Ever Onward (10 page)

Suddenly Josh stiffened. Cocking his
head to one side, he listened. The sound of a motor was now clear
for all to here.

“Someone’s coming!”

Gloria’s face went pale. “It’s him!
Dude!”

Josh checked the loads in the shotgun
and moved to the end of the van. “The rest of you stay
down!”

Jessie, clutching the .22, moved up
behind his father.

The sound came from the far end of
town. Watching, all four saw a battered dark green pick-up round
the corner. It stopped directly opposite them in the town square.
Two men were inside.

Doc touched Josh’s shoulder, making
him jump. “I know that truck. Belongs to Willard Spinner.” Doc
squinted through the van’s side window. “Will’s driving. Can’t see
the other fellow.”

Before Josh could stop him, Doc walked
around the rear of the van and towards the truck. Swearing under
his breath, Josh moved around the front, both hammers of the 12
gage cocked.

“Willard!”, Doc called out, walking
towards the battered pick-up. “Willard Spinner! How the hell are
you?!”

The driver’s door swung open and a
large, heavy set man in his late fifty’s stepped out. He was
wearing dirty overalls and a baseball cap. The sleeves to his faded
shirt were rolled up and one massive hand was held out in front of
him.

“Doc Gruber!”, the farmer beamed.
“Just the man I was hoping to see! My best heifer is having one
bastard of a time! Looks like a breach to me!”

“Same as the last time, eh Will? Due
next month as I recall.”

The big man nodded. “Ya, but she’s off
her feed and mighty feisty.”

Josh couldn’t believe his ears. The
whole bloody world had gone to hell in a hand basket, and here were
these two old farts talking about some cow having trouble giving
birth! He gently uncocked the shotgun and walked across the square.
Willard Spinner took in both him and the gun at a
glance.

“Hunting season open a bit early this
year?”

Doc smiled. “This is Josh Williams. He
and his son have been staying with me for the past few days. He’s a
good man, just a might cautious.”

Willard nodded. “I heard the
shots.”

Just then the passenger door opened
and a young man, thin and sporting shoulder length blond hair, came
round the truck. He waved shyly at Josh.

“Hi there, Mr. Williams. Remember me?
Bobby Stewart. I was in your history class some years back. Still
got the old Volks, eh?”

The boy, looking to be in his late
teens or early twenty’s, held out his hand. Josh took it, feeling
like he was seeing a ghost. Bobby Stewart had not been the
brightest light in the class, and had quite school to pursue fame
and fortune in rock n’ roll band. Bobby and his guitar had made it
as far as George Phillip’s Texaco station on the edge of town. Josh
wasn’t too sure about Bobby’s musical ability, but he knew first
hand he was a damn fine mechanic. He’s worked on Josh’s camper
several times.

“Good to see you, Bobby.” The boy’s
smile widened. Doc’s expression, however, became serious. “You do
know what’s happened, don’t you Willard?”

The big farmer looked puzzled, then
his brow uncreased. “You mean the plague? Course I do, Doc! You
know I live alone, and my place is kind of out of the way, but I
met Bobby two days ago and he filled me in. Can’t get nothing but
snow on the tube now. Radio’s the same. Phone still works though.
Got any idea who started it?”

“Not the slightest.”, Doc said. “See
anyone else out your way?”

The big farmer shook his head.
“Yesterday Bobby and me went up to the big houses up in the park.
You know my farm’s alongside that wildlife sanctuary up there.” He
took off his grease covered cap and scrubbed his short, graying
hair. “Gave me the creeping bajeezers walking around those rich
fellow’s houses. All dead and dried up like last year’s leaves! The
horses in the stables were fine, though.”

Bobby spoke up, looking glad to have
something to say. “We came into town after leaving the park and saw
your sign. It is your sign, ain’t it, Mr. Williams?”

Josh nodded, not wanting to stop the
flow of Bobby’s thoughts.

“Well, me and ol’ Willard here read it
n’ decided to come back in today at noon.”

“But my best heifer started acting up
and we’re a might late,” Willard put in. He offered a smile all
round. “Glad you fellows waited.”

Josh noticed Willard was missing a
front tooth.

“We did see one guy,” Bobby chuckled.
“On the way in here. He was riding a chopper. Going like a bat out
of hell too!”

‘The Dude,’ Josh said to himself,
feeling his stomach knotting at the thought of what might have
happened.

Doc invited Willard and Bobby back to
his place. “After you meet Mrs. Wang and her granddaughter,
Mai-Ling, I’ll take a little ride back with you to your place.
Can’t let that heifer of yours bust down the barn.”

Half an hour later they were all
crowded round Doc’s table eating the much discussed biscuits. The
girl, Gloria Ambrose, was very pleased to see the two females. Mrs.
Wang, in turn, seemed delighted to have another chick to tuck under
her flour dusted wing.

Chapter 10
: ‘BE FRUITFUL AND
MUTIPLY’

June 25, Barstow,
California,

50 miles south of China
Lake

Naval Weapons
Center.

As the armored personnel carrier
pulled into the parking lot of Barstow’s Holiday Inn, its six
tractor tires crunched over the remains of several bodies. A large
Troop Transport and two heavy trucks followed. Swirls of dust
choked the air; not all of it from blown sand.

The door of the heavy APC swung open
and Jocco climbed down. In the fading light, his first conquest lay
before him: Barstow, located where I-40 continues west to
Bakersfield and I-15 heads south through the San Gabriel Mountains
all the way to LA.

It had taken Jocco two days to find
and load all the little toys he would need to implement Part B of
his Grand Plan. The trucks, weapons and manpower had been easy; the
APC had not. At first he had wanted a tank, but Bobby-Joe Burlis,
one of several other survivors that had willingly joined Jocco’s
merry little band, had talked him out of it. Bobby-Joe had pointed
out that they needed more speed rather than more
firepower.

“Sweet Jesus-on-a-stick!”, Bobby-Joe
had drawled in his thick southern accent. “Why, you got enough
ass-kick in them two trucks to start a goddamned war! Besides, a
tank needs a trained crew; radar, gunner, navigation, the works.”
He’d jerked a thumb back in the direction of the motley bunch they
had assembled in the China Base Hanger. “Look, Jocco. I can drive
just about anything with wheels, but I wouldn’t trust one of those
assorted assholes near my daddy’s old tractor, let alone a fucking
tank!”

So Jocco had settled for the APC. It
had front and back machine guns, a 50 mm. swivel cannon turret, and
was heavy enough to either push aside or plow through wrecked cars.
It could also, in Bobby-Joe’s own words; “Hump along like a whore
on a quart of moonshine!”

George the Man leaned out the window
of the Troop Transport. “Hey, Boss. Where do you want me to park
this fucker?”

Jocco’s cruel smile took in the
parking lot of the Holiday Inn. “Right in the front lobby,
Georgie-boy. It looks like rain.”

George’s eyes widened, then a cruel
smile of his own lit up his pale face. “Fucking-A, man!
Fucking-A!”

Moments later the high plate-glass
windows shattered as Georgie – Porgie smashed his way into the
lobby of Barstow’s Holiday Inn. Grinning like the savages they were
fast becoming, Nathon Hight and Rege Shehe, the two other drivers
Jocco had recruited, followed Georgie’s lead.

On a low hill near the edge of
Barstow, Manuel Estaban Gazara, called Rat by everyone but his
mother, sat astride his new Honda 350. Both the dirt-bike and its
rider were filthy. Rat’s long, greasy black hair was tied back by a
headband as red as the numerous pimples on his sallow face. Dressed
in a mixture of studded leathers and high boots, the eighteen year
old looked like something out of a Mad Max movie. A Smith &
Wesson .38 Special hung from a new shoulder holster. A 12 gage
Defender shotgun, it’s black pistol grip sticking obscenely up out
of a rifle scabbard, was strapped to the Honda’s
gastank.

Rat squinted against the blowing sand
as he watched the scene below him unfold. At first he thought that
the Army had arrived. The idea had sent twin shivers of anger and
disappointment coursing through him. Manuel the Rat liked things
just fine the way they were, thank you very fucking much! Wild n’
crazy n’ free for the taking! And he sure as shit didn’t want any
Law & Order types fucking things up!

Before the Change, he had had nothing;
he had been nothing. A petty thief; a small time pusher; hanging
out with a bunch of big-mouth Chicanos who strutted and swaggered
but did dick all. Now they were gone and he was left --- and
everything was his. So Rat was less than ecstatic when the four
Army trucks rolled into the parking lot of Barstow’s Holiday
Inn.

Then the crazy fuckers had driven
right into the front lobby! The sight nearly blew his mind! Fucking
glass everywhere! No regular Army pussies would do that! Rat smiled
to himself and turned the ignition key. The big 350 purred like a
cat about to spring. He drove down the far side of the hill,
through the sand dunes and up onto the hard surface of I-15. It
would be dark soon and he had a few things to do before he came
back and checked out these crazy gringos.

Private Pamela Gliss, unafectionately
known as Pam the Bitch, finished field stripping her M-16, snapped
the 20 round clip back into the magazine and worked the slide.
“Lock ‘n load, boys and girls! It’s party time!” George, along with
Tim Galt and Bobby-Joe Burlis, were passing a bottle back and forth
and watching a porno movie on the wide screen Sony in the hotel’s
lounge. A bleached blonde with jugs that made Dolly Parton look
flat-chested was bending over a surprised but happy Maytag
repairman. Pam the Bitch, deciding to give the boys on the couch a
little show of her own, fired a triple burst from the hip. The
hollow nosed slugs shattered the glass, imploding Japan’s greatest
contribution to the Western World.

“Jesus-fucking Christ, man!”, George
yelled. “It was just getting to the good part!”

“Ya!”, Bobby-Joe drawled. “Ol’
Georgie-boy here was ‘bout ready to shoot his own load!”

Pam the Bitch placed the butt of her
M-16 against her crotch and rotated the barrel in a slow circle. “I
just thought three big pussy-eaters like you would like a little of
the real thing.”

Tim Galt, more than a little drunk,
nudged Bobby-Joe. The night before Private Pamela Gliss had quite
eagerly joined in the latest initiation ceremony. Undoubtedly Tim
anticipated a repeat performance.

Lieutenant Sam Waterson sat on the far
side of the lounge, quietly nursing a straight Vodka and
contemplating murder. Nurse Shirley Bates, her ear badly infected
from Pussbag’s bayonet, lay on the couch curled up in a fetal
position. Walter Pinkton stood sullenly off to one side, his eyes
fastened on the slowly rotating gun barrel.

Suddenly Nathan Hight, a tall,
muscular black, came running in, his weapon sweeping the room.
“What’s all the shooting?”

Pam turned her hard eyes on him and
smiled. “Just warming up the pie, Buckwheat. Want a
piece?”

Nathon’s white teeth lit up his dark
face.

Things were just starting to heat up
indeed when Rege Shehe and Pussbag filled the doorway. Between them
was a sallow faced teenager dressed all in black leather. Pussbag’s
bayonet was pressed against the youth’s throat.

“Who the fuck ya got there, Pussbag?”,
George grinned. “Your new boyfriend?”

Tim Galt seemed to find the remark
hilarious.

“Caught the little fucker sneaking
round the trucks,” Rege said. “Calls himself Rat. Where’s
Jocco?”

“Here,” answered a cool voice. Jocco
walked into the lounge. He was dressed like the rest in army
fatigues, only now he sported two .45’s in matching shoulder
holsters and four gold stars an his collars. General Jocco
Wellington turned and surveyed his troops, his cold eyes coming to
rest on Pussbag.

“And what have you brought me now,
friend?”

Pussbag seemed to swell with pride. “A
thief, Sir!”

Rat suddenly squirmed free and stepped
towards Jocco. “I’m no fucking thief, man! Not no more! I came to
trade!”

Jocco’s left eyebrow rose. “Indeed?
And just what, prey tell, would a daring young lad like yourself
have to offer?”

Rat’s beady little eyes took on a sly
look as he milked his moment in the sun for all it was worth.
“People,” he said at last. “Five of them. Three men and two women.
One of them’s a real fox too!”

Jocco moved closer.
“Where?”

Rat’s pimply face cracked into a
smile. “You let me join up with you and I’ll tell you where, only I
don’t want no shit job like driving a fucking truck. I got me a
good hog outside. A 350 Honda. I wanna be your point man, your
scout.”