Knights of the Apocalypse (A Duck & Cover Adventure Post-Apocalyptic Series Book 2) (5 page)

The guard outside the prince’s
door looked like he’d rather be somewhere else even if that place
wasn’t
that far away. The king greeted him and the man
snapped to attention while casting a wary eye on the prince’s door.

“I’m here to see the prince,”
Elias said.

“Of course, sire.” The guard made
no move to the door.

“Well.” The king gestured to the
door. “Announce me.”

“Umm, of course, sire.” The guard
turned and drew back his hand and hesitated. He turned back to the king. “What
if he’s not … decent?”

Elias laughed. “The prince is
never decent.” Elias waved the man aside and knocked on the door.

The voice from the other side of
the door shot back. “I told you to go away, Eddie!”

“It’s not Eddie. It’s the king.
And don’t you talk to Eddie that way. It’s his job to stand outside this door
and keep you safe.”

There was shuffling inside the
room. Elias definitely heard scrambling. Someone said, “Hand me my bra.” Elias
hoped it wasn’t the prince. The door opened a crack a moment later and the
prince’s face appeared. The boy was handsome like a prince should be. “I’m
quite safe, Your Majesty.”

“Are you okay?”

“Fine,” the prince said. “Why
wouldn’t I be?”

“That’s my boy. Hiding beneath
bravado. I just wanted to see how you were holding up and let you know that
we’re doing everything to get your wife back.”

“Oh. Right. Why?”

Elias threw Eddie the guard an
uncomfortable smile and forced his way into the room. A half-dressed woman
disappeared into the bathroom. Prince Robert jumped back and scrambled to find
a shirt. “You can’t just come in here!”

Elias closed the door behind him.
“Shut up.” He pointed to the bathroom. “And get her out of here.”

Robert shrugged and rapped on the
bathroom door. “Kay? You should go now, Kay.”

There was a whispered response
that Elias couldn’t hear.

“I don’t see how that’s my
problem,” the prince said. “I don’t even have boobs.”

The whispering continued and was
still unintelligible but grew more intense and shrieking. It was like a banshee
sharing a secret.

“I’ll look for it, okay? Just get
out of here and don’t run down the stairs too fast. They’ll be fine.”

The bathroom door opened and Miss
Richards shuffled out with a quick curtsy to the king. “Hello, sire.”

Elias smiled. “Kay, it’s nice to
see you. On your way out would you please tell Eddie that it’s time for his
break?”

The girl nodded, stepped quickly
out the door and closed it behind her.

Elias turned back to the prince.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”

He smiled. “Nothing.”

“Your princess is missing and
you’re up here in your room playing hide the scepter with Miss Richards.”

“She’s a really good player.”

Elias sighed and sat on the bed.

Robert pulled his shirt on and
threw up his arms. “You told me you were looking for her. What more do you want
from me?”

“What more do I want? I want you
to grieve, express concern. I need you to be the worried husband. The concerned
prince.”

Robert shrugged.

“Do you have any idea what
happens if we don’t get her back?”

“I get a new wife?”

Elias placed his face in his
hands.

“Can I pick her this time?
Because I’d like one with more boobs and less attitude.”

Elias sprang from the bed and
slapped Robert across the face. “You spoiled little brat.”

Robert rolled with the strike and
spun to face the king. “I don’t think either of those things is too much to
ask. Anna wasn’t my type and you know it.”

“It doesn’t matter what type she
is. She’s a princess. You’re a prince. That’s all that matters.”

“This is your stupid fantasy,
Greg. Not mine.”

Elias roared. “You don’t want to
be the prince?”

“I’m not saying that.”

“You don’t want to have everyone
at your beck and call? You don’t want to live the most privileged life this
side of the apocalypse?” Elias stepped across the room and tore the drapes from
the wall. “Do you want to be out there?
In the wasteland?
Scraping by, scavenging for every meal, wearing rags and fighting to keep the
crap you have?”

“Of course not.”

“Of course not. You want the
mines. You want the gold. The subjects. The power. And you can’t do that
without a princess. If her father finds out that she’s been taken, it will be
war. A war I’m not sure we can win right now.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one, our prince is a
pussy and it’s his job to lead the troops.”

“I’m not a pussy.”

“Yes. You are. But that’s my
fault. I’ve kept you sheltered your entire life. You don’t know what it’s like
to struggle. Since the time you were a kid you’ve lived behind these gates. You
don’t know how cruel it can all be.”

“Fine. I’ll act all sad now and
happy when she gets back.”

Elias shook his head. “No. That’s
not enough. You’re going after her.”

“What? Send the knights!”

“I can’t send knights, you moron.
If we march with an army, it will be war!”

“Then what do you want me to do,
Greg?”

Elias stood and grabbed Robert by
the collar of his freshly buttoned shirt. He punched the prince in the stomach.
He punched hard. He felt something shift under his fist. It could have been a
spleen. It dawned on him at that moment that he had no idea where a person’s
spleen was.
 

Robert doubled over coughing.

“It’s Elias.
Or
Your Majesty.
Or sire. You owe me everything, you little shit.” Elias
helped him up and sat him on the bed. “But I’ll tell you what you’re going to
do. You’re going on a secret mission. You’re going to find your wife and bring
her back, or else.”

FIVE

The Durango-Silverton Narrow Gauge railroad
had been constructed more than a hundred years before the world fell apart. For
the majority of its existence, it hauled supplies to the mining towns that had
formed in the mountains and returned with gold and silver from the mines.

As the world progressed and the mines closed,
it evolved into a tourist destination. Starting in the ’80s, it transported
visitors instead of supplies to Silverton as it began to rely more on their
dollars than the income from the mining companies. The mines closed in the
’90s, but the train carried on and ran curious passengers back and forth
between the two towns until the bombs redefined how people thought of
vacations.

Once again, the railroad served its original
purpose. Under a cloud of steam, the engines brought gold and silver coins from
the mines into the marketplace where they were exchanged for food and other
goods that were returned to the castle.

Keeping a steam train operational wasn’t easy
in the best of times. That most antique railroad enthusiasts had been
apocalypsed with everyone else didn’t make things any easier. But the Kingdom
of the Five Peaks dedicated several crews to maintaining the line no matter how
difficult it was.
 

Some diesel-electric engines still ran. The
Dakota War Train was one—a menacing engine of destruction a mile long
that carried a thousand men and twice as many guns. The machine was the
brainchild of a twisted warlord that ruled over an extremely long, but
extremely narrow, tract of territory in the Midwest.

The engine brought death and destruction. It
spit fire and hell and forced those in its path to submit to the warlord’s
rule. This continued until those in its path realized they could move about a
mile away from the track, rendering the great machine useless. For, despite all
its weapons, the Dakota War Engine had fairly limited mobility. Still, as
useless as it had become, the engine still ran.

Many of those that still functioned had been
converted to power plants. More than a few towns had formed around a derailed
locomotive and attracted people from all over the wasteland. They came with
devices in hand dying to plug in. Few were naïve enough to think they could
still make calls, download updates or Google anything. For most, these engines
were the only opportunity they had to see pictures of their loved ones once
again.
 

Some of the communities became medical
centers and devoted their trains to running dialysis machines and other
hospital equipment. Others tried to become entertainment centers by screening movies
and music. But, wherever there was power, trouble found it. If a town had an
engine now it almost certainly lay behind thick walls and men who stood ready
to defend it.

In almost every case, the engines fared
better than the railways themselves.

Stripped by scavengers for lumber and steel,
the tracks had been torn from the earth. Crossties were stacked for homes and
town walls. Idiots tried to burn them to heat their homes, but only once. As
difficult as it was to keep an engine running, maintaining a line was almost
impossible.

But the Durango-Silverton was different.
 

Jerry and Erica were bound at the wrist.
Chewy was muzzled, leashed and not happy about it. The trio stood guarded on
the platform of the historic Durango station as the engine approached.

They saw it coming before they heard it. A
cloud of smoke appeared over the city’s low-built structures. Black soot mixed
with white-hot steam to form a grey tail trailing into the hills beyond town.

The sound of the engine blended in with the din
of the crowd at first. Slowly the chug overpowered the racket of commerce and
the rhythmic stroke of the pistons clanked above all else.

It approached them like a creature born of a
nightmare. The sounds and site of the ethereal cloud was tied to nothing until
it rounded the corner of College Street. A mass of black steel hid in the
billow of smoke and churned closer until it was upon them. The engine was
entirely black. It was impossible to distinguish what was paint and what was
soot. The only other color on the train was the scratched remains of white
engine numbers.

A burst of white smoke shot from the side of
the train as it slowed its approach to the station. This burst scattered a
crowd that had gathered along the rails to watch the arrival. More than a
hundred years and one apocalypse later, the site and sounds of a steam engine
still amazed the masses.

Jerry smiled like a toddler as it rolled past
them at the station. He turned to one of his guards and took a deep breath.
“Oh, wow.”

 
“What?” the guard asked.

“We get to ride a train,” Jerry said.

“We’re taking you to jail, you dumbass.”
 

“Yeah. But you’re taking me to jail on a
train!”

Erica turned away. “Ugh. I’ll never
understand boys.”

Jerry turned to her. “Oh come on. This is
cool.”

The engine came to a stop somewhere beyond
the station, and the guards pushed them towards an open-air passenger car. They
seated the couple back-to-back on a bench that ran the length of the car and
secured their bindings through a metal ring at their feet. Chewy was placed in
a freight car next to them and was still not happy about it.

Several knights spread out across the
benches. There was ample space in the car for twenty people, but the knights
found maneuvering difficult. Several men repositioning in such close quarters
with four feet of sword sticking out behind them produced more “excuses me’s,”
“my bad’s,” and “oh, I’m sorry, was that your face’s” than Jerry had heard in
years. Even in the apocalypse, chivalry was not dead. But it had grown stupid.

“How fast does it go?” Jerry asked the knight
closest to him.

There was no response.

“Do we get to go over any big bridges?” he
asked another.

Again there was no answer.

“What are we going to see?”

Nothing.

“You guys are no fun,” Jerry said. “You’re
spoiled. That’s what it is. Not many people get to ride a train anymore. You
should be thankful.”

The guards made it obvious that they did not
share his enthusiasm. “You won’t be making jokes when you start to freeze. Now
shut up.”

“I might. I’ll try and think of some freezing
jokes for you guys.”

The whistle blew and the pistons began their
slow and steady churn. Jerry leaned back and opened his mouth to speak to
Erica.

“I don’t want to hear about the train
either.”

Jerry remained silent for a moment before
changing the conversation. “So that Mr. Christopher is kind of a dick, huh?”

# # #

Jerry’s questions about the train were
answered quickly.

How fast did it go? Slower than the speed of
interesting.

Would they cross any bridges? Yes, several very
low and dull bridges.

What would they see? Trees.
Tree after tree after tree and a river.

The train moved along at a slow and steady
pace, making only one stop to attach a plow car and fill the boiler. All in all
the ride was so beautifully boring that the guards eventually broke their
silence and began to talk to the prisoners.

“So what was that fight all about, anyway?”

Erica answered with a question of her own.
“Didn’t he tell you when he paid you to look the other way?”

The knight crossed his arms. “I don’t know
what you’re talking about, miss. Taking a bribe is against the king’s Law.”

Erica snorted. “Just like that?”

“Bringing false accusations against one of
the king’s men is also against the king’s Law. You’d better be careful what you
say. You’re in enough trouble as it is.”

Erica sighed. “We’re not really sure what
it’s all about. He’s been following us for months. He’s a bounty hunter and
he’s convinced himself that we’re wanted.”

“Now why would he think that?” the knight
asked.

Jerry shrugged. “Did you see how he was
dressed?”

The knight nodded.

“He’s clearly an idiot,” Jerry said.

The guard chuckled and nodded again.

Another knight spoke up. “He didn’t look like
much of a bounty hunter to me.”

Erica smirked. “You run into a lot of bounty
hunters, do you?”

“Nah, but you hear about them.
The good ones, anyway.
People pass through and tell stories.
Like, ‘Deadeye’ Dick Devlin.” The knight made a gun with his finger. “He’s the
best shot in the wasteland.”

“Second best,” Erica said. “Apparently.”

“What’s that?” the knight asked.

“Oh, nothing,” Jerry said and shot Erica a
look she couldn’t see. “Rumor has it he was shot dead outside of Abilene.”

“Really? That’s a shame. He was the best.”

“Second best,” said Erica.

Another guard jumped into the conversation.
“You know who I always liked? Kamikaze Cooper. I met him once, you know? Hell
of a guy. Wasn’t afraid of anything.”

Erica shifted in her seat. “I’ll bet he’s
scared of heights now.”

“He is not. Why would you say that?”

“He fell into a canyon last month,” Jerry
said. “A damn shame, really.”

“Oh, man. Really? I hadn’t heard that.”

Erica shrugged. “Bounty hunting is a
dangerous business.”

Tommy had been silent during the conversation
but spoke up now. “That’s what makes it so cool—the danger. I love
hearing stories about those guys. I follow all of them.” Tommy held up his hand
and started counting off fingers. “There’s ‘Crossbow’ Johnson.”

Erica answered each finger in turn. “Garroted
with a bowstring.”
 

 
“Brad ‘The Blade’ Patterson.”

“Stabbed.”

“‘Dashing Dan’ Johnson.”

“Car crash.”

“Clay ‘Claymore’ Moore.”

“Uh … kaboom.”
 

“Three-Finger Dakota?”

Erica held up two fingers.

“Wow,” Tommy said as he sat back down. “It’s
been a rough time for bounty hunters.”

Jerry tried to make the most of their
willingness to talk. “Since you guys are fans, what do you know about this Mr.
Christopher guy?”

“Never heard of him,” Tommy said.

Jerry squinted. “I can’t tell if you’re being
serious or this is part of the whole ‘he didn’t bribe me’ thing.”
 

“No. I really never heard of him.”

Sir David had remained silent until now.
“Shut up, Tommy.”

“Don’t tell me what to do, Dave.” Tommy
turned back to the prisoners. “What’s this guy’s gimmick?”

Erica answered, “I don’t think he has one.”

“What?” Tommy turned to the knight next to
him. “What kind of bounty hunter doesn’t have a gimmick?”

Jerry shrugged. Of all the bounty hunters
that had come after the price on their heads, Mr. Christopher had come closest
to collecting. In every case, the man hid behind others and played more of a
managerial role, recruiting others in the hunt. That’s how Three-Finger Dakota
lost his ability to count past two.

It had been one bounty hunter after another.
The first few had shown up in New Hope, Texas, where Erica and Jerry had tried
to make their home. The amateurs that came first caused little worry, but when
the professionals started showing up it was clear that the couple was
endangering the people of the town.

So they had left. They had packed up and
headed west. Erica thought she might have friends left on the coast. It was a
long shot, but when there was nowhere else to run, west was as good as any
place. East was out. That’s where the blood money was coming from.

Heading west should have been a relatively
easy trip. The world was still full of stupid people, but not so stupid they
would live in the desert and bitch about being thirsty for the rest of their
lives. Mr. Christopher had dogged them every step of the way and slowed their
progress. He couldn’t blame the man in white for the broken fuel pump that put
them in Durango, but he might as well have.
 

The train blew three long blasts from the
whistle and the knights snapped into action. Each stood quickly and apologized
to whomever they hit with their scabbards. They moved to the car’s edge and put
their eyes on the track ahead. Whispers were traded. “High line” was the only
phrase Jerry could pick out of the hushed conversations.

“What’s high line?” Jerry asked.

One guard kept his gaze on the prisoners. He
answered their question quietly. “The High Line is the highest point of the
run. It runs along the edge of a cliff. Very dangerous.”