another in a duck mask, but a mean-looking duck mask, turned a shotgun toward the Librarian and pulled it to his shoulder before another blast from Jerry’s gun dropped the Skinner.
Skinners were dropping everywhere as the Iron Eagles made pass after pass through the maze of cars. Men screamed in wounded pain. Others were silent in fatal death. And soon the bullets stopped flying in Jerry’s direction.
Engines revved and tires squealed as the survivors did their best to drive away. For every car that left the area, three Harleys followed.
Hawk rode into the center of the ambush and stopped his bike. He made no move for the gun at his hip, and Jerry lowered his own.
Hawk smiled and revved his engine while screaming, “Go get her, Librarian.” Then the man screeched like his namesake and left a thick black strip on the road as he went to join the pursuit.
Jerry jumped back in the Hellcat and hit the ignition. “See, Chewy? That’s why we’re always nice most of the time.”
THIRTY-THREE
The car gave him everything he asked for as the Dodge made up for lost time. He flew north on the highway and soon found himself passing the remaining Skinners as they fled from the Iron Eagles.
The radio in the seat next to him grew quieter as the bikers caught up to their prey and silenced the drivers. Soon there was nothing but questions coming across the airwaves from the force back in Tolerance. No answers were returned.
And then he was alone on the road. The bikers, the Skinners, the people of Tolerance—everything was behind him. Nothing existed past the limit of his headlights. It was just him and Erica and whoever had taken her.
The dog barked.
And Chewy. Chewy was there too.
Night had fallen completely and there was nothing but the moon lighting the world around him. And there was only a sliver of that. It wouldn’t be difficult for a car to disappear now. All it would have to do is pull off the road and turn off the lights.
After several minutes of driving he worried that this was the case. That Erica’s captors had pulled aside. That he had blown past Erica and any chance of rescuing her.
He fought back that fear. He would find her. Any minute now he would come upon a rodded out sedan with extra wheels and side pipes, or a dropped pickup with a harpoon gun mounted in the bed.
It was the first time he ever remembered a minivan being conspicuous.
The driver stayed in his lane instead of using the entire road as most wasteland driver’s tended to do. And it was the right lane at that. And the car was doing roughly sixty miles an hour. It couldn’t be them. Kidnappers drove faster than sixty. No one drove sixty anymore.
Jerry pulled the Challenger alongside the minivan and peered inside. An older man in a ball cap sat behind the wheel. There was someone else in the passenger seat but the dim light made it impossible to note anything about them aside from height and general posture.
The old man noticed Jerry looking, smiled and gave a wave before gesturing that the road ahead was open.
Jerry smiled back but wasn’t sure he meant it. He rolled down his window and gestured for the driver to do the same. The driver did so.
“Have you seen any other cars?” Jerry screamed over the roar of the wind. Or tried to.
The man cupped a hand behind his ear and leaned an inch closer.
“Have you seen any other cars?” Jerry yelled again and began to feel stupid, knowing that even Chewy couldn’t hear him over the highway noise.
The old man held up a palm and gestured for Jerry to slow down as he tapped the brakes himself. Soon they were driving thirty and he could hear the driver.
“There, that’s better,” the man yelled. “What can I do for you, son?”
There was no hesitation, no apprehension in his voice. It was too normal. And it was weird.
“Have you seen any other cars on the road?” Jerry asked again.
“Can’t say I have. You’re the first car we’ve seen in days. It’s kind of nice, isn’t it? Having the road all to yourself.”
“Are you sure?”
“Son, I’d remember something like that. Are you looking for someone? You don’t look like your typical marauder.”
“I ...”
“Scum of the earth, those people. Don’t you think? No respect for people or their property. I blame the parents mostly. Part of it’s probably the whole apocalypse thing, I guess. Whole world went to hell after the apocalypse. No manners.”
Jerry tried to speak again, but there was more.
“In my day a man worked for what was his. He understood the value of a solid work ethic and he worked hard for his dollar. And because of that he was proud of what he had. Even if what he had wasn’t much. It was his, earned through sweat and blood, and that’s what mattered.”
Jerry could feel himself getting sleepy. This guy’s drone was like a superpower.
“Now everyone expects everything for free. They want everything handed to them. They don’t want to work for it. They don’t want to earn it.”
Jerry could feel his eyes getting heavier.
“No, sir. Gone are the days ...”
“Look, I really hate to interrupt you, but I’m looking for a woman.”
The man smiled. “Aren’t we all, son? I guess I’m lucky though. I already found one.”
The old man turned on the interior lights and leaned back in his seat revealing the woman beside him and the shotgun in her hands.
The woman shoved the barrel out the window and pulled the trigger.
The Challenger’s narrow windows stopped some of the shot. His arm caught the rest as he slammed on the brakes and fell in line behind the minivan at a crawling twenty miles an hour. It was instantly the slowest high-speed chase he had ever been in.
He grabbed at his arm and tr
ied to determine the damage. It hurt all over, but he could feel four distinct places where the shot had penetrated near his shoulder.
He looked up as the van gained speed. Erica was staring back at him and screaming something he couldn’t hear. It had been days since he’d seen her. Since he promised he’d be back.
Chewy began barking excitedly and bouncing around the backseat of the car.
The woman in the passenger seat put the shotgun barrel against Erica’s head; her screaming stopped.
Erica looked at him with pleading eyes. He wondered if she could even see him.
He hit the map light above his head and she smiled with relief, with excitement.
The old woman was barking orders, but Erica just continued to smile and look into his eyes.
He smiled back only briefly before his eyes hardened. A slow nod was all she needed. She smiled bigger and nodded back.
Jerry let the distance to the minivan increase and waited for her to move.
Erica turned back to the woman and brushed the barrel aside with bound hands.
Jerry dropped the car a gear and hit the gas.
The shotgun fired and the rear passenger window exploded on the roadway as the Challenger pulled alongside.
He watched Erica struggle with the old woman over control of the shotgun barrel as he cut right into the rear of the minivan. The force of the car broke the van’s rear wheels free and forced it into a slide.
He pulled through the maneuver as if he was simply changing lanes as the minivan’s rear end continued forward. Cops did this back when there were cops. The vehicle in front would lose control and come to a stop long enough for backup to pin it in place. But they never did it if the vehicle was going over thirty-five miles an hour.
The minivan was going fifty when it turned sideways and began to tip. The Hellcat pulled clear and continued down the road as the old couple and Erica found the minivan spinning around them.
Jerry slammed on the brakes, spun the Hellcat to a stop, and leapt from the car with his gun drawn as the van rolled down the side of the road into the ditch. He ran down the hill toward the van screaming for her. “Erica!”
The van creaked as new angles took hold in the framework. The engine sputtered to a stop. There was no sound from inside.
It had come to rest on its side, and he climbed on top of the wreckage and shouted her name again through the shattered window.
She yelled back. It wasn’t pain but excitement. She was crying. She was laughing. And once words were able to make it through this combination, she said, “You found me.”
“I found you.”
Chewy was on the ground next to the van barking her own excitement.
The driver had been thrown from the van when the door was ripped away. He was out cold or dead, ten feet away. The woman in the passenger seat was dead or doing something weird with her eyes just to freak people out. Erica was strapped into the twisted captain’s chair with the seat belt.
“Are you hurt?” he asked. “Can you move?”
“I can dance if you cut my hands free,” she held up her wrists and Jerry cut the bindings off with a pocket knife. Erica twisted to find her footing and unbuckled the seat belt. She fell farther into the van, but raised her arms and started to climb out.
He grabbed her arms and pulled her free of the van. He held her briefly before letting her down to the ground.
He dropped to the ground, pushed Chewy aside and took her in his arms.
She smiled. “I knew you’d find me. I told everyone.”
He held her tight. He kissed her deep. She felt right in his arms and he promised them both that he would never let go. He would never let anyone harm her again.
She smiled and said, “I believe you.”
Then her smile turned to a shudder and she went rigid in his arms. A pain twisted in his gut as her loving eyes turned into expressions of pain and she began to slip away from him. All he could do was ease her to the ground where she grew still.
The old man stood behind her. The blade in his hand was a foot long and dripped with blood. His face was swollen from a broken nose. Blood ran down his face from several cuts. He said nothing. He only smiled through a bloodied mouth and held up the blade.
The Librarian didn’t say anything either. He didn’t tell anything. He didn’t feel the buckshot in his arm. He didn’t feel the wound in his own stomach that had been made when the knife passed through her into him. He didn’t feel the cold from the wind or the heat from his rage.
He didn’t feel the old man’s wrist snap when he twisted the knife free. He didn’t feel the old man’s finger at his throat. He didn’t feel his thumb dig in to the old man’s eye until resistance turned to a wet oozing. He didn’t feel remorse when he twisted the man’s neck until it snapped and he grew limp.
He felt nothing. He was empty. There was only a rage so bright that it burned out every other feeling he had ever known.
He knelt next to Erica and felt for a pulse. There was none. He looked in her eyes and searched for hope. There was none.
He kissed her forehead once more and for one brief moment love flickered again inside him and overcame the anger. But then it was gone. Consumed as fuel for the rage.
The Librarian buried the woman on the side of the road and drove north.
- THE END -
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OTHER WORKS
by Benjamin Wallace
DUCK & COVER ADVENTURES
Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors (A Duck & Cover Adventure Book 1)
Knights of the Apocalypse (A Duck & Cover Adventure Book 2)
Pursuit of the Apocalypse (A Duck & Cover Adventure Book 3)
Last Band of the Apocalypse: A Duck & Cover Adventurette
Prisoner's Dilemma: A Duck & Cover Adventurette
How to Host an Intervention: A Duck & Cover Prequel
Gone to the Dogs: A Duck & Cover Prequel
bulletproof adventures of damian stockwell
Horror in Honduras (The Bulletproof Adventures of Damian Stockwell)
Terrors of Tesla (The Bulletproof Adventures of Damian Stockwell)
The Mechanical Menace (The Bulletproof Adventures of Damian Stockwell)
DAD VERSUS
Dad Versus The Grocery Store
Dad Versus Halloween
Dad Versus Santa
Dad Versus The Tooth Fairy
Dad Versus Democracy
Dads Versus The World (Volume 1)
Dads Versus Zombies
other books
Tortugas Rising
uncivil
UnCivil: The Immortal Engine
UnCivil: Vanderbilt’s Behemoth
short stories
Alternate Realty
Dystopia Inc. #1: The War Room
Pilgrim (A Short Story)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Benjamin Wallace lives in Texas where he complains about the heat. A lot.
Find him online here:
BenjaminWallaceBooks.com
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You can email him at: [email protected]
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-ben
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