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

TWO

They say an apocalypse changes things. Which
is fairly obvious and those that say it are hardly lauded for their insightful
nature.

It’s a bomb’s nature to change the landscape
a bit. It makes green things brown, tall things short and living things dead. But,
more than rearranging the scenery, it changes people.

Those lucky enough to survive the apocalypse
developed an odd relationship with the world that was before the blast. Ready
electricity and running water were sorely missed. They missed the security of a
world free from vicious mutations and roving gangs of bloodthirsty killers.
Everybody missed ice cream.

But, as much as they missed the world from
before, they had come to hate it. For the nirvana they remembered had led to
the hell they now knew. And no matter how nostalgic they were for their old
life, they still blamed it for their new one. So they came to grips with the
world as it was and adjusted. People were stupid like that.

This love, but mostly hate, relationship led
survivors to reject most of the old world in many ways—the least of which
was the renaming of cities. Old names were discarded and ignored and new names
more befitting the new landscape were chosen.

New York came to be known as The Crater due
to the devastation wrought by the multitude of nuclear weapons that made it
through the shield and, also, the giant crater. New Orleans flooded in the end
times and was renamed The Bowl after the smell that resulted. DC became the
Slime Pit since it was generally believed that most of the politicians survived
the end by escaping into underground shelters.
 

Smaller towns faced the wrath of
anti-reminiscence, as well. Most often they were named after the inhabiting
society’s philosophy. There was no shortage of New Hopes, Democracyvilles or
Equalitytowns in the wasteland. There were more than a few Republics and
Peacetowns.

Others were less welcoming and simply took
their name from the despot in charge. Darian Savage ran Savagetown, Alexander
Payne controlled Payneville and Brian “Bloody Fist” Bloodmoon ruled with
cruelty over the citizens of Brian’s Town.

Durango, however, retained its pre-apocalypse
moniker. The name held the mystical ring of an El Dorado or Shambhala. It was
the name of a Western hero—grizzled and respected. Durango was a role
only John Wayne could play, had he ever felt man enough.

The word itself meant water town and
described nothing more than a stop for thirsty mules or dry steam engines. But
its rustic nature stirred such emotion that before the collapse of everything
known, it had been applied to a line of trucks. It didn’t make sense calling a
truck Water Town, but people didn’t care. It just sounded that cool.

So, Durango kept its name, but its population
changed. Like most towns left untouched by a direct strike, the people sat
around for a few days waiting to hear from family and loved ones. They waited
for food trucks to restock the grocery store. They waited for information. They
waited and waited until the walls closed in around them and a fear of not
knowing drove them into the unknown looking for their family, food and answers.

Like so many others, Durango, Colorado,
became a ghost town. But it did not stay empty for long.

The couple walked side-by-side on the
shoulder of Highway 160. The road ran for more than 1400 miles without passing
anything interesting. Roadside vistas were of fields or brown rock and
dirt.
 

 
The man was nearly six feet tall and hid
his build beneath a long duster, which, despite the cold wind, he let hang
open. Gusts made it billow and caused him to shiver. He walked with his thumb
hooked through a rifle sling and kept his eyes on the road ahead and the small
ridge of dirt to the side of the road.

The girl was only a few inches shorter and
dressed in a more appropriate jacket. A colorful scarf draped around her neck
and she kept her chin buried behind it. She had fierce eyes, dark hair and was
entirely too pretty.

“You’re too pretty.”

“Thanks, honey.” Her sarcasm was as fierce as
her eyes. “You say the nicest things.”

He let his eyes leave the road and he looked
into her eyes. “I’m serious. You shouldn’t be walking around looking that
good.”

“Stop it, you.”

“How many times have I told you to look
uglier before leaving the truck? Looking as good as you do … it could cause
problems.”

Erica pouted in a playful way that he enjoyed
if no one else was watching. Out in public, however, the look scared him.
 

“What could happen?” she asked with a crooked
grin as she stepped ahead of him. “After all, I’m with the great
post-apocalyptic nomadic warrior Je …”

Jerry took her by the elbow and turned her to
face him. “No. Not even kidding. I’m Michael Parker and you’re Jennifer Parker.
Especially here.”

“You’re right.” Erica’s smile faded and
reappeared as a smirk. “What should we call Chewy? They’re looking for her,
too. She should get an alias.”

The mastiff stopped and turned at the sound
of her name.

“She’s a dog,” Jerry said. “It’s not like we
can just change her name and expect her to follow commands.”

Erica folded her arms. “Do you expect to
change my name and have me follow commands?”

Jerry chuckled. “We both know you’ve taught
me better than that.”

“So,” Erica said. “We might as well give
Chewy an alias.”

The massive dog padded back along the
blacktop and joined the couple. She forced her head under Erica’s hand, let it
sit there and began to pant.

Erica scratched behind the dog’s ears. Chewy
sat and leaned closer to ensure a full petting. The weight caused Erica to
reposition her feet so she wouldn’t fall into the ditch.

“We’ll call her Benedict,” Jerry said.

“That’s not nice, Mike.”

“You name her,” Jerry started walking towards
town. “She’s basically your dog now.”

“Oh, don’t get sore. It’s just because I’m
better than you. Isn’t that right, girl? I’m better, right?”

Chewy gave a low woof and trotted ahead of
the pair. On point, she sniffed the air and kept her eyes on the road ahead
looking for trouble or something to chase. She gave no sense of danger and the
couple walked easy.

“Have you been through Durango since the
Crappening?”

Jerry laughed. “The Crappening? Where did you
get that?”

Erica threw a finger over her shoulder. “That
last town we stopped at. That’s what the kids are calling it these days.”

“Well, if that’s what the kids are calling
it. Yes, I passed through maybe a year ago.”

“How was it?” Erica asked.

“Like any place with people.” He paused.
“Dangerous.”

Erica put her hand on her chest. “Oh, that
sounded scary. Were you trying to make it sound scary? Because earlier you said
it’s like a mall.”

“I said it was a marketplace.”

She shrugged. “Same thing.”

“Not really. Think of it more like a flea
market but with fewer homemade wind chimes and more stabbings.”

“While we’re there we should look for …”

Jerry grabbed her elbow and stopped her
again. He tried to speak so that there would be no question. “No.”

She questioned it. “You didn’t let me
finish.”

Her hands were cold. He folded them into his
own and spoke softly. “No. It doesn’t matter what it is. We get the part we
need. We get it back to the truck and move on. The less time we spend there the
less chance we’re recognized. Please, tell me you understand.”

She nodded. “I understand.”

“No. Not the kind of ‘understand’ that means
you’re
going to do what you want anyway. This is a trading
hub.
One of the busiest in the west.
This is where
rumors spread. We’re taking a huge risk walking in there. I need the ‘if I
don’t listen to him we could very well die’ kind of ‘understand.’”

Erica smiled. “Well obviously I meant that
kind of understand.”

“Good.” Jerry squeezed her hands gently and
let them go. Getting back in the truck and back on the road should be their
focus. Not browsing. “Good. And don’t make any sudden moves because the people
that run this place are completely nuts.”

Highway 160 connected with US 550 and turned
north into Durango. Everything south of the Animas River was abandoned. Ravaged
storefronts and the steel frames of prefabricated buildings stood as the
skeletons of retail and insurance offices. The steel panels that had once kept
the insurance agents out of the wind had been stripped and repurposed farther
down the road.

Twin towers rose over twenty feet on either
side of the road and barred passage to a bridge across the Animas. Corrugated
steel roofing formed their walls but a coat of paint had been applied to give
them the appearance of stacked stone. Several banners snapped and popped in the
wind looking for attention. The large one draped across the tower entrance
gate. Squared at the top and dropping to a point, it bore the skull of a big
horn sheep on a field of purpled and edged in gold.

Each tower held a pair of guards that stood
with sharp eyes behind a mounted crossbow like he had never seen. From the
ground, the bow looked like it was made of leaf springs with thick cable
holding back a massive bolt. Several of these lined the edge of the wall to
make unloading a leisurely activity.

Several more guards hid from the wind in the
shade of the tower crowded around a campfire. Across their chests each guard
wore the same mark that draped from above. They clung to it like a blanket as a
gust of wind rose up.

The fire was warm as all fires were and Jerry
could tell the guard didn’t want to leave its side. The man swaggered forward
with a twist in his face to address the travelers. Two others followed behind
him making sure their weapons were visible to the visitors by swinging their
hips with wide steps. This show was unnecessary. Most eyes were usually drawn
to the long swords that each guard wore.

The one with the swagger put on a false smile
and held out his arms. Shorter than Jerry by a few inches and rounder by
several more, he spoke with what could only generously be called the worst
English accent left in the world. “’Ood mornin’, ’ood sir and m’lady. ’Ow are
you this feyene day?”

Jerry looked at him sideways. “Fine?”

“Well, ’tis another glorious day in the
kingdom, isn’t it thus?”

“I’m sorry, you said kingdom?” Erica asked
the guard.

“Ah, ’tis that, m’lady.”

She turned to Jerry. “No heads up on
that?”
 

The guard continued, “Ewe are now at the
gates of the Kingdom of the Five Peaks. The Silver Kingdom. The Gleam in God’s
eye as dey
call
it thusly.” He winked at one of the
other guards. “Right, guv’ner?”

“Why are you talking like that?” she asked.

“Aye’m afraid aye don’t know what you mean,
m’lady?”

“All funny. Like you’re trying to sound
British but missing.”

“Verily aye speak only in the tongue of the
land. Perhaps it is ewe who talks all funny.”

Jerry stepped forward. “I think it’s great.
We’d like to go inside.”

The guard nodded. “Ah, of course
ewe do
. But, first we must see if you are a man of honor or
a cad.”

Erica was holding back laughter but it got
free. “Who is this guy?”

The guard smiled at Erica. He put the twist
back in it and the words escaped with less kindness. “
M’lady,
aye am Sir Thomas the Sergeant at Arms and a knight of the realm.” He took her
hand and raised it to his lips.

Jerry reached for the rifle on his shoulder.

Before Sir Thomas could kiss Erica’s hand,
and before Jerry could shoot his lips off, there was a slap across the back of
the knight’s head that knocked the smile from his face and the miserable accent
from his voice. “Ouch.” Sir Thomas turned and found another knight standing
behind him. “Dammit, Dave. I told you to stop hitting me.”

“And I’ve told you to stop talking like an
idiot, Tommy. It hurts my ears.” The one called Dave shoved Tommy out of the
way and pointed to Jerry. His voice was absent any accent, tone or joy. “You
can put that down.”

Jerry pulled his finger from the trigger but
hesitated to lower the gun.

“It’s okay.” Dave pointed a thumb at Sir
Thomas. “He’s a harmless idiot.”

“Dave!”

“It’s Sir David. And, shut up, Tommy.” Dave
turned back to Jerry. “He’s on loan from the castle today. They take things a
little far up there.”

Jerry slung the rifle back over his shoulder
with an eye on the other guards. They were taking their lead from Sir Dave and
made no move for their swords. The crossbows, however, were turned towards
him.