Knights of the Apocalypse (A Duck & Cover Adventure Post-Apocalyptic Series Book 2)

by Benjamin Wallace

  The exchange of blows was frantic. Each landed a few punches before the pair collapsed to the ground. Shane rolled to the top of the struggle and drew back his hand.

  Jerry grabbed him around the chest and pulled him off the kid before he could strike and tossed him to the ground.

  Shane came up with fury in his eyes.

  Jerry turned his back. “He wanted her dead all along, Shane. We were never supposed to come back.”

  Shane threw up his hands. “So what do we do now?”

  Jerry helped Aaron to his feet. “We go back. We go back and we stop the prince from overthrowing the king, and I can’t believe I just said that.”

  “Two of us? Against an army of knights?”

  “Maybe not.” Jerry turned to Aaron. “What do you say? Are you up for some old-fashioned revenge?”

  His fists still clenched, Aaron looked from Shane to Jerry and relaxed. He nodded slowly.

  “Three of us?” Shane asked.

  “For starters,” Jerry said. “We go back to Farmington with Aaron. He explains what happened, and King Rodney rallies his army to help and I can’t believe I just said that either.”

  “You’re fucking crazy.” Shane kicked a rock and moved to get his gear.

  “The girls are in trouble, Shane. We have to get back and save them.” Jerry turned and bent to gather their belongings. He handed Aaron his sword and dropped the two hatchets into his belt. “We don’t have any choice.”

  “You may not have choices, Jerry,” Shane said as he appeared behind Aaron. “But I do.”

  Aaron screamed as the tip of the rusty katana grew from his chest. His death was quick. The young man’s face grimaced in pain and then relaxed. His body dropped to the ground as Shane withdrew the blade.

  Jerry dropped to the ground and felt for a pulse knowing he wouldn’t find anything.

  “You really do try and save everyone, don’t you, Jerry?”

  The wailing grew from a single shriek into a horrible chorus. They were closer than before.

  Jerry rose to his feet and watched Shane wipe the blood from the blade. He was smiling.

  Shane shook the blood from his fingers. “I know who you are. Brae told me. Jerry the Librarian. And, more importantly, I know what you’re worth. So I figure I’ll kill you and claim the bounty. You see? I always had another way out. Don’t get me wrong. I wanted this to work out. I wanted to save the princess, return a hero and then turn you in. But if this is the way it has to be, that’s fine too.”

  “You saved my life four times,” Jerry said.

  “And it was a total pain in the ass every time. For such a legendary badass, you sure need a lot of babysitting.”

  “Why bother?”

  “If you died on the train or around any of the idiots we came here with, it would look pretty suspicious if I cut off your head and put it in a bag. These Middle Ages people are weird, but even that’s pushing it. But now that we’re alone, I’ll just take your head and be on my way back east.”

  “What about Brae?”

  “What about her?” Shane asked. “She’s a whore.”

  “That’s not cool, man.”

  “No. That’s not what I mean. I mean—yes, she is a whore. But, I’m not calling her names. She’s a whore. Whoring is what she does. It’s how she earns her keep in the kingdom. They stuck me in the mines and they stuck her in bed.”

  “We can still save her.”

  “She’s been with every guy in the kingdom. Do you have any idea how they look at you when your wife is everyone else’s good time? Do you know what that does to a man? I haven’t been able to touch her in years.”

  “You can get past this. I’m sure she did it for you.”

  “What kind of sick logic is that? I loved her once. But it’s hardly worth risking my life going back, storming a castle—the valiant knight rescues the princess, Jerry. Not the harlot.”

  “You’re hardly the hero here, Shane.”

  “I can live with that.” Shane attacked. The katana with a thousand nicks whistled as it whipped through the air.

  Jerry leapt back and drew the hatchets from his belt as Shane pulled the sword back against his side.

  Shane stabbed the rusty point at Jerry’s stomach. The hatchet deflected the strike. Shane stepped backed quickly as the second hatchet tore the air in front of his face. He pulled the blade over his head and brought it down on top of the shorter man.

  Sparks erupted from the collision of steel as Jerry crossed the hatchets to catch the sword’s blade. He pulled the tools tight and twisted his weight over the blade. He spun, turning his back to his opponent and following through to the side of Shane’s head. Shane fell away as Jerry wrenched the blade from his hand.

  Shane stumbled back toward the parking lot on the edge of town and fell to his back. Jerry was between him and the fallen blade. Shane smiled. “What now? You don’t strike me as the kill-an-unarmed-man type.”

  Jerry backed away, stepping behind the katana. “Pick up the sword.”

  Shane propped himself up on his shoulders and shook his head. “Your moral code is going to get you killed, Jerry.”

  Jerry backed up farther. “Pick it up now!”

  “And what if I don’t?”

  Jerry ran forward and leapt into the air. Shane fell back to the ground and crossed his arms in front of his face, assuming that his forearms were hatchet proof.

  Jerry sunk a hatchet into the creature’s left shoulder.

  The scream was deafening. The Aztec’s right hand reached out with nails like talons and grabbed Jerry’s right wrist.

  He felt the nails break the skin and he fought back a shriek of his own as he swung the other hatchet into the beast’s ribs. Jerry pulled the weapons free and turned to face several of the mutations as they began to wail, and Shane finally began to catch on.

  He heard Shane scrambling to get the sword as another creature came at him. This one had been a middle-aged woman before her humanity had been trumped by madness. Her hair was long and stringy in patches. Bald spots covered the rest of her head. Her teeth were spotty, as well. She led with those and tried for Jerry’s neck.

  He tried not to see who she was before. He tried to ignore the flash of humanity in her eyes as the rusted edge of the hatchet separated her neck and shoulder, but it was there. They appeared just human enough to make a man think they could be reasoned with and cause a swell of guilt.

  The woman fell to the ground and bled to death in front of him.

  There was no time for regret as a group of three rushed at them next. Two came for him and the third peeled off to try and eat Shane. One was an older teen while the other still wore the remnants of a safety orange traffic vest. Jerry sent the teen sprawling and focused on the road crewmember. He was built like a water barrel and, despite the starvation that drove them all mad, he did not look as if he had missed too many meals.

  Jerry swung and his hand was caught. The man in the safety vest wailed as he pulled Jerry closer and threw him to the ground. He rolled over as the teen pounced on him and pinned him to the ground. Jerry held him back with a forearm. His other arm was trapped at his side. All he could do was chop at the kid’s ankle. If it hurt, the creature didn’t show it. They screamed incessantly, so his wailing was no help.

  The kid still had his braces. They were caked with rotted flesh and dirt, and they stank more and more the closer they got to his face.

  Jerry turned his head to gain another inch of distance and saw Shane pulling the sword from the third member of the group. “Little help?”

  Shane looked at him and moved out of view.

  The wailing stopped with a wheeze. A sound of surprise escaped the teen’s swollen lips as he was torn from Jerry.

  Alliances changed faster than anything in the wasteland and Jerry expected Shane to help him to his feet. They would fight off the mutants together and then go back to trying to kill each other—a standard deal in the wasteland.

  But it wasn’t Sh
ane. Safety Vest held the teen by his neck and squeezed as the kid tried to wail.

  Jerry scrambled back from the skirmish.

  The teen tore the flesh from Safety Vest’s arms as his wails were choked to nothing. Blood flew everywhere. The teen’s foot was still lying on the ground and the stump flailed as he tried to get free from the bigger beast.

  Shane tore through two more of the wailing Aztec’s with the katana as the teen’s body dropped to the ground. The monster in the safety vest turned his eyes on Jerry and shrieked. His wail was like a storm siren as he charged.

  Jerry did his best to get out of the way.

  Safety Vest did not attack with the same reckless abandon of the others. His approach was more cautious and calculated. It could explain his weight. This one seemed smart enough and brutal enough to get what he wanted over the others.

  Jerry held the hatchets firm in his hands. It was instinct telling him to throw them at the approaching threat. It screamed, “Throw it at him! He’ll go away. And if it doesn’t work, throw the other one. Then find something else to throw. Just don’t let that big bastard get any closer!”

  The voices made sense, but Jerry did what he could to ignore them. He stood a better chance with the miniature axes in his hands. He knew this. But as the creature drew closer, he desperately wanted to throw them both and run away.

  The mutant in orange didn’t lunge like the others. He didn’t lead with his appetite. He swiped a bloody arm like an awkward right hook.

  Jerry blocked the swing with his forearm. The strike hit like a wall of water. It was slow but the force nearly pushed him off his feet.

  A left swing followed and caught him on the shoulder. It knocked him the other way. Jerry dropped under the next blow and brought the hatchet down on the mutant’s boot.

  Jerry swore as the blade bounced harmlessly off the boot. He should have known they’d be steel-toed.

  The foot came up and caught him across the chest. The mutant wailed as the kick sent Jerry back three or four feet and put him on his ass.

  Jerry rolled backwards to gain several more feet of distance, sprang to his feet and threw the hatchet.

  It stopped the shriek. But only long enough for the creature to study the hatchet embedded in his shoulder.

  Jerry could tell the creature didn’t think much of the wound. It certainly didn’t make him happy. The beast grunted and stomped forward. Jerry threw the other hatchet. It missed. He started looking for something else to throw.

  He reached for a rock but the hand was around his throat before he could get his fingers on it. He’d fought tough guys before. He fought men twice his size, but none had ever lifted him from the ground with such little effort.

  The mutant’s forearm felt like coiled rope but gripped like steel. Jerry tried to pull them free at first but, as his feet left the ground, he found himself trying to hold himself up so his neck didn’t snap.

  The massive hands began to squeeze and Jerry’s vision started to fade. There wasn’t much time.

  Jerry stopped fighting the arms and twisted the hatchet from the mutant’s shoulder. What had to be immeasurable pain didn’t register on the creature’s face. Jerry could even swear he thought he saw it smile.

  The beast stopped smiling as the hatchet cleaved his face in two.

  Jerry backed away and surveyed the battlefield as the monster collapsed to the ground. Shane had killed the final two Aztecs and had turned his attention back to collecting his bounty.

  “I’m going to start a new band with the money. Maybe I’ll call us the Headhunters.”

  “You don’t have to do this, Shane. You can still make this right.” Jerry looked around at the slaughter and saw the young man dead on the ground. “Well, you can’t make the thing with Aaron right, but you can still help me save Brae.”

  “I’ll find a new girl,” Shane said. “The city is full of them and every chick wants a rock star.”

  “Don’t do this.”

  “Like I’ve been telling you since we met, Jerry. I’ve got you.” Shane held the katana like a Louisville slugger and ran forward.

  Jerry stood his ground.

  Shane jumped over the fallen road crewmember and swung with every intention of separating Jerry’s head from his shoulders with a single blow.

  Jerry dove forward under the blade and somersaulted to the dead monster. He pulled the hatchet from the monster’s face, spun and threw.

  Shane caught the hatchet with his face and toppled forward.

  Jerry sighed, picked up the sword and retrieved the hatchets. He looked west down the river towards Farmington then back to the dead boy and the princess’s grave. That wouldn’t be easy to explain. He hung his head and turned back towards Silverton.

  SEVENTEEN

  Erica had never been in a courtroom. She had always kept her nose relatively clean and led a low-key social life prior to the end of the world. She’d never even been called for jury duty. After everything ended, justice became a much less formal affair and was meted out with fewer robes and gavels and forgoing the court all together. All she knew of courtrooms was what she saw on TV.

  Countless shows had taken viewers into ornate courtrooms as roommates battled over water bills, cable bills, electric bills, rent-to-own bills and who ate the last of the leftover Moo Shu pork. Full of wood paneling, tall ceilings and more flags than an Olympic ceremony, these network sets made a mockery of the ones she saw on cable news. Real justice happened in drab civic buildings that were little more than boxes painted calming shades of blue.

  The one constant was that in every case the judge sat elevated above the court and looked down upon the defendants. But it was nothing like the scene before her.

  Behavioral psychologists claimed that the human eye was drawn to color. Through countless tests and experiments, it was determined that bold shapes and bright splashes of color would command the viewer’s attention first and foremost over all else. Erica doubted that any of these tests were ever conducted in a room with a twenty-foot throne made of discarded mining tools.

  She stared up at the monstrosity wondering how anyone could sit, much less climb, the seat without impaling themselves on the exposed points of steel. She wondered how anyone could devote the manpower and materials to create such a gaudy seat of power. And she wondered how it could be conceived, built and installed without anyone bothering to measure the room beforehand. After that, she noticed the colorful banners placed around the room.

  A small man in a large cloak entered the room with a certain drama that would have silenced the room had he not tripped on the ill-fitting garment. There was a short round of sarcastic applause as the man stood and cleared his throat. The small man looked like a drawn curtain in the folds of his cloak, but his voice was more than big enough for the room. “All rise.”

  The applause ended and silence overcame the room as those present rose to their feet.

  The man in the cloak stood before a tapestry that mostly covered a doorway. Erica could see the king behind it waiting mostly patiently as the man in the robe announced him.

  “Introducing His Majesty Elias, protector of the realm, defender of the faith, enforcer of all that is good, conqueror of the rabble, the sinister and those who threaten peace, architect of peace, engineer of civility, conductor of prosperity, champion of right, punisher of wrongs, judge of those things in between, friend to all, nemesis of evil, benevolent ruler of the Five Peaks and undisputed champion of the handsomeness contest.”

  The king entered and leaned towards the scribe.

  Erica, shackled to a small table at the front of the courtroom, was close enough to hear.

  “Maybe we should lose the last part,” Elias whispered.

  “Of course, sire.”

  Elias took a step towards the throne, had a thought and stepped back to the scribe. “Or move it up and end with the benevolent ruler bit. I think it might sound better that way.”

  “Of course, sire.”

  Elias d
idn’t bow. Kings don’t bow. He walked with a majestic strut to the foot of the throne, looked up and paused.

  Erica heard him sigh before beginning the long climb to the top of his seat. It would be inaccurate to say he settled in, but there was a fair amount of shifting, twisting and one “ouch” as he took his place above the court.

  The king nodded and the man in the robe spoke once again.

  “Bow before your king.”

  Erica turned and watched as the crowd bowed. The courtroom was full. This was theater to the populace. They weren’t here to see justice done. They came for the show. Citizens of all classes lined the rows. Even Sandra and the girls were gathered together in the back of the room. Erica made eye contact with them and they turned away. Only Brae held her gaze. There was something reassuring in the eyes of a friend.

  The scribe had moved behind a small podium. “The defendant will now rise.”

  Erica stood as far as the shackles would allow. By design, it was not her full height. No defendant could stand full and proud before the court of the king.

  The scribe made the accusations. “Jennifer of the Outlands, you stand accused of murder of a Knight of the Realm. Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  Erica cleared her throat and spoke clearly. “I do, Your … Honor? If it pleases the court,” she knew enough about courts to begin with that. “What the hell is wrong with you people? Your town is beautiful. You have everything here. You have security. You have prosperity like I haven’t seen in years. But you’re so bat-shit crazy about this kingdom stuff that you’re treating others like peasants. Humanity spent hundreds of years overcoming this. Why would you want to go back to such a dark time?

  “You have the resources here, the people, the organization to bring civilization back to the world, but you insist on this pageantry and nonsense. I’ve seen a glimmer of what was before the end in the people here. You have the might and the means to take good to the world. Call it your duty. Call it your quest. Call it whatever you want, but how can you sit here and condemn others to a life of misery as you sit upon your very weird throne when you are capable of so much more?”