Close behind him were Spider and Jonah, both keeping a short distance behind Ojo but following him nonetheless. Both were annoyed by the fact that Ojo had been counting every single step he had been taking verbally, and if that wasn’t enough, he forced both of them to carry all of the food and supplies in large and heavy canvas bags as well.
Ojo could trek on for hours without needing to rest. Spider and Jonah would slow down from sore feet after an hour or two of walking along the dirt road, but Ojo would simply interrupt his counting, turn to face them and say “come on, amigos, the man who killed my brother hasn’t stopped and neither will we!” before continuing on down the road and resuming his counting again.
Spider and Jonah looked at each other. It wasn’t like they had to follow Ojo. This was his crusade and not theirs. But at the same time, Ojo had always been their leader. He had been the leader when they were in prison, he had lead the violent escape from the prison itself when the EMP had gone off, and he had commanded the gang members as a cohesive unit when they scavenged and looted the countryside afterwards.
There were twenty-three gang members then, and Ojo, Spider, and Jonah represented all that remained. Spider and Jonah both knew that the attack on the Foster family homestead had been an absolute disaster, considering the Pyrrhic casualties that had been sustained in the two assaults, and so there was little reason to think that Ojo wouldn’t lead them to their deaths in the coming hours or days.
But despite that, neither Spider nor Jonah dared to verbally communicate with one another to decide what to do. Ojo previously hadn’t hesitated to put a bullet in the brains of two other gang members, Pills and Jerry, when they did or said things he didn’t like. So instead, Spider just kept walking along, and Jonah kept walking with him. Ojo was their leader, and without him, they would be directionless and without purpose.
Seven hours of walking along the dirt road later, the day was slowly but steadily coming to an end. The orange sun was sinking behind the horizon and the world became significantly dimmer to signal the arrival of dusk.
It was only then that Ojo finally came to an abrupt stop on the road.
“Okay, amigos, now we can rest. Twenty-nine thousand eight hundred and seventy three steps. Both of you remember that, okay? I’m gonna ask you both later so you better remember.”
Spider and Jonah were relieved. All day of walking up and down the long winding road and they had covered nearly fifteen miles, but to them, it had felt more like fifteen hundred.
Jonah crumpled to the grass beside the road to relax his legs and feet. He pulled off his boots to reveal that both feet were covered in blisters and red skin marks. The fact he wasn’t wearing socks didn’t help.
“We’ve been walkin’ all frickin’ day,” complained Spider. “And still no sign of that man, Ojo.”
“Well, he had a car, dumbass,” Ojo retorted. “Did you honestly think we would catch up so soon?”
“So you mean we gotta keep walking tomorrow?” Jonah asked dubiously.
“No, we keep walking tonight,” Ojo turned around to face them both. “One hour break.”
“One hour?!” Jonah exclaimed. “Are you mad?! What about sleep?! We need sleep!”
“Yeah, you don’t want to catch up to the man only to be half asleep, do you?” Spider chose his words carefully, trying to reason logically with Ojo.
“Fine, two hours then,” an annoyed Ojo spat onto an ant crawling along on the dirt. “Go ahead and get your precious beauty sleep. And hand me a can of black beans in the bag there. More important to be fed than rested, right amigos?”
The three ex-prison members each wolfed down a can of beans from one of the canvas bags and then sprawled out over the cool grass along the side of the road to rest. Ojo rambled on about his past life as a criminal before the EMP had gone off, sharing stories of he and Dominic when they were younger and a part of other gangs, while Spider and Jonah tried their best to ignore him to get what little badly-needed sleep they could get.
“Look, campfire, amigos!” Ojo suddenly blurted out to interrupt one of his own rambling stories that neither Spider nor Jonah were paying attention to.
Spider opened his eyes to see that Ojo was pointing out into the distance.
Ojo excitedly pulled himself to his feet.
“Look, look!” he exclaimed again, like a little kid in the toy store.
Spider tilted his head to see that in the pitch darkness there was a small, faint blaze in the distance, like an orange speck in the middle of a black wall.
“So?” Spider mumbled, his eyes only half open.
Ojo recovered his revolver from the ground and swung open the cylinder to confirm it was fully loaded.
“Let’s pay it a visit, amigos!” he said with an unnatural wide grin that revealed his several golden teeth. “On your feet! For all we know, it could be the man who killed Dominic! If it is, revenge at last! Fate is with me!”
* * *
Ojo, Spider, and Jonah peered through the thicket.
Two young men were sitting on logs around the campfire, staring into the flames as if they were locked in a captivating trance. Both looked to be around twenty-five or less, and neither was conversing with the other.
Ojo’s eyed rested on a two door red 1980s GMC pickup truck that was parked off to the side.
“Easy pickings,” he grinned.
“What do you want to do?” Jonah asked.
But before Jonah had even completed his sentence, Ojo had already leapt out of the brush and approached the two young men with open arms.
“Amigos!” he called out.
Both of the young men were instantly jolted out of their trance and stood up to see Ojo approaching. Spider and Jonah soon joined Ojo behind him.
“Who are you?” one of the young men asked.
The second man quickly reached into his sleeping bag bundle and withdrew a Marlin 336 .30-30 lever action rifle. He racked the lever to load a round into the chamber.
“Woah, woah, woah!” Ojo reached out his hands. “Let’s put that away, amigos.”
“Who are you?” the first man asked again.
It was only natural for both of the surprised men to be extremely wary of Ojo. He may have been a short man at five foot six, but he was also heavily tattooed and pierced, sported wild black hair and golden teeth, and currently was waving around a fully loaded .357 Magnum revolver…not exactly the most trustworthy appearance.
“Relax!” said Ojo.
“Why do you have a gun?” the second man asked.
Ojo smiled and proudly held up his Smith & Wesson to present it to the young men.
“Who doesn’t have a gun these days, amigos?” he asked. “No gun in your hand and you’re a dead man, right?”
“Fair enough, but why are you waving it around us is what he means?” the first man retorted, picking up a machete that was resting on the ground.
Ojo looked at the gun in his hands and shrugged.
“This bad boy may have a hair trigger but it only goes off when I want it to, my amigos,” Ojo said. “And it ain’t gonna go off now. That I can personally guarantee.”
“Let’s put it down for now,” said the second man, holding his .30-30 at the hip with the muzzle pointed towards Ojo. “Nice and easy. Then we can talk.”
Ojo twirled the gun around in his hands with a one-sided grin, before promptly jamming it into his belt.
“Okay, now we’re all amigos finally, right?” Ojo asked.
The two young men glanced at one another anxiously, neither reassured.
The first man then said: “Again, who are you? And what do you want?”
“Who am I?” Ojo asked with a sly chuckle. “I’m like you two guys. I’m alone, only here with my amigos.”
Ojo motioned towards Spider and Jonah, before continuing: “We’re alone, and we’ve lost a lot of our brothers. Same must have happened to you, am I right? Couldn’t just be you two alone this whole time. Wouldn’t have made it. There’s safety
in numbers, like they say.”
The two men glanced at one another again. To them, this short and heavily tattooed energetic man and his similar looking companions who had emerged out of nowhere were downright bizarre…and there was an air of danger around them.
“What’s your name?” the first man pressed.
“What’s my name?” Ojo asked. “Dominic, my name is Dominic.”
“Alright, Dominic,” said the first man, growing increasingly nervous with his fist tightening over the grip of his machete. “What do you want with us?”
Ojo peered behind them.
“Nice truck,” he remarked, before clapping his hands together. “Gentlemen, I’m here because I have a business proposal for the two of you. It’s a once in a lifetime opportunity.”
“A business proposal?” the second young man asked incredulously. “Dude, we ain’t interested in no business proposals. You and your *amigos* here better turn around and walk away, okay?”
“Wait, wait, wait, here me out!” Ojo insisted. “The two of you look like you are in big need of a leader of some kind, am I right? I was watching you all that time. Just staring there into the fire like you were under a spell or something. No talking to each other, just staring. Weird. Well, me and my amigos here, we come from a larger group. Long story short, we’re all that’s left, and we’re looking to add some new comrades. Some new amigos. Brothers. And the more brothers we have the better, because we are on a very important mission that the two of you can be a part of.”
The two young men looked at each other yet again. The first man shook his head.
“Beat it,” he grimaced. “Now.”
The big, enthusiastic smile that had been on Ojo’s face disappeared, and with it, so did his golden teeth.
“Don’t you want to hear what the mission is?” Ojo’s cheery voice had turned into a snarl. “I assure you, there is much reward in it for those who join. Like I said earlier, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity.”
“Did you not hear him?” the second man asked, stepping up to Ojo with the rifle pointed at his gut. “Beat it, asshole.”
“You’re making a big mistake, amigo,” Ojo was flexing his fingers by his side. “I say one more time, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. And you do not pass those up.”
“And I’ll say one more time,” the second man growled as he raised his rifle to his shoulder, so the muzzle was now directed directly at Ojo’s face. “Beat it, asshole.”
Ojo stared eagerly down the endless black muzzle of the .30-30.
“Well, shit,” Ojo sighed.
The first young man blinked. Before he did, Ojo and his comrade were standing before one another. The moment his eyes shut there was a single, earsplitting BANG that caused him to shudder, and the moment he opened them Ojo’s face was decorated in blood and brain matter and the second man was sprawled out flat on the ground with a wide and deep cavity in his skull.
The young man didn’t make a sound. He didn’t move. He just looked on in utter amazement. His brain wasn’t even processing what had just happened. How could have Ojo been that fast? Was he dreaming?
Ojo, his dark eyes now swimming with the same intense fury when he had murdered Pills and Jerry days before, turned his blood-splattered revolver towards the young man.
“Drop it,” Ojo ordered.
The young man let the hefty machete slip out of his wavering hands. He raised both his arms in surrender.
“Now get outta here,” Ojo gestured with his revolver towards the nearby trees.
The young man wasted no time in turning and bolting for the woods, where he disappeared into the thicket.
“Well, that was easy pickings,” Spider remarked.
Ojo jammed the revolver back into his waistband and scooped up the machete from the ground.
“One second,” he said.
Ojo then bolted into the trees after the young man.
Spider and Jonah were left standing awkwardly in the clearing around the campfire, the corpse of the recently deceased man at their feet.
For a few seconds, there was absolute silence, but it was quickly followed by a sudden, sharp scream that pierced the cool night air.
A few more seconds later and Ojo re-emerged from the trees.
He held up the machete near the campfire for Spider and Jonah to see that it was marinated in blood and guts.
“I like this thing,” Ojo admired the weapon as his cruel smile returned. “I think I’ll keep it.”
Ojo wiped the blade clean over the jacket of the dead man on the ground and then scooped up the Marlin .30-30.
“Here, you take that,” Ojo tossed the rifle to Spider.
Spider looked the lever gun over. The blued finish was well worn and the wood stock chipped in several places, but otherwise it seemed to be in decent condition.
“Don’t I get a gun?” Jonah asked.
Ojo looked around.
“Do you see another gun, amigo? We’ll find you another one later. You know what they say, patience is a virtue with great rewards for those who wait!”
Ojo fished around in the dead man’s pockets and withdrew the keys.
“Aha!” he cried out in victory and hopped over to the old red truck.
He swung the door open and then twisted the keys into the ignition to make the engine rumble to life. He laughed and patted the steering wheel.
“Well,” Ojo eagerly grinned. “At least I won’t have to count my steps anymore. Now, we only count miles!”
Chapter 24
Josie switched the safety off of the shotgun. Her finger was placed directly over the trigger, ready to blast whoever was on the other side of the wall. One short squeeze and the weapon would go off, which would most certainly dampen out any remaining hearing she had after the last few close range gunshots.
While still being razor focused on the empty doorway, she wondered if Ben was still clinging to life behind her. She couldn’t hear him breathing, but then again, that didn’t mean he was dead. At the very least, she knew he was bleeding out fast. If he was still alive, he didn’t have much time left.
The floor creaked in front of her. Josie was applying the maximum amount of pressure to the shotgun’s trigger without actually causing it to go off.
“Hello?” a male voice coming from behind the wall called out.
Josie said nothing. She started to squeezed the trigger even tighter…
“Hello, is anybody in the room?” the voice called out again. “Listen, we’re not here to fight you! I think we’re on the same team here!”
“Show yourself then!” Josie called back. “Slowly, and with your hands where I can see them!”
“Josie?!” a second male voice from behind the wall called out. “Josie, is that really you?!”
Josie froze. She recognized her husband’s voice from anywhere. But it couldn’t be him, how could it be…
“Roy?” she asked back, her voice nearly breaking and her finger starting to relax over the trigger.
“Josie!” Roy’s voice came back again. “Josie, it’s me and Jon!”
Josie started to lower her shotgun. As elated as she was to finally hear Roy’s voice again, the events of the last few days had taught her to never let her guard down no matter what.
“Don’t shoot, we’re coming out!” Roy called out again.
Tears streamed down Josie’s face as she saw Roy appear at the doorway. He was filthy dirty from head to toe and wearing the same tactical clothes that he had had on when she had last seen him, but the wounds across his face from his injuries sustained at the homestead battle were starting to heal into scars. It was almost as if he hadn’t changed at all since she had last seen him, only the facial injuries were not as fresh as had been when she had last seen him.
They both just stood there, looking at each other, both in complete disbelief that they had literally found the other by accident.
This can’t be real, Josie thought. It had to be a dream, in a moment everyt
hing would fade away back to the horror that she had last been enduring…
Jon’s voice pierced the moment of silence.
“Roy, buddy, what are you just standing there for? She’s your wife, isn’t she?”
Jon appeared at the doorway next, a Glock 19 in his hand and another G19 holstered in a thigh rig on his left leg.
His words snapped Roy and Josie out of the trance that they were in and they slid into each other’s arms. The moment she was captured in her husband’s embrace, Josie wept. It wasn’t a dream after all. It was real, and it was as if the entire world around them had dissipated so it was only the two of them…
“Holy shit.”
Those few seconds of peace and stillness in Roy and Josie’s reunion came to an abrupt end as they looked over to see that Jon was kneeling down next to Ben, still laying still and bleeding profusely on the floor. Suddenly, they were thrust back into survival mode.
“Ben!” Josie said, escaping her husband’s arms and rushing over. “He’s been shot!”
“Yeah, I can see that!” Jon was quickly assessing Ben’s gunshot wounds. “He’s still breathing, but man, he’s lost a lot of blood.”
Roy, still standing, looked Ben over from head to toe. It took him a brief moment to recognize who he was but the moment he did he instantly exclaimed: “That’s him, isn’t it?! That’s the kid from before, the one who came into our bunker!”
It was only then that Josie noticed Roy was holding his Beretta 92FS 9mm in his hand, and upon recognizing Ben he was slowly raising it instinctively.
“No!” she said. “I wouldn’t have made it here without him! He helped me find you!”
Roy lowered his gun. He trusted his wife, but at the same time, he wasn’t about to give one of the convicts who had attacked his family’s home a free pass or automatic forgiveness by any stretch of the imagination. Even if he had protected Josie and helped bring her this far, he was still an enemy combatant who was now their mortally wounded prisoner and at their mercy.
But then Ben started to murmur. His hand twitched and his leg moved. There was still life in him, even if it was growing dimmer and dimmer by the second. And in that moment, seeing Ben struggling to stay alive, Roy felt an ounce of sympathy. As much as he still didn’t trust Ben, keeping him alive was the morally right thing to do, he decided.
Our Survival: A Collection of Post Apocalyptic EMP Survival Thrillers Page 14