Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors (19 page)

Logan stayed focused on the first gunman. He had emerged from behind the tree and was running through a sparsely wooded field. Clad in black, the gunman dodged in and out of the trees, making his way to the road.

Logan swung wide around the edge of the woods. The back tires lost traction and began to slide, but the girl in the passenger seat could tell that, no matter how much it may seem, the car was never out of control. The warrior worked the wheel with precision. His feet worked the clutch, gas, and brake without effort as the engine revved and slowed on command.

The Mustang reached the road and entered it sideways down from where the gunman had emerged. The tires screeched as they took hold on the asphalt. Sarah was thrown against the passenger door.

“Why don’t you just let him go?” Sarah was excited and terrified. Her fingernails dug into her own hand as it wrapped around the grip above the door.

Logan rolled down his window, “Those aren’t scavengers. They’re scouts. And if they report back to the truck that I’m here, things will get bad fast.”

The gunman burst from the woods and ran hard for a motorcycle that had been hidden away on the side of the road. He jumped on and kicked the engine to life. The whine of the v-twin engine screamed across the open road.
 

“You said motorcycles are faster than your car.”

“Only if he’s riding it. Plug your ears.”

Logan cranked the wheel of the Mustang and pulled the handle that sat between the seats. The rear wheels locked and broke free of the road and the car began to spin. He let go of the lever and crushed the gas pedal. White smoke filled the air as the pony car pulled up next to the man on the motorcycle, backwards.

Logan thrust the Glock through the window and fired several times. The Glock bounced in his hand as each pull of the trigger cycled another round into the chamber. Empty casings clattered as they fell to the ground.

The smoke hid the gore of a half dozen gunshots, but Sarah saw the gunman shudder with each pull of the trigger and fall to the ground. The running bike collapsed on top of him.

Sarah gasped and pointed down the road, “There’s another one.”

The Mustang was eager to please the demands of a wide-open throttle. Sarah felt herself pulled deep into the leather seat as the powerful V-8 drove them forward.

They quickly passed the skid marks they had made near the field and rounded a turn in the road. The second rider pinned the throttle and the cruiser responded. His head start wasn’t great, but it could be enough.

“You’re not going to catch him.”

“We have to. If they expect resistance when they arrive our plan won’t work.”

“But, you said motorcycles were faster.”

“Not always.” With the flick of his thumb the warrior exposed a red button at the end of the shifter’s t-grip. He jammed the red button and was rewarded with a hiss and a tremendous boost from the engine. Its roar turned to a scream as nitrous flooded the fuel lines.

Sarah couldn’t move if she wanted to. The brute force of acceleration kept her pinned to her seat. She felt as though she was about to tear the handle off the frame.

Logan dropped the Glock into his lap and gripped the wheel with both hands, letting go only to shift to the top gear. Every bounce seemed to coax the car into leaving the ground. The tires protested every turn; the rubber chirped with each bounce and wheel correction. The motorcycle grew in the windshield.

The tachometer needle bounced as Logan worked through the six-speed transmission; the speedometer climbed steadily, and the Mustang pulled along side of the Harley.

Logan grabbed the Glock and extended his arm out the window.

The rider was quick. He leaned the bike closer to the car and closed the distance.
 

Before he could pull the trigger, a leather boot struck Logan’s hand. Logan grunted and the Glock rattled to the ground.

He pulled his hand back in pain. He gnashed his teeth.

“Look out!” Sarah screamed. The excitement was gone. There was only horror in her voice now.

The rider had pulled a sawed-off shotgun from the far side of the bike and was drawing a bead on the warrior.

Logan pulled left and brought the shotgun in through the window. With his left arm he locked the rider’s wrist. He veered right and dragged the rider from his bike. The bike toppled and flipped, end over end, as a shower of sparks and shattered fiberglass rained down on the road.
 

The screaming from the helmet was intense.

Logan held the driver to the side of the car as he sped along the road. The rider’s feet and knees bounced off of the asphalt as he tried to establish a footing that was impossible. Every scrape against the road left tracts of leather from his gear on the road behind him. It wouldn’t be long before the protective gear was eroded away, exposing skin and bone to the road’s surface.

Logan straightened the car and began to slow. He pulled the shotgun from the gunman’s hand as the car’s speed dropped under thirty. Logan slammed on the brakes and let go of the arm.
 

The rider fell to the ground and rolled to the front wheel. Shredded clothes and bruised knees did little to slow the rider. Rising to hands and knees, he dug his hand into his jacket, reaching for another weapon.

Logan was quicker. He drove his shoulder into the door and crashed it into the rider’s helmet.

The shell cracked down the center and forced the rider back to the ground.

Logan jumped from the car and pulled the man to his feet.

“How much time do we have?”

The rider said nothing.

Ripping the visor from the helmet, Logan stared into the frightened eyes and drove his fist into the man’s stomach.

Even through the helmet the girl could hear the wind escape the man’s lungs. The rider doubled over.

“Where is the truck?”

He couldn’t tell whether the rider had been feigning or was desperate. The rider bolted upright with surprising force and drove the helmet into Logan’s chin.

He stumbled back on his heels trying to catch his balance.

The rider dove at the stumbling warrior. Flashes of light bounced off a knife in his right hand.

Sarah screamed.

Now, seemingly unfazed by his fall, the rider moved with quick and polished movements. The silver blade now moved too fast for reflections to catch. He sliced, stabbed, and hacked at Logan as the warrior struggled to regain his footing.

Whistling as it sliced through the air, the blade’s tone changed as it caught Logan’s leather jacket with various strikes. Every few slashes were followed by a kick intended to keep Logan off balance. They worked.

Logan threw his body in impossible directions to avoid the blade and the boots that came at him. A low slash caused Logan to double over as he pulled his stomach out of the path of the knife. This left his face exposed to the full force of the rider’s boot.

He crashed to the ground. The rider’s silhouette blocked out the sun, but he could see the blade raised above his head. It was about to plunge into his chest.

Sarah screamed as she tackled the rider to the ground. Clawing and kicking, she stayed on top of him. Padding prevented her attack from doing much good, but it gave Logan time to get to his feet.

The rider grabbed Sarah by the back of the neck and pulled her face into the top of the helmet.

Sarah fell backwards against the Mustang.

The rider was up, standing in front of her.

But so was Logan. He put himself between the blade and the girl and stood his ground.

The rider persisted with thrusts and slices, but this time each was blocked and answered with a strike.

The helmet forced Logan to work the body. He focused the blows at the rider’s sternum, where the jacket hung open. These strikes, combined with the earlier dragging, tired the rider; his attacks slowed.

The rider turned and ran.

Logan turned to Sarah. Blood ran from her nose. He leaned down and kissed her. “I can’t let him get away.”

The warrior turned to give chase. The rider wasn’t far, but his head still rang from the kick and blood seeped from the stabs. He started to run.

The rider jerked as a gunshot exploded behind Logan. Several more shots rang out and the rider spun around as the slugs tore into him. The helmet cracked in two as a final shot entered through its side.

Logan stared as the figure fell face first to the ground. There was no movement from the rider. He turned back to the girl. She still lay on the ground with her back to the car. In her right hand, she held a revolver. Smoke rose from the barrel.

He walked back to her. “What did you do?”

Sarah looked at the gun in her hands. She let it drop to the road, “It was under the seat.”

“I, we needed to talk to him.”

“He tried to kill us.”

“But we still don’t know how far away the truck is.”

Sarah stood and placed her arm around him. “But they don’t know that we have you. You did it. And we’re both safe.” She pulled her hand back slowly. It was covered in red.

“Oh, no. You’re bleeding.”

“It isn’t bad.”

“We’ve got to get you home.”

“Home?”

“Home.”

She helped him back into the Mustang. She spoke softly to him as they drove back to New Hope.

TWENTY

“What is it, Dick?”

On top of the Silver Lining, Jerry held a powerful pair of binoculars to his eyes. He mused that he had never spent so much time on top of the coach as he had in the last few days. Still, it made the perfect perch.

Even with the hum of the tires on the road and the whining of Erica’s voice in the cab, they had all heard the work of the wrecking crew miles down the road. The sound had concerned him enough to stop the coach and climb up for a look.

“Yeah, Dick, what is it?” Austin asked.

“Dude,” his older brother, Trent, slapped him on the arm. “His name is not Dick. That’s just what she calls him.”

“That seems mean.” Austin was confused.

“It is,” Trent said.

“But, why is she being mean? Isn’t he saving her?”

“I don’t know why she’s being mean.”

“Don’t keep us in suspense, oh mighty warrior.” Erica had climbed to the top of the ladder and watched him watch the distance.

Jerry said nothing she could hear.

“Lady, why are you so mean to him?” Austin shouted up from the base of the ladder. “He’s helping us.”

“Shut up, Boo Boo.” She climbed onto the roof.
 

“What’s Boo Boo?” asked the boy in the bear suit.

Trent just shrugged. “I think it means poop.”

“Oh,” Austin’s feelings were hurt, but he smiled after a moment’s thought. “At least she didn’t call me dick.”