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

 
“What’s your business here?” asked Sir
Dave.

“We’re here to trade,” Jerry said. “We’re
looking for a fuel pump.”

Sir Dave looked the couple over. He studied
the dog for a moment as well. “Very well. You’ll have to leave your weapons
here.”

“But what if I want to shoot something?”
Jerry asked. “I use my gun for that.”

“There are no guns allowed in the kingdom!”
Tommy shouted. “By order of the king, knights may be only thusly armed,” he
drew his sword as he spit out the words, “as thusly.”

“Shut up, Tommy. You’re not even making any
sense.”

Erica pointed to Tommy and asked Dave, “What
if you need to shoot something?”

Sir David repeated, “There are no guns
allowed in the kingdom.”

Jerry dropped the rifle from his shoulder and
tossed it to the knight farthest from Tommy. The knight caught it, pulled the
round from the chamber and slung it over his shoulder. Erica followed suit as
Jerry lifted the back of his shirt and pulled out a black automatic. He gripped
it by the barrel and handed it to the knight.

Tommy smiled. “’Ow what about ’er? What say
we ’ave ’er lift ’er shirt, eh?”

Erica took a step back.
 

Tommy took a step forward and found Jerry in
between them. Sir Thomas stood his ground and came nose to nose with the man.

Jerry spoke first. “I think it’s only fair
that you know this ahead of time. You lose every hand that touches her.”

Tommy whispered without a trace of the bad
British accent. “You don’t scare me.”

“I’m not trying to scare you.”

The growling was low—less a sound and more
a feeling that rumbled from the ground and up through the two men. Jerry kept
his eyes locked on the knight’s and spoke softly to Chewy. “It’s okay,
Hannibal. He was just about to second guess himself.”

The knight broke his stare and looked at the
dog.

Chewy bristled, baring teeth, snorted and
sprayed a thick coat of ick across Tommy’s hand.

The knight looked back at Jerry with less
determination in his eyes. “Please tell your dog I’m sorry.”

Jerry nodded. “Hannibal. No chewy. He’s
okay.”
 

The growl ceased at once. Chewy sat and
started licking Tommy’s hand. Every lap of the huge tongue made the knight
shake.

The knight smiled but it was more nerves than
relief that caused it. “She understands ‘chewy’?”

Jerry nodded. “It’s not the first time it’s come
up.”

“No chewy?” Tommy asked again. “That’s a
little weird.”

Jerry stepped away and handed the gun Erica
concealed in her waistband to one of the other knights. “Do you want to tell my
dog how to talk?”

“No,” Tommy said. “It’s fine.”

Sir David was only partially trying to hide a
smirk behind his hand. “You are free to enter the marketplace. But, know this,
we don’t tolerate trouble of any kind. Shop friendly or else.”

“Thank you.” Erica turned to Chewy and
clicked her tongue.

The dog rushed to her side.

“I don’t think so,” Tommy said. “That dog
stays here.”

“But she’s an emotional support dog,” Jerry
said.

Tommy put a finger in Jerry’s chest. “It’s a
weapon and you know it.”

Chewy growled again.

Tommy pulled back the finger.

Sir David nodded. “We’ll make sure she’s
okay.”

Jerry chuckled, “Yeah. Okay. Thanks.” He
turned to the dog with his palm to the ground. “Hannibal. Down.”

Chewy whimpered but obeyed. She turned three
times and dropped onto the blacktop.

“Stay.” Jerry said and held up a finger. “No
… chewy. Stay.”

“She should be tied up, Dave.” Tommy backed
away to the shadow of the tower. “I’d feel better if she were tied up.”

Jerry smiled. “Yeah. Good luck with that.” He
took Erica’s hand and walked through the gate.

“Hannibal?” she whispered.

“Hannibal. Why not?”

“Nice touch.”

THREE

For all the
devastation wrought by the apocalypse, it was sometimes difficult to overlook
what it had created.

The glow of a crater
could pierce the darkest night with a gentle green hue that, had it been cast
by bioluminescent flora instead of radioactive waste, could be considered
serene. The chemical weapons that had crippled ships at harbor had formed a
terrace for newly spawned plant life leading to the formation of what visitors
referred to as the Hanging Gardens of Miami. And here in the marketplace of
Durango it managed to turn a crowd of a few hundred into a teaming throng.

Crowds were rare and
Erica couldn’t remember the last time she had seen so many people in one place.

The people gathered
at the terminus of Narrow Gauge Avenue in what was formerly a parking lot for
an antique railroad and tourist trap. Merchant booths cobbled together from
plywood and metal sheets filled the marketplace in organized rows. Vendors
hawked everything from clothes to weapons to souvenirs. It was an odd site to
see the merchandise spread across plywood tables while the dealers huddled
against a wall to get out of the wind. Erica was used to traders hovering over
their merchandise with a bargain to be had in one hand and a gun in the other.

The king’s guard
oversaw the relaxed atmosphere. Men bearing the ram’s skull wandered the crowd
and watched from elevated positions around the marketplace. Each carried a
menacing sword at their side. They didn’t mingle. They didn’t shop. They only
watched. Their focus was the kingdom.

“It’s been forever
since I’ve seen this many people in one place,” Erica said.
 

“I know,” Jerry
replied. “Watch your wallet.”

Drowsy vendors jumped
to their feet as the two potential customers passed their booth.

A man behind a table
full of rusted tools smiled and opened his arms wide to highlight his stock.
“Tools. I’ve got tools here. I’ve got everything you need. I don’t even know
what half this stuff does. But you probably do and you probably need it.”

Erica and Jerry
passed by without a glance.

The vendor grabbed a
hammer and waved it in their direction. “Look at this. This is a good hammer.
You could really fix the crap out of something with this.”

Various blunt objects
and spiked sticks filled the next booth. A sheet a plywood leaning against the
table declared them to be “handcrafted weapons of extreme excellence.”

“You need a stick?
I’ve got sticks. I’ve got a stick with a spike on the end. You need a chain?
I’ve got chains. I’ve even got a chain with a spike on the end.”

Again the couple
moved by without giving the vendor their attention.

The vendor grabbed
one of the sticks from the table. “Look at this. This is a good stick. You
could really kill the crap out of something with this.”

An elderly woman
stood in the back of the next booth behind a table that stocked the inventory
of the town’s souvenir shops. “Tiny spoons. Let everyone know you’ve been here
with a tiny spoon. No? How about a koozie? I’ve got koozies. Postcards? Day-Glo
T-shirt? Wooden train whistles? Fridge magnet? Dammit, this stuff sucks.”

They passed several
booths selling clothes that appeared to be in decent shape. Few things took
their toll on a wardrobe like an apocalypse, and Erica cast a glance too long
at one of the tables. The vendor stood from his chair and leaned over the
table. “Hey, man. Your lady needs new clothes. You can’t dress a pretty lady
like that.”

Erica shook her head.
“Thanks, but I’m fine.”

“You are that. Maybe
you need a fine dress, too? I’ve got some nice tight shirts that would fit you
just fine.”

“We’re not
interested,” Jerry said.

 
“Hey, man. I know what you want. I got
some sluttier stuff in the back. Some costume stuff, too.
If
you’re into that kind of thing.
I’ve got a Little Bo Peep. Only worn
once.”

“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.