Apocalypse (The Wasteland Chronicles, #1) (18 page)

A few minutes later, we were in the dense,
red fog. Makara turned on the headlights, but the lights only let
us see a few yards ahead.

“I don’t see how they found us,” I said.

“Maybe they weren’t trying,” Makara said.
“They’re hunting for loot to take back. Now that Bunker 114 is
down, maybe they thought it would be easy pickings.” She shook her
head. “Idiots.”

Makara slowed down. The entire right side was
sheer cliff, and falling off would mean death.

It was after we had gone down several
switchbacks that I noticed two pairs of headlights above us.

“Shit,” I said. “They followed us!”

I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten about those
other two vehicles. Of course this wasn’t over yet.

“I’m afraid you will have to drive fast now,
Makara,” Samuel said. “I’m going in the back to man the
turret.”

“Get back there,” Makara said. “And be
careful.”

Samuel disappeared into the back. A few
seconds later, he started firing.

A spray of bullets showered the road ahead of
us from above. We took a tight turn, forcing everyone to the left.
The entire Recon shook with the effort.

I got out my Beretta, not knowing what good
it would do me in this vehicle. The other Recons were two
switchbacks above us.

“Can’t we go faster?” I asked.

Makara’s look was venomous. “If you want to
slip on the ice and snow and fall to our deaths, then yeah…we can
go faster.”

“Good point.”

The first Recon rounded the bend right behind
us. Samuel fired. The hood of the other vehicle became riddled with
bullet-holes. A Raider leaned out the passenger’s window and fired
toward us.

Makara swerved around a tight bend, and the
back tires lost traction. We were heading toward the cliff. At the
last moment, Makara floored it, and we surged ahead onto the next
downward slope. I thought my heart was going to beat out of my
chest.

The next Recon tried the same thing, only it
was going too fast. As it fishtailed, the back tires fell off the
slope. The entire vehicle slid backward, its front tires squealing
like some dying thing.

As we rounded the next bend, we were just in
time to see the Raiders’ first Recon topple onto the road ahead of
us.

Makara slammed on the brakes as Samuel fired
a hail of bullets at the other Recon, just one switchback above us.
The downed Recon crashed into the road ahead, did a half flip, and
continued to roll down the mountainside.

“They’re done,” I said.

A moment later, the vehicle exploded in a
violent plume of fire, crashing into a giant rock jutting out from
the mountain.

“Let’s hope Brux was in there,” Makara
said.

But that was not to be. The other Recon
swerved around the corner. Brux – the man with the blond crew cut
and long scar – was seated in the passenger’s seat, recognizable
even in my side-mirror view. While the driver’s eyes were wide and
fearful, Brux’s were murderous.

We exited the layer of red fog, finding
ourselves very close to the desert floor. The snow cover gave way
to red rock, dirt, and the barren Wasteland. We made one final
turn, and ahead lay a straight stretch to the desert flatland.

I heard a pop. I turned, and the low hum of
the pressure chamber became a high whir. The pressure needle on the
fuel gauge fell abruptly.

“They must have hit something,” Makara said.
“We’re losing pressure.”

“What does that mean?

“It means we’re going nowhere.”

Behind us, after another round of shooting, I
heard Brux’s Recon squeal. Samuel had blown out one of the tires.
The vehicle swerved and flipped on its side. It slid down the hill,
past us, even as our Recon slowed to a halt and the electronics
powered down.

Makara braked, bringing our Recon to a halt.
She hopped out of the vehicle, pointing her pistol at Brux’s
vehicle, the bottom of which now faced us.

I got out on my side, and followed Makara’s
example, pointing my gun at the Raiders’ crashed Recon. Samuel
faced the turret toward the downed Recon.

It was time to meet Brux.

Nothing happened for a full minute. We just
stood there, pointing our guns, waiting for anyone to come out. The
wind blew dust across the scene.

I was beginning to think they might be
dead.

But quick as a flash, Brux showed himself and
fired a few shots. Above us, we heard Samuel give a loud yell.

Brux slipped behind the downed Recon, a smirk
on his lips.

“Samuel!” Makara said.

Samuel had grabbed at his shoulder and
dropped inside the cargo bay. Makara and I jumped inside. He was
sitting in the corner next to some supplies, holding his right
shoulder and grimacing.

“Oh my God,” Makara said.

She pulled down the first aid kit hanging on
the wall.

Samuel winced. “Put pressure on the
wound…”

Makara ripped open her bag, taking out a
shirt. She pressed it to the wound, where blood gushed out at an
alarming rate. Makara put her full weight on it. Samuel
groaned.

“Alex, find the congealing agent,” she
said.

I opened the first aid kid and dug through
it. I found a tube of liquid labeled “congealer.”

“This it?”

Makara snatched it from me. She took away the
shirt, and squeezed the clear jelly onto the wound. Samuel hissed
with pain. She put pressure back on the wound.

“That should help,” she said.

Samuel waved her away. “It’s nothing. Let me
hold that shirt.”

“Samuel, you’re in no state…”

He pushed her off with surprising strength
and took the shirt. “I will be fine for the next few minutes. You
have to deal with Brux.”

Makara nodded. “You’re right. But how?”

I was afraid to step out of the cargo bay.
Surely, their sights would be trained on the back. Likewise, if we
used the hatch to go up front, we would be in danger. They might
not expect us to go out that way as much, but the element of
surprise would be gone as soon as they spotted us, and we’d be in
the same position. In short, stepping outside was sure death.

“I have an idea,” I said.

Both Makara and Samuel looked at me.

“The pressure tank…has it lost all
pressure?”

“No,” Samuel said. “There should be some fuel
left.”

“Don’t strain yourself, Samuel.” She turned
to me. “Alex, what’s your idea?”

“Hydrogen.” I tapped the tank. “There’s still
plenty of it in reserve. If we can take the tank and throw it out
the back, it will roll down the hill. If one of us shoots it…”

Samuel smiled. “Boom.”

“But how will we get away without our own
pressure tank?” Makara asked.

“We can salvage the tank off the other Recon
afterward.”

“If it doesn’t blow up in the process,”
Makara said.

“That’s a risk we’ll have to take,” I said.
“This is our only option.”

Makara nodded. “Let’s do it.”

Getting it out was easy – the pressure tanks
were meant to be easily installed and removed. The thing was heavy.
As soon as it disconnected from its stand and we unscrewed the fuel
lines, the hydrogen air hissed into the Recon’s cargo bay.

“Is there some sort of valve?” Samuel
asked.

Makara hurriedly found the fuel line’s valve,
twisting it tight and stemming the hydrogen from flowing back into
the bay.

It took both me and Makara lifting the fuel
tank to get it to the back of the Recon.

We looked at each other.

“Ready?” I asked.

Makara nodded. “Let’s hope this works.”

We tossed it out, making sure it was
horizontal to the slope. We gave a few seconds for the thing to
roll down the hill.

“Now,” I said.

Makara stepped out the back, and started to
fire. I jumped onto the turret, and didn’t bother with the heavy
gun. I aimed my Beretta toward the tank.

They were hiding. We met no resistance as I
opened fire.

Mine and Makara’s bullets connected. The
hydrogen tank struck the downed vehicle squarely in its side. None
of our bullets had yet penetrated its casing. I shot again. This
time, it did work. The tank lit up like a torch. A giant mushroom
of fire shot upward, forcing the downed Recon backward, causing it
to roll on its top.

I jumped down from the turret as Makara
joined me. It was time to use the distraction to finish the
job.

As we circled around the downed vehicle, we
found both Brux and his crony lying on the ground. The crony lifted
a pistol. I shot him dead before he had the chance to fire. He went
limp against the earth.

Brux was a few feet off, his skin cracked and
charred. His entire body shook. He reached for his gun, just a few
feet off. Makara kicked it far away.

“Ma…Makara…” Brux said, lifting an arm in
surrender.

Behind us, the fire of our improvised bomb
still crackled. It was nowhere near this Recon’s hydrogen tank, so
we were safe for now.

Makara walked by his head, pointing her gun
down. “Don’t try anything, Brux. You’ve had your time to try.”

“I…I won’t. Please…have mercy on me, Makara.
I’m sorry. Take me back to Bluff…I’ll give you batts, anything you
want.”

Makara scowled as she considered. Surely, she
couldn’t be…

Bam
.

The bullet went right into Brux’s forehead.
His entire body stiffened, then grew still. His vacant eyes stared
upward.

The wind blew cold as Makara spat on his
face.

“Come on,” she said. “We need to rescue that
other tank.”

I followed Makara into the upside-down Recon.
Thankfully, the cargo bay had been left wide open. I twisted the
fuel line valve shut, and together, Makara and I removed the
tank.

“Let’s get out of here,” Makara said.

We jumped out of the Recon and ran back
uphill, lugging the tank with us. It was slow work, but eventually
we managed to lift it into our Recon’s cargo bay. We set it onto
its stand, reconnecting the fuel line. But we still had to figure
out how our Recon had lost pressure in the first place. Hopefully,
the problem had been with the tank itself. If so, the Recon would
start up just fine.

Makara, however, was now focused on Samuel.
His bleeding had slowed, but his face was pale. If he did not get
medical attention soon, the bullet would eventually take his
life.

Makara put a hand on Samuel’s shoulder.

Samuel forced a smile. “It’s nothing.”

“Humph.” She looked toward me. “Let’s get him
up front.”

Makara and I moved him to the passenger’s
seat. As Makara slid into the driver’s side, I sat in the middle
jump seat.

“You’re in charge of watching him,” Makara
said. “Let’s hope she starts up.”

Makara turned the key, and thankfully, the
engine roared to life. As soon as I heard the engine idle, and the
pressure tank hum, I knew what her name would be.

“Khloe,” I said.

Makara raised an eyebrow. “Khloe? That’s not
a tough name for a Recon.”

“You’re wrong. It’s the toughest name I
know.”

She looked at me for a moment, and nodded.
“Khloe it is.”

Samuel’s eyes closed as Makara drove Khloe
east. We sped across the flat Wasteland, Cold Mountain a shadowy
mass behind us. I had never gone so fast before, and seeing the
land pass by in a dark blur was surreal. On our left, a couple of
infected wolves fed upon the body of a fallen antelope. As we
passed, they sped after us, oblivious of any danger to themselves.
We quickly left them in our dust.

I shook my head. “The first normal animal I
see ends up being eaten by some infected wolves. Figures.”

Beside us, Samuel was still.

“Is he alright?” I asked.

Makara watched him for a moment. “Let him
rest. He will need it.”

“He needs medical attention.”

“You think I don’t know that? We will be
there by tonight.”

“Where?”

“You’re not going to like it.”

“Oh, no. Not Oasis.”

“Guess again.”

I thought about it, but nothing came to mind.
Surely not L.A. That was too far. But where else could she…

Samuel spoke, his voice raspy.

“Don’t tell me we’re going to Raider Bluff,
little sister.”

Makara smiled grimly. “It’s the homecoming
we’ve all been waiting for. I have a favor to call in.”

“What?” I asked. “You’re not serious.”

“It’s the only place I know with a doctor,”
Makara said. “I don’t like it, but it’s the only option.”

The cab was quiet for a moment. Finally,
Samuel gave a long, tired sigh.

“Lead on.”

I thought we were out of the fire, but now,
we were going into the furnace. Makara pressed on the accelerator,
as if to defiantly meet that inevitability.

We surged ahead. As the miles passed us by, I
wondered if I would be fighting for survival for the rest of my
life. Even if I was, I had a new purpose that went beyond mere
survival. I realized that Samuel was right. We needed to find
Bunker One. We needed to find the Black Files. My father had never
been able to finish his research on the xenovirus, but maybe I
could help him carry on his legacy. I needed to do what I could to
stop it, even if seemed impossible.

As Samuel held his shoulder, relaxing against
the passenger’s side window, I knew we had more immediate concerns.
If we didn’t make it to Raider Bluff and find a doctor, our
newfound mission would be over before it even began. And maybe the
world would be over, too.

As I watched the Wasteland pass, even as we
made enormous speed, Cheyenne Mountain and Bunker One had never
seemed farther away.

Kyle West is a science fiction author living
in Oklahoma City. He is currently working on
The Wasteland
Chronicles
series, of which there will be seven installments.
Books 2, 3, and 4 are already available. Find out immediately when
his next book is released by signing up for
The
Wasteland Chronicles Mailing List
.