Carter was down but not out of the fight, tenacious asshole that he was. He’d dragged himself across the gravel, one painful inch at a time to get a bead on me. The bastard was serious about killing me, I’ll give him that. His next shot hit me in my already battered ribs, the bullet would have buried itself in my heart if not for the protection of the vest. I slid around to the nose of the car to get myself out of his line of fire. Tweedle Dumb had the briefcase and was hauling ass toward the helicopter. Looked like Carter was as expendable as me after all. I swore under my breath when I saw that the bag with the gold was sitting inside the chopper. My bag of gold, thieving bastards! I snapped off a couple of rounds that hit Tweedle Dumb in the back, he staggered but managed to throw himself inside the chopper. The pilot lifted off as soon as Tweedle Dumb was inside. I slammed a fresh mag home in the .45 and shifted my aim to the rotor. Double crossing sons of bitches wanted to take the prize and keep my gold, I don’t think so.
Before I could unload my pistol into the rotor, I felt white hot flame erupt in my left side, the crack of a rifle shot followed a heartbeat later. Shit, there was another shooter, a sniper with a high-powered rifle. I should have expected that. The sniper would be tucked in like a tick on a dog’s ass, watching me through the green glow of a night vision scope, ready to finish the job if Carter and the Tweedles failed. My vest was only rated for pistol rounds, the high velocity bullet from the rifle cut through the Kevlar like hot butter. I slumped to my knees, reeling from the impact, my vision fading to black at the edges as I fought against the impulse to just lie down and give up. I felt the hot burn as another bullet cut a groove across my thigh. I could smell the coppery tang of my own blood pouring through the wound in my side. I thought I heard a woman scream my name, but I couldn’t spare a glance to see who it was. Another rifle round kicked up gravel beside me, the rock shattered into fragments that lacerated my forehead and face. I gritted my teeth, told the pain to kiss my ass, and flopped back towards the shelter of the Monte Carlo.
From somewhere behind me I heard the thump, thump, thump of a heavy caliber machine gun. Great, more shooters, I thought. They might get me, but I was taking Carter along for the ride. I went prone and rolled onto my side, ignored the pain coursing through my battered body. I could see him on the other side of the car, a trail of blood staining the gravel behind him. Both of our guns came up, the desire to kill one another the only thing that mattered. This time I was the fastest.
“Hey asshole, your services are no longer required.” I growled. I fired a heartbeat before he could squeeze his own trigger. A .45 caliber hole blossomed on his forehead, and I saw the spray from the back of his head haloed in the dim glow of the parking lot lights as his brains painted the parking lot.
The gunfire stopped, I didn’t know how or why, I was just glad people had stopped shooting at me. I was tired, mentally and physically drained, wounded and bleeding like a stuck pig in the parking lot of a saloon. I knew I should probably do something about the blood pouring out of me, but it seemed unimportant at the moment. I heard swearing, probably the owner of the Monte Carlo that had served as my shield. I’d have gladly offered to pay for the damages, the car had saved me from dying after all, but my gold was flying further away by the second.
I rolled onto my back, tried to blink the blood out of my eyes. I coughed, tasted more blood. I groaned at the pain in my ribs, I could feel the bones grating together when I tried to breathe. Broken, several at least. I took shallow breaths, tried to breathe through the pain. It wasn’t working. I felt like I’d been run over by a truck.
My vision went blurry, then focused on the tail of a shooting star streaking across the heavens. With all the bullets flying around I hadn’t noticed how clear and beautiful the desert night sky was, the stars on full display. I searched for the stars that marked Orion’s position, remembered nights peering through a telescope with my mom and dad as a kid. Orion, the hunter was their favorite. They’d tell me fantastical stories about the constellations and how they came to be. Damn, I missed them.
I went to lift my hand to apply pressure to the wound in my side, but my hand felt too heavy to raise, so I let it fall back to the ground. I’d tend to it after I rested a while. A sudden chill coursed through my body. I shuddered, remembered Grangran’s rabbit story.
It was getting colder, not unusual for a desert night. I closed my eyes, the rest would do me good, I’d earned it. I was drifting off to a place where the pain didn’t seem important anymore when I felt a wet tongue slapping me across the face. It was a medium sized black and white dog. He was whining and licking my face. I searched my memory for his name, it was hard to concentrate and eluded me at first, but it finally came to me.
“Bo,” I groaned. “What are you doing here, boy?”
Bo didn’t get a chance to answer, he was shoved aside by someone with auburn hair and tear filled emerald-colored eyes. An angel, here to take me wherever my damaged soul was going. She was flanked by another woman in a leather fringed jacket and a big Hispanic man dressed in black. They seemed familiar, but my mind couldn’t wrap itself around their names. I could tell that they were worried about something though. The blonde in the fringed leather jacket yelled something to the man about bleeding out.
“Don’t you dare die on me, Catcher.” The pretty auburn-haired girl whispered.
“Hey, babe.” Caitlin, that was her name, my girl. I tried to wink at her. Then everything went black.
Epilogue
Carrizozo, NM
My everything hurt. I felt weak and disoriented. My memories were a hazy blur, sporadic and jumbled. Gunfire, Carter and his men trying to kill me, Caitlin, Nancy and Pancho dragging my mostly dead body into the ambulance. My gold and the retrieve disappearing into the night sky. Pain, lots and lots of pain as my friends poked, prodded, dug around in my body with forceps and did everything they could to snatch me from the Reaper’s grasp.
I didn’t open my eyes, the light coming in from the windows was too bright, I could feel it searing my eyeballs through my eyelids, the ache in my skull too intense to deal with a sudden bombardment of sunlight. I focused on my other senses. There was the sound of soft snoring from beside me. Faint voices from the other side of the wall, voices I recognize, trusted. I guess I wasn’t dead after all, even if I felt like it.
I breathed in the air, focused on the smells. The slightly musty scent of old wood with a hint of dust and sagebrush mixed in. Familiar smells, comforting smells. I moved my hand slightly and felt long coarse fur. Bo, guarding me, waiting on me to wake up. Probably hungry and wondering why the hell I was sleeping when his food bowl was empty.
I cracked my eyelids slightly, eased my way back into the land of the living. Slowly, they readjusted to the light. I recognized the odd pattern in the wood planked ceiling that I always thought resembled an old man’s face, I focused on it, willing the pain in my skull to subside. My gun belt hung on the headboard post behind me. I smelled the leather of the holster and the scent of gun oil on a recently cleaned gun. I was in the cabin, home, my sanctuary, hidden away in the foothills of the Carrizozo Mountain range.
The details of the fight with Carter and his men started to come back in bits and pieces. The memory made it seem like a protracted affair, but in reality, it had gone down in a couple of minutes from the first shot fired to the last. They’d taken my gold, almost killed me, but I took some satisfaction in knowing that I turned Carter’s head into a canoe, and I still had the missing page of formulas. The game wasn’t over yet.
Bo lifted his head and looked at me when I groaned and sat up, swung my legs over the side of the bed. My stomach was grumbling, I had no idea how long I’d been out. I relished the feel of the cool wood floor under my bare feet. I smelled the sour stench of sweat coming off me, no doubt from the fever I must have had as my body fought off the infection from my numerous wounds. My mouth was dry, and my tongue felt like it had grown a fur coat. There was a glass of water on the nightstand and a bott
le of oxycodone. I washed down four of them and drained the glass.
Bo cocked his head sideways, annoyed that I’d disturbed his nap. Great, that probably meant dog piss in one of my boots when he decided to get even. I rubbed his ears and whispered to him, told him how glad I was to see him and thanked him for bringing me back from the brink. He showed me his teeth and growled, then tried to climb into my lap. I pushed him away and took inventory of myself.
My ribs were wrapped in bandages, the same for my thigh. Big, purple bruises covered my torso. I tightened my leg muscles, there was pain there, but it felt more like a bad burn. It would heal, I might have a slight limp for a while, but the story would cost some sucker a glass or two of top shelf liquor. Breathing hurt but wasn’t optional so I took slow even breaths. I wouldn’t be exerting myself anytime soon. That was fine by me, I planned on sleeping for at least a week. I felt my face. Butterfly bandages on my cheeks and forehead, raw abrasions scabbed over and the area around my left eye was swollen and tender. The pain in my side was sharp, just this side of unbearable. I peeled back the gauze that covered the entrance wound where the rifle bullet tore through the meaty part above my belt line. I assumed since I was still breathing, it must have missed anything vital. It still hurt like hell. The stitches were ugly, most likely Nancy’s handiwork. You’d think she’d be better at sewing up bullet wounds as much practice as she’d had. I touched the exit wound through the gauze on my back. I knew it was much larger from the hydrostatic shock the round imparted as it passed through me. Pain flared and a wave of nausea washed over me. I heaved up the oxy and water into the trash can some thoughtful person had placed by the bed. I wiped the bile from my chin and waited for the nausea to pass.
Don’t believe what Hollywood showed you. You don’t just shake off a bullet wound and keep going. A bullet packs a lot of kinetic energy. Ever watched someone shoot a jug full of water? Saw the explosive reaction as the pressure expanded the jug in every direction? Well, guess what, the human body is made up of a lot of fluid and reacts a lot like that jug. Gunshots are nasty and if the damage from the bullet doesn’t do you in, the resulting infection from the clothing and dirt that the bullet drags along in its wake will. Getting shot sucks and it hurts like a son of a bitch. I recommend avoiding it whenever possible.
I realized I was naked. There was a pair of cotton gym shorts on the end of the bed, so I put them on slowly without too much swearing when I pulled at the stitches. I stood, wobbled a bit as the Earth’s rotation sped up. I choked back the nausea brought on by the sudden vertigo and closed my eyes until it passed.
I eased my way slowly to the door and cracked it open, Bo right on my heels. I could see Caitlin, Nancy and Pancho sitting around the small table in the living room playing cards. A half empty bottle of tequila sat on the table. My stomach threatened to revolt again at the thought of ingesting tequila in my present state. The trio was laughing and having a good time. That wasn’t fair. Apparently getting shot to pieces during the greatest retrieve in history wasn’t enough to get you an invitation to the after party.
I opened the door and limped into the room. “Mind keeping it down? Some of us are trying to recover.”
Caitlin was on her feet and before I knew it, she had her arms around me, her head pressed against my chest. She was mindful of my wounds, which I greatly appreciated.
“Idiot.” She whispered. “I thought I’d lost you.”
“Is that any way to talk to a legend?” I asked. I could just imagine the stories being told about me in the saloons. The lone retriever who dared to go east of the Mississippi and make it back, only to be double crossed by his employer and survive a shootout against a small army of professional killers. My legend would grow by epic proportions with each retelling. Maybe Simpson and Shelman would perform a skit about me. Of course, I’d have to play the role myself, it would be damned near impossible to find anyone even close in the charisma and good looks department.
I returned Caitlin’s embrace and breathed her in. I was out a hundred thousand in gold, but I had her by my side. Nancy glared disapprovingly at me for being out of bed, but I could see the relief in her eyes that I’d live to fight another day. Pancho gave me the finger and a big smile, poured a glass of tequila and slid it towards the empty space at the table to his right. Bo pressed up against my leg, protective and loyal, ready to fight anything alive or undead that would threaten me. This was my family, and I was lucky to have them. They’d been there when the chips were down. I was dead broke, but I wasn’t dead. There would be other jobs, other adventures with big paydays and bigger stories, but for now, this was enough. I leaned on Caitlin and let her help me to the fourth chair at the table. I eased down into it, winded and aching from the short walk across the room.
I eyed the glass of tequila, too soon I decided, then pointed at the deck of cards Nancy was shuffling. “Deal me in.”
Author’s Note
Well, that was fun, for me anyway. I hope you enjoyed reading Rye’s tale as much as I did writing it. When I read the first Zombie Road book, Convoy of Carnage, for me it felt like a heavy metal Western. I was hooked and a short amount of time later I wrote my first story for the Long Haul Anthology. Things escalated from there and I had the privilege of being part of The Feral Children. I never saw that one coming but am eternally grateful it did.
Ever since David introduced the retrievers, I’ve wanted to write a story about these post-apocalyptic rock stars. I came up with the character of Rye while I was working on the Feral Children trilogy. I’ve always loved westerns and I wanted to expand on that feeling I felt when I read Convoy of Carnage and do something with an old west meets modern technology feel to it and explore the brave men and women who are more comfortable outside the safety of the walls than within them.
Rye is a gambler at his core, so if some of the chapter names seem odd, it’s because every chapter is named from poker terminology. I tried to use terms that reflected the action in the story.
What’s next? I’m glad you asked. Rye will return in Road To Riches 2: Dead Run and will pick up where this one left off. With a little luck, it will hit Amazon in the winter of 2021. Also, as of this writing, there is at least one more person working on another book set in the Zombie Road world. I’ve read some of the concepts and a few excerpts and it looks like it will be a good one. And of course, David is working on new projects that continue the main storyline and I’m excited to see where it goes.
If you are curious about Rye and Bo’s adventures on the border with the ruthless bandit Pascal, you can find that story as a bonus at the end of The Feral Children 3: Nomads titled Burrito Bushido. Nurse Nancy and Pancho can be found in a solo adventure in The Zombie Road Fan Fiction Anthology under the title of Easy Money. We may even get a standalone Nurse Nancy book at some point. The entire Zombie Road collection including The Feral Children Trilogy and two anthologies, are available on Amazon, so if you haven’t already immersed yourself in the world David Simpson created, you are missing a treat.
Feel free to email me at [email protected] and tell me how much you loved it or hated it. I welcome all constructive criticisms and ideas. Also, please leave a review. It’s the highest compliment you can give an indie author. I’m also on Facebook and hang out frequently on the David Simpson Fan Club page. There are many miles left on the Zombie Road, places to go and people to meet, and it’s my pleasure to travel them with you.
Wesley Norris
July 22, 2021
Acknowledgments
I’d like to give a big thanks to all of the people who threw their names in the hat to appear in this story. It was a lot of fun trying to match the personalities of the characters with information I was able to glean from your interactions on the fan club page. Almost every single character in this book is named or modeled after the terrific members of the David Simpson Fan Club page on Facebook. If you haven’t joined yet, hop on over and get in on the fun!
Thank you, Nancy Ward. Nancy, Davi
d and I came up with the character of Nurse Nancy over a few cold beers after a convention in 2020. She has fully embraced the character and even has her costume that she cosplays in. She’s a fun, unpredictable character to write, just like her real-life counterpart.
A huge thank you to David Simpson. Thanks for the encouragement and trust to let me play in your world. I promise not to break anything. David’s a talented writer and a superb human. I’m flattered and humbled for the chance to expand the world he’s created.
Road to Riches: Deadline: Book 1 (Zombie Road) Page 22