Knights of the Apocalypse (A Duck & Cover Adventure Post-Apocalyptic Series Book 2), Page 3

  “Oh, did it not help you get closer to the sheep?” Erica asked.

  The vendor snapped back and tried to think of a response.

  Jerry and Erica walked on before he could reply.

  “I told you that you were too pretty.”

  Erica smiled and shrugged.

  The booth they were looking for wasn’t covered in merchandise. It simply contained a sign that said “car parts” and the only thing on the table was a pair of cowboy boots that belonged to the vendor. The man was sleeping, maybe. His face was hidden beneath the wide brim of a hat.

  Erica cleared her throat and there was no response from the hat and boots. She cleared her throat and spoke. “Excuse me.”

  The man didn’t stir but mumbled back, “What do you want?”

  “We’re looking for a car part,” she said.

  The vendor didn’t move. “Lady, if you don’t have any money, you’d better have nice jugs, because I don’t open my eyes for browsers.”

  “We have items for trade,” she said.

  The man chuckled. “Then let’s hope you’ve got nice jugs.” He tipped the hat back and examined the couple. He examined Erica twice. “You’re lucky.”

  Jerry spoke up. “We’re looking for a fuel pump for a …”

  “It doesn’t matter what you’re looking for. If you don’t have king’s gold, I can’t sell you anything.”

  “I’ve got gold,” Jerry said.

  “If it doesn’t have the king’s face on it, it doesn’t matter.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” Erica said.

  “They do it every once in a while. Every time they feel there’s too much money out there, they try to draw it back in. Works great, too. As you can tell by my sleeping and everything.”

  “We need a fuel pump for a Cummins B-series,” Jerry said.

  “I’ve got it. And I’d love to sell it you. But you see that guy over there?” He pointed to one of the knights. “If I trade with you for anything but the ‘coin of the realm,’ we all go to the mines. So get yourself some proper coin or get lost.”

  “And how do we do that?” Jerry asked.

  The man pointed across the marketplace to the wall of the old train station. “Get a job, you bum. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” He laid back and pulled the hat back over his face.

  Erica huffed. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

  “That’s okay. The jugs were worth it.”

  Jerry hooked her elbow and walked her towards the board. “I told—”

  “Yeah, you told me,” she said. “Next time I’ll ugly up before leaving the truck.”

  “That’s all I ask,” he said as they crossed the parking lot.

  The wall of the train station was littered with fliers and served as an information exchange. Any town that welcomed outsiders had a similar board. Initially these boards had been covered with messages and letters attempting to reconnect with loved ones. Photos of family were left with rendezvous instructions.

  The board served as a news center where unreliable information was shared and rumors were spread. Travelers posted the locations of danger zones, clean water and friendly communities. A modern day version of the hobo code, the boards were meant to be helpful but were soon corrupted. Follow a post to a safe area and you’d be jumped by bandits. Hazardous areas were more likely groups of people wanting to be left alone.

  As the apocalypse wore on, these bills turned from missing persons and thinly veiled traps to opportunities. As people got it in their heads that there was no corner of the world untouched by the horror of the holocaust, they tried to rally parties to make their trek across the wasteland safer. Headlines full of promised lands and nirvanas led the bills. Locations were never given. There were just instructions to meet well provisioned and heavily armed.

  They stepped onto the wooden platform and Erica scanned the board looking for legitimate job offers. As trading routes became established, the traders often hired muscle to cart goods between established towns and guards to keep the goods safe. There were a handful of these. but a host of less savory “jobs” cluttered the board and kept them hidden. Most contained colorful language and sordid details while another just said, “Wink. Wink. Top dollar!”

  The remaining fliers created the biggest concern for the couple. Blood money notices weren’t all that common. Grudges certainly weren’t rare, but finding a person with both a grudge and the money to offer a bounty was. Only the larger governments could afford the luxury of spending resources to hasten an individual’s death.

  Erica always kept an eye out for these and she spotted a flier starring them. Jerry “The Librarian,” Erica and “Big Dog” were wanted persons. She put her hand on Jerry’s shoulder. “Jerr … Michael.”

  “I see it,” he said. “Don’t point.”

  They had made a nation of enemies protecting a Texas town from raiders. Jerry had cost the east coast nation of Alasis a death truck and many men. They had not forgotten. The $100,000-reward made that clear. It was the largest bounty on the board.

  “How far do we have to go?” she asked. “How far until this ends?”

  “Just a little further. Just a little further and we’ll be able to disappear.”

  “I hope so,” she whispered. “I can’t believe it’s this far out.”

  Jerry nodded and led her away from the board. “At least it’s an old one. It doesn’t even have our pictures on it.”

  A raspy voice from a tortured throat came from behind them. Liquor in the wasteland could not be called homemade even if one was being kind, and those that drank it too often and too heavily were easily identified by the gravel in their voice. The drunk spoke. “Excuse me, sir.”

  Jerry and Erica turned to see a half-circle of ten men surrounding them beneath the wooden platform.

  The one that spoke held out a sheet of paper with their pictures on it. “Would you mind signing this for us?”

  The group of ten laughed. More than a few of them were victims of the hooch and their mocking delight wheezed from their mouths.

  One man in the group spoke clearly. He was the tiniest of them all and kept himself better groomed than the rest put together. The majority was dressed in old tarps, rotted sweaters and a general disregard for seeing to that thing on their face. The small man was clean-shaven and wore a fine suit and topcoat. He smiled from beneath a wool fedora and said, “We’re big fans, Librarian.”

  “Oh, honey, look,” Jerry smiled. “It’s Mr. Christopher.”

  “So, it is. How nice. I really didn’t think we’d ever see you again.”

  Mr. Christopher’s fake smile faded. “I’m charmed you remember me. But, I must say I’m surprised to see you so delighted.”

  “Of course.” Jerry stepped into the gang of ten and put his arm around Mr. Christopher’s shoulder. He turned the man so he could see around the courtyard. “You see. I’m sure you were told the same thing we were when we stepped into the Kingdom of the Five Peaks. Don’t start any trouble. Fighting will not be tolerated. And all of these men in the fancy jackets?” Several knights had approached the info board. “They’re here to see that we’re men of our word.”

  Mr. Christopher nodded. “Oh, I get it now.”

  “So you see, Chris? I’m actually delighted you tipped your lame ass hat now. Surprise was on your side. Now that I know you’re here, you don’t stand a chance.” Jerry pointed to the closest knight. “Oh, that one looks particularly nasty. What do you think his name is? I’ll bet it’s something like Sir Punchesalot.”

  “Actually,” Mr. Christopher said, “his name is Sir Steven.”

  “Sir Steven?”

  “Yes. But he does seem rather nasty. That’s why I had to pay him extra.” Mr. Christopher waved to the particularly nasty-looking knight.

  Sir Steven nodded and turned his back on the gathering at the board. With this cue, the rest of the knights turned their backs as well. The ram skull glared at the couple from the back of each jacket.

/>   Mr. Christopher smiled again.

  Jerry smiled back. “Well, shit, Chris,” he said and punched the smile off Mr. Christopher’s face. Somehow the weaselly little man’s hat stayed on.

  Mr. Christopher mumbled, “Get them,” through a mouth full of blood and stumbled out of the circle of men as they began to converge on the couple.

  One man wearing a distressed and hideous holiday sweater lunged up the platform towards Erica. She placed a boot across the bridge of his nose and turned him back to the crowd while a second man grabbed her around the waist and lifted her off her feet.

  He reeked of booze and poor decisions. “I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered and stuck his tongue in her ear.

  Erica tucked her knees and threw her weight forward. He held her tight as she dropped to the ground and exploded back up, driving the top of her head into his chin. This move was usually followed by the cracking of teeth as the attacker’s jaw was smashed shut. But the snake hadn’t put his tongue back in his mouth and it got in the way.

  He let go and clasped his hands over his mouth while trying to swear. It came out a muddled mess and did nothing to stop the blood flow. He screamed and fell to the ground in the fetal position.

  Erica looked back into the square. Jerry had laid out one of the men and was a half second from breaking another’s arm.

  “What’s the plan?” she asked.

  The snap of the limb caused the others to back off for a moment. “I’m going to go with run for now. If anything else pops into my head I’ll let you know.”

  The man with the busted nose was back on the platform and running towards her. “Can’t kick me now, bitch.” He swung at her with his right.

  Erica caught the hand and pulled him toward her. She stepped aside, put her weight down on his shoulder and drove him face first into the wooden platform. Then she kicked him.

  Mr. Christopher’s voice was still wet with blood, but his voice was clear enough when he yelled, “Get the girl!”

  A scrawny man in a muddy pink ski jacket and a shorter man in what could only be a blanket rushed at her from the edge of the platform. She kicked the man on the ground once more and dashed into the marketplace with them in tow. Three more of the men chased after her. The others attacked Jerry.

  There was nowhere to run. Every knight turned away as she approached. The vendors looked to the knights as examples and kept their seats in the corners of their booths. The crowd did its best to stay uninvolved, moving only to get out of the way. There was no safe haven to reach. There was no escape. There was only distance and she was losing that. She could feel the men gaining.

  She reached the table of homemade weapons and reached for a stick with a spike on it.

  The vendor put his hand on it before she could pull it back. “Coin first,” he said with a grin.

  Erica grunted in frustration and ran on.

  The men in pursuit reached the table and grabbed several sticks with several spikes in them. The vendor protested, but he simply did not have enough hands to stop them. The knights ignored his pleas for help and the attackers raced on.

  Erica looked for any escape, but there was nothing. She spun to face the men and backed up until she bumped into the Durango souvenir table.

  “Hello again, dear,” the elderly lady said. “Did you come back for a fridge magnet?”

  The crowd in front of the table cleared away as the five attackers reached the booth. They spread out in front of Erica and brandished their sticks with spikes on them.

  “Is everything all right, dear?” the woman asked with a fridge magnet in her hand.

  The man closest to her tried to make his voice as soft as possible. “We don’t have to make this violent.”

  “There’s nowhere to go,” another added.

  “Yeah. Just come with us and we won’t hurt you,” another rasped.

  The fourth man smiled without teeth and added, “Much.”

  The group laughed at this.

  Erica dug into her shirt and pulled out a silver whistle.

  One of the men laughed. “Oh wow. I haven’t seen a rape whistle in years.”

  She placed the whistle between her lips and blew. The whistle shrieked.

  The men laughed and closed in slowly.

  “Oh, honey,” the woman behind the table said. “I don’t think that worked.”

  Erica dropped the whistle back into her shirt and turned to the woman. “Could I borrow a couple of those coffee mugs?”

  The woman cast a glance in each direction to make certain the knights weren’t looking and handed over two mugs. One said I Weed Durango with a cannabis leaf standing in for the weed ensuring the sentence made absolutely no sense. The other was a leftover from when the nearby ski resort was known as Purgatory. A kitten with devil horns and large eyes provided an overzealous Purrrrr to the name.

  “You can keep them, dear.” The woman ducked beneath the table as the men rushed forward.

  The first strike hummed through the air with a wobble as the homemade weapon came crashing down.

  Erica rolled to one side. The stick buzzed by her ear and crashed into the table. Key chains, shot glasses, a bobble-headed devil—everything danced as the stick splintered to pieces among the nicks and knacks.

  Erica slipped her hand through the mug’s handle and rolled back. The ceramic memory exploded on his cheek as she slapped the mug across his face. Blood and shards of devil-kitten littered the ground as the man dropped cold.

  Another man swung for her head.

  She had no time to move. All she could do was protect her head. Her arm went up as a reflex and she winced as she caught the club across her forearm. It was going to hurt.

  The club folded neatly over her arm as if it was built with a hinge.

  The attacker pulled back the splintered stump in disgust. He dropped the broken stick. “These things are terrible.”

  Erica shoved a fistful of “I weed Durango” in his mouth and sent him sprawling back into the crowd as the remaining three attackers lined up next to one another.

  Witnessing stupid people get wise is one of the few pleasures in life. Watching realization break across their faces as an epiphany moves slowly through their heads and they catch up to the rest of the world is often cause for a celebration of the golf clap variety. But as Erica saw the three men put the math together, she started looking for a way out.

  They rushed her together with the sudden idea that she couldn’t stop all three of them at once. Two of the men grabbed an arm each and pulled her to the ground. The third man jumped on top of her.

  Erica struggled to get free but the weight was too much. Her arms were pinned. She thrashed about and succeeded only in shaking the whistle down from her shirt. It came to rest on her throat.

  The man on top of her smiled, picked it up and held it to her lips. “Want to blow it again?”

  Erica turned away from his hand and whatever made his hand smell. “Once is enough,” she said.

  The man laughed with a twisted smile of broken teeth halitosis. It lasted only a moment. The laughter turned to screaming as Chewy bit deep into his leg and dragged him off the girl.

  The attacker turned to free his leg and spotted the dog. He turned over and the scream of pain turned to fear. There was a noticeable difference in his screams of pain and screams of fear. He kicked at the mastiff with no measure of accuracy, and then both of his legs were bleeding.

  The two at her arms let go and scrambled back to the edge of the crowd. For a moment they looked as if they would help their associate, but, after looking at their hands, they stepped farther back into the crowd.

  Chewy bit into a fist as the man on the ground tried everything to get free. Every limb that went near the dog’s mouth came back red. After several bites, he stopped punching and tried to calm the dog with pets and promises of dog treats.

  Erica stood and faced the other two men. She placed the whistle in her mouth and took a breath.

  They knocked over
several onlookers as they ran into the crowd leaving their partner to his struggle with the dog. For every foot he crawled, the powerful animal dragged him back two through the dirt. “Help. Stop him. Stop him. Please!”

  “He’s a she,” Erica said. “Heel, girl.”

  Chewy dropped the man’s foot like a retrieved stick and took her place next to Erica.

  The man clutched his hand to his chest and backed away as he struggled to his feet. He found his limp and turned to run as best he could.

  Jerry punched him in the face and knocked him to the ground before rushing to Erica’s side.

  She smiled and scratched Chewy behind the ears. “Good girl.”

  “Now where’s Christopher?” Jerry turned and scanned the crowd for a moment before spotting the stupid hat. “Christopher!”

  The man ran like a weasel—wriggling through a wall of knights that had been chasing the dog. Erica pointed to Christopher and screamed, “Seize him,” assuming that’s how things were phrased in a kingdom.

  The knights let the man in the hat scurry off as they surrounded the couple. The men in purple and gold drew their swords and held the sharp end toward them. Tommy stepped forward and spoke in his worst English accent, ”Ewe’re unda arrest.”

  The man with shards of kitten coffee mug in his face came to and began to stand. Erica kicked him back to sleep and pointed at him. “What? It was …”

  “Silence!” Tommy shouted. He leaned in close to the pair and smiled. “You were told not to start any trouble.”

  FOUR

  Symbols were important.

  Despite being let down by every government on the planet, most family members and almost every friend, people yearned more than ever for something to believe in. Every society, no matter how small or cobbled together, had a flag. More often than not it was painted on the side of a building in the center of town. And more than one burgeoning society had collapsed in a dispute over what that flag would look like.

  People needed something that felt more permanent than a rousing speech or simple promise. A symbol was physical proof that hope could exist. And the more elaborate the symbol, the more it could be trusted. Thought went into a flag. Labor went into constructing a capitol building. The ability to dedicate resources to something as trivial as a statue spoke volumes as to how put together an organization was, and that people would rally behind it said even more.