The word itself meant water town and described nothing more than a stop for thirsty mules or dry steam engines. But its rustic nature stirred such emotion that before the collapse of everything known, it had been applied to a line of trucks. It didn’t make sense calling a truck Water Town, but people didn’t care. It just sounded that cool.
So, Durango kept its name, but its population changed. Like most towns left untouched by a direct strike, the people sat around for a few days waiting to hear from family and loved ones. They waited for food trucks to restock the grocery store. They waited for information. They waited and waited until the walls closed in around them and a fear of not knowing drove them into the unknown looking for their family, food and answers.
Like so many others, Durango, Colorado, became a ghost town. But it did not stay empty for long.
The couple walked side-by-side on the shoulder of Highway 160. The road ran for more than 1400 miles without passing anything interesting. Roadside vistas were of fields or brown rock and dirt.
The man was nearly six feet tall and hid his build beneath a long duster, which, despite the cold wind, he let hang open. Gusts made it billow and caused him to shiver. He walked with his thumb hooked through a rifle sling and kept his eyes on the road ahead and the small ridge of dirt to the side of the road.
The girl was only a few inches shorter and dressed in a more appropriate jacket. A colorful scarf draped around her neck and she kept her chin buried behind it. She had fierce eyes, dark hair and was entirely too pretty.
“You’re too pretty.”
“Thanks, honey.” Her sarcasm was as fierce as her eyes. “You say the nicest things.”
He let his eyes leave the road and he looked into her eyes. “I’m serious. You shouldn’t be walking around looking that good.”
“Stop it, you.”
“How many times have I told you to look uglier before leaving the truck? Looking as good as you do … it could cause problems.”
Erica pouted in a playful way that he enjoyed if no one else was watching. Out in public, however, the look scared him.
“What could happen?” she asked with a crooked grin as she stepped ahead of him. “After all, I’m with the great post-apocalyptic nomadic warrior Je …”
Jerry took her by the elbow and turned her to face him. “No. Not even kidding. I’m Michael Parker and you’re Jennifer Parker. Especially here.”
“You’re right.” Erica’s smile faded and reappeared as a smirk. “What should we call Chewy? They’re looking for her, too. She should get an alias.”
The mastiff stopped and turned at the sound of her name.
“She’s a dog,” Jerry said. “It’s not like we can just change her name and expect her to follow commands.”
Erica folded her arms. “Do you expect to change my name and have me follow commands?”
Jerry chuckled. “We both know you’ve taught me better than that.”
“So,” Erica said. “We might as well give Chewy an alias.”
The massive dog padded back along the blacktop and joined the couple. She forced her head under Erica’s hand, let it sit there and began to pant.
Erica scratched behind the dog’s ears. Chewy sat and leaned closer to ensure a full petting. The weight caused Erica to reposition her feet so she wouldn’t fall into the ditch.
“We’ll call her Benedict,” Jerry said.
“That’s not nice, Mike.”
“You name her,” Jerry started walking towards town. “She’s basically your dog now.”
“Oh, don’t get sore. It’s just because I’m better than you. Isn’t that right, girl? I’m better, right?”
Chewy gave a low woof and trotted ahead of the pair. On point, she sniffed the air and kept her eyes on the road ahead looking for trouble or something to chase. She gave no sense of danger and the couple walked easy.
“Have you been through Durango since the Crappening?”
Jerry laughed. “The Crappening? Where did you get that?”
Erica threw a finger over her shoulder. “That last town we stopped at. That’s what the kids are calling it these days.”
“Well, if that’s what the kids are calling it. Yes, I passed through maybe a year ago.”
“How was it?” Erica asked.
“Like any place with people.” He paused. “Dangerous.”
Erica put her hand on her chest. “Oh, that sounded scary. Were you trying to make it sound scary? Because earlier you said it’s like a mall.”
“I said it was a marketplace.”
She shrugged. “Same thing.”
“Not really. Think of it more like a flea market but with fewer homemade wind chimes and more stabbings.”
“While we’re there we should look for …”
Jerry grabbed her elbow and stopped her again. He tried to speak so that there would be no question. “No.”
She questioned it. “You didn’t let me finish.”
Her hands were cold. He folded them into his own and spoke softly. “No. It doesn’t matter what it is. We get the part we need. We get it back to the truck and move on. The less time we spend there the less chance we’re recognized. Please, tell me you understand.”
She nodded. “I understand.”
“No. Not the kind of ‘understand’ that means you’re going to do what you want anyway. This is a trading hub. One of the busiest in the west. This is where rumors spread. We’re taking a huge risk walking in there. I need the ‘if I don’t listen to him we could very well die’ kind of ‘understand.’”
Erica smiled. “Well obviously I meant that kind of understand.”
“Good.” Jerry squeezed her hands gently and let them go. Getting back in the truck and back on the road should be their focus. Not browsing. “Good. And don’t make any sudden moves because the people that run this place are completely nuts.”
Highway 160 connected with US 550 and turned north into Durango. Everything south of the Animas River was abandoned. Ravaged storefronts and the steel frames of prefabricated buildings stood as the skeletons of retail and insurance offices. The steel panels that had once kept the insurance agents out of the wind had been stripped and repurposed farther down the road.
Twin towers rose over twenty feet on either side of the road and barred passage to a bridge across the Animas. Corrugated steel roofing formed their walls but a coat of paint had been applied to give them the appearance of stacked stone. Several banners snapped and popped in the wind looking for attention. The large one draped across the tower entrance gate. Squared at the top and dropping to a point, it bore the skull of a big horn sheep on a field of purpled and edged in gold.
Each tower held a pair of guards that stood with sharp eyes behind a mounted crossbow like he had never seen. From the ground, the bow looked like it was made of leaf springs with thick cable holding back a massive bolt. Several of these lined the edge of the wall to make unloading a leisurely activity.
Several more guards hid from the wind in the shade of the tower crowded around a campfire. Across their chests each guard wore the same mark that draped from above. They clung to it like a blanket as a gust of wind rose up.
The fire was warm as all fires were and Jerry could tell the guard didn’t want to leave its side. The man swaggered forward with a twist in his face to address the travelers. Two others followed behind him making sure their weapons were visible to the visitors by swinging their hips with wide steps. This show was unnecessary. Most eyes were usually drawn to the long swords that each guard wore.
The one with the swagger put on a false smile and held out his arms. Shorter than Jerry by a few inches and rounder by several more, he spoke with what could only generously be called the worst English accent left in the world. “’Ood mornin’, ’ood sir and m’lady. ’Ow are you this feyene day?”
Jerry looked at him sideways. “Fine?”
“Well, ’tis another glorious day in the kingdom, isn’t it thus?”
“I’m sor
ry, you said kingdom?” Erica asked the guard.
“Ah, ’tis that, m’lady.”
She turned to Jerry. “No heads up on that?”
The guard continued, “Ewe are now at the gates of the Kingdom of the Five Peaks. The Silver Kingdom. The Gleam in God’s eye as dey call it thusly.” He winked at one of the other guards. “Right, guv’ner?”
“Why are you talking like that?” she asked.
“Aye’m afraid aye don’t know what you mean, m’lady?”
“All funny. Like you’re trying to sound British but missing.”
“Verily aye speak only in the tongue of the land. Perhaps it is ewe who talks all funny.”
Jerry stepped forward. “I think it’s great. We’d like to go inside.”
The guard nodded. “Ah, of course ewe do. But, first we must see if you are a man of honor or a cad.”
Erica was holding back laughter but it got free. “Who is this guy?”
The guard smiled at Erica. He put the twist back in it and the words escaped with less kindness. “M’lady, aye am Sir Thomas the Sergeant at Arms and a knight of the realm.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips.
Jerry reached for the rifle on his shoulder.
Before Sir Thomas could kiss Erica’s hand, and before Jerry could shoot his lips off, there was a slap across the back of the knight’s head that knocked the smile from his face and the miserable accent from his voice. “Ouch.” Sir Thomas turned and found another knight standing behind him. “Dammit, Dave. I told you to stop hitting me.”
“And I’ve told you to stop talking like an idiot, Tommy. It hurts my ears.” The one called Dave shoved Tommy out of the way and pointed to Jerry. His voice was absent any accent, tone or joy. “You can put that down.”
Jerry pulled his finger from the trigger but hesitated to lower the gun.
“It’s okay.” Dave pointed a thumb at Sir Thomas. “He’s a harmless idiot.”
“Dave!”
“It’s Sir David. And, shut up, Tommy.” Dave turned back to Jerry. “He’s on loan from the castle today. They take things a little far up there.”
Jerry slung the rifle back over his shoulder with an eye on the other guards. They were taking their lead from Sir Dave and made no move for their swords. The crossbows, however, were turned towards him.
“What’s your business here?” asked Sir Dave.
“We’re here to trade,” Jerry said. “We’re looking for a fuel pump.”
Sir Dave looked the couple over. He studied the dog for a moment as well. “Very well. You’ll have to leave your weapons here.”
“But what if I want to shoot something?” Jerry asked. “I use my gun for that.”
“There are no guns allowed in the kingdom!” Tommy shouted. “By order of the king, knights may be only thusly armed,” he drew his sword as he spit out the words, “as thusly.”
“Shut up, Tommy. You’re not even making any sense.”
Erica pointed to Tommy and asked Dave, “What if you need to shoot something?”
Sir David repeated, “There are no guns allowed in the kingdom.”
Jerry dropped the rifle from his shoulder and tossed it to the knight farthest from Tommy. The knight caught it, pulled the round from the chamber and slung it over his shoulder. Erica followed suit as Jerry lifted the back of his shirt and pulled out a black automatic. He gripped it by the barrel and handed it to the knight.
Tommy smiled. “’Ow what about ’er? What say we ’ave ’er lift ’er shirt, eh?”
Erica took a step back.
Tommy took a step forward and found Jerry in between them. Sir Thomas stood his ground and came nose to nose with the man.
Jerry spoke first. “I think it’s only fair that you know this ahead of time. You lose every hand that touches her.”
Tommy whispered without a trace of the bad British accent. “You don’t scare me.”
“I’m not trying to scare you.”
The growling was low—less a sound and more a feeling that rumbled from the ground and up through the two men. Jerry kept his eyes locked on the knight’s and spoke softly to Chewy. “It’s okay, Hannibal. He was just about to second guess himself.”
The knight broke his stare and looked at the dog.
Chewy bristled, baring teeth, snorted and sprayed a thick coat of ick across Tommy’s hand.
The knight looked back at Jerry with less determination in his eyes. “Please tell your dog I’m sorry.”
Jerry nodded. “Hannibal. No chewy. He’s okay.”
The growl ceased at once. Chewy sat and started licking Tommy’s hand. Every lap of the huge tongue made the knight shake.
The knight smiled but it was more nerves than relief that caused it. “She understands ‘chewy’?”
Jerry nodded. “It’s not the first time it’s come up.”
“No chewy?” Tommy asked again. “That’s a little weird.”
Jerry stepped away and handed the gun Erica concealed in her waistband to one of the other knights. “Do you want to tell my dog how to talk?”
“No,” Tommy said. “It’s fine.”
Sir David was only partially trying to hide a smirk behind his hand. “You are free to enter the marketplace. But, know this, we don’t tolerate trouble of any kind. Shop friendly or else.”
“Thank you.” Erica turned to Chewy and clicked her tongue.
The dog rushed to her side.
“I don’t think so,” Tommy said. “That dog stays here.”
“But she’s an emotional support dog,” Jerry said.
Tommy put a finger in Jerry’s chest. “It’s a weapon and you know it.”
Chewy growled again.
Tommy pulled back the finger.
Sir David nodded. “We’ll make sure she’s okay.”
Jerry chuckled, “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He turned to the dog with his palm to the ground. “Hannibal. Down.”
Chewy whimpered but obeyed. She turned three times and dropped onto the blacktop.
“Stay.” Jerry said and held up a finger. “No … chewy. Stay.”
“She should be tied up, Dave.” Tommy backed away to the shadow of the tower. “I’d feel better if she were tied up.”
Jerry smiled. “Yeah. Good luck with that.” He took Erica’s hand and walked through the gate.
“Hannibal?” she whispered.
“Hannibal. Why not?”
“Nice touch.”
THREE
For all the devastation wrought by the apocalypse, it was sometimes difficult to overlook what it had created.
The glow of a crater could pierce the darkest night with a gentle green hue that, had it been cast by bioluminescent flora instead of radioactive waste, could be considered serene. The chemical weapons that had crippled ships at harbor had formed a terrace for newly spawned plant life leading to the formation of what visitors referred to as the Hanging Gardens of Miami. And here in the marketplace of Durango it managed to turn a crowd of a few hundred into a teaming throng.
Crowds were rare and Erica couldn’t remember the last time she had seen so many people in one place.
The people gathered at the terminus of Narrow Gauge Avenue in what was formerly a parking lot for an antique railroad and tourist trap. Merchant booths cobbled together from plywood and metal sheets filled the marketplace in organized rows. Vendors hawked everything from clothes to weapons to souvenirs. It was an odd site to see the merchandise spread across plywood tables while the dealers huddled against a wall to get out of the wind. Erica was used to traders hovering over their merchandise with a bargain to be had in one hand and a gun in the other.
The king’s guard oversaw the relaxed atmosphere. Men bearing the ram’s skull wandered the crowd and watched from elevated positions around the marketplace. Each carried a menacing sword at their side. They didn’t mingle. They didn’t shop. They only watched. Their focus was the kingdom.
“It’s been forever since I’ve seen this many people in one place
,” Erica said.
“I know,” Jerry replied. “Watch your wallet.”
Drowsy vendors jumped to their feet as the two potential customers passed their booth.
A man behind a table full of rusted tools smiled and opened his arms wide to highlight his stock. “Tools. I’ve got tools here. I’ve got everything you need. I don’t even know what half this stuff does. But you probably do and you probably need it.”
Erica and Jerry passed by without a glance.
The vendor grabbed a hammer and waved it in their direction. “Look at this. This is a good hammer. You could really fix the crap out of something with this.”
Various blunt objects and spiked sticks filled the next booth. A sheet a plywood leaning against the table declared them to be “handcrafted weapons of extreme excellence.”
“You need a stick? I’ve got sticks. I’ve got a stick with a spike on the end. You need a chain? I’ve got chains. I’ve even got a chain with a spike on the end.”
Again the couple moved by without giving the vendor their attention.
The vendor grabbed one of the sticks from the table. “Look at this. This is a good stick. You could really kill the crap out of something with this.”
An elderly woman stood in the back of the next booth behind a table that stocked the inventory of the town’s souvenir shops. “Tiny spoons. Let everyone know you’ve been here with a tiny spoon. No? How about a koozie? I’ve got koozies. Postcards? Day-Glo T-shirt? Wooden train whistles? Fridge magnet? Dammit, this stuff sucks.”
They passed several booths selling clothes that appeared to be in decent shape. Few things took their toll on a wardrobe like an apocalypse, and Erica cast a glance too long at one of the tables. The vendor stood from his chair and leaned over the table. “Hey, man. Your lady needs new clothes. You can’t dress a pretty lady like that.”
Erica shook her head. “Thanks, but I’m fine.”
“You are that. Maybe you need a fine dress, too? I’ve got some nice tight shirts that would fit you just fine.”
“We’re not interested,” Jerry said.
“Hey, man. I know what you want. I got some sluttier stuff in the back. Some costume stuff, too. If you’re into that kind of thing. I’ve got a Little Bo Peep. Only worn once.”
Knights of the Apocalypse (A Duck & Cover Adventure Post-Apocalyptic Series Book 2) Page 2