Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors Part 14

"I'm sorry, boys. You didn't expect it to be open, did you?"

Trent didn't say anything.

Alex answered, "No, but it would have been cool to get one more Happy Meal toy. C'mon, Trent." The oldest boy turned and headed back to the coach.

Trent looked up at the nomad, this man who said he had been all over the country. What had he seen? Had he seen anything at all? "It's really all gone. Isn't it?"

Jerry placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. "A lot has changed. There isn't much left of the world we knew. But, there are people out there. Good people. And, when good people get together, good things happen. The world may seem lost now, but in a few years things are going to start to change."

He believed this. More than anything, Jerry had faith that mankind could make a better world than the one that mankind had blown up.

"Things are going to be good again, Trent. It may not be now, or five years from now, but soon."

"So, I've got to wait five years for a f.u.c.king Happy Meal? Thanks, man. Good pep talk." Trent shook the hand off of his shoulder and walked toward the McDonald's.

Of all the kids, Jerry liked Trent the least. "I don't know what to tell you then, kid. If it'll help, I've got some juice boxes in the fridge."

Trent's eyes lit up, "You've got a fridge in there?"'

"Yes." He had hoped for less whining, but Jerry had seemed to hit the mother lode of consolation prizes.

"No way!" Trent all but left an imprint of himself in the air as he ran back to the Silver Lining. His feet touched, only lightly, on the steps as he flew in to the cabin.

By the time Jerry had made it back to the coach, the boys were all taking turns opening and closing the miniature fridge door. Each would pop it open and stick their face into it, exhaling vast breaths, trying to watch a fog form in the air.

Jerry sat back down in the driver's seat. Erica sat next to him, where there were no questions being asked about her b.o.o.bs. "Wow."

"I know," Jerry pulled the lever into drive. "Just imagine when I tell them I have a TV back there."

"You've got a TV back there?"

"Well, yeah, it's ..."

She wasn't there. She had bounced quickly to the back and located the remote.

SEVENTEEN.

Despite its rough appearance, the Mustang rode smoothly over the abandoned roads of post-apocalyptic Texas. The engine was loud and throaty, and as Logan shifted through the gears it was apparent that the drive train had been tenderly maintained.

"Okay, it's fast." Sarah, having abandoned looking stern, grinned broadly as eroded mile markers whizzed by. She had her hand out the window playing with the wind as the pony car muscled it way down the road.

Logan beamed, "I haven't seen anything faster. Only motorcycles have given her a run for her money."

"So why not drive a motorcycle, big bad warrior?"

"A motorcycle doesn't offer much protection."

"Protection from what? As long as you can *outrun trouble?'" She smiled as she mocked his earlier comment. The exhilarating ride had robbed her of the ability to frown.

"You can't outrun the rain."

"The rain?"

"In some parts, the rain will kill you faster than a mutant. Plenty of the junk from the war is still floating around. The rain brings it down."

"We haven't seen that here."

"It's out there. And, when it hits, you've just got to hunker down and ride it out. Sometimes it can last for days."

"I think you'd want something bigger then. Something with some room."

"s.p.a.ce would be great. But having the speed is more important."

"I don't know. There's got to be a few motor homes lying around. That's how I'd like to explore the new world."

"You wouldn't want one."

"Why not?"

"When choosing a wasteland vehicle you want something right in the middle, like my car. It's fast, not nearly as thirsty as a tank, and it's built solid." He punched the roof of the car. A dull thud responded. "That will keep the rain off and the mutants out."

"I think you just like looking cool."

"Well, there's that too." He smiled at her and she smiled back. Not from the rush of the drive but in a direct response to his flirtation.

"Besides," he continued, "a motor home has its drawbacks."

"Like what?"

EIGHTEEN.

"What do you mean it's stuck?" Erica shouted out the pa.s.senger window.

"I mean it's stuck," he shouted down from the roof. "If we try to go any further, we're not going to be able to get it out."

"Well, that's just stupid."

He knew he was doing the right thing by taking her and the boys to a safe town. Constant reminders were needed though, and he kept telling himself that it would be wrong to leave her on the side of the road.

"Okay. It's stupid." He dropped to the ground and walked back to the front of the motor coach where the boys had gathered to see what a stuck motor home looked like. Chewy stood with them and seemed to be examining the problem as well.

Austin pulled at the collar of his bear suit to make his voice heard. "Who would build a bridge that a car couldn't go under?"

"Don't be stupid. Of course they built it so cars can go under," Trent snapped at his younger brother.

"It was fine two days ago. The rain washed out the hill." The nomad couldn't tell if it had anything to do with the content of the metal rain, or if it was just general erosion caused by the apocalypse, but mudslides had been commonplace in his wanderings. The sight of entire hillsides that had swallowed neighborhoods, while once a rampant danger on the west coast, was now a nightmare shared by survivors of the entire country.

"Or, better yet, who would drive a car that couldn't fit under a bridge? I'm looking at you, road warrior." Erica added.

"I said it was the rain."

"Whatever. Your big truck is stuck." Erica laughed at her own comment and withdrew back into the coach.

"Is there another road we could take?" Alex asked.

"There's always another road. But there's no telling what we'd run into. This road is relatively safe. Everything else on the map looked risky." Jerry had consulted the torn atlas page before getting out of the motor home. The truth was, there was no information regarding other paths. This route was the quickest, and the sooner he got back to New Hope, the sooner he could continue on without the constant criticism from Erica.

"It's too bad there's not a way to make the bridge taller," said Trent.

"Or the truck shorter," Austin added.

"That's stupid," his older brother shot back.

"You're stupid!"

"I am not!"

Austin asked. "How is making the truck shorter dumber than making a bridge taller?"

"It just is, okay. You can't make the truck shorter."

"Stop it, both of you." This silenced the bickering brothers. "The little bear is right."

Trent asked, "About the truck being shorter, or me being stupid?"

"Probably both, but certainly about the truck." The nomad walked under the bridge. The rubble had been isolated to the outside of the bridge; under and beyond was clear. There might be enough room.

He went to each tire and let out several pounds of pressure. The Silver Lining settled a few inches lower to the ground. Erica jumped as the balance of the coach shifted for the first time.

"What are you doing?" she screamed from the window.

"We're making the truck shorter," Austin beamed as he answered.

Jerry pocketed the cap from the last tire, and walked back to the coach's door. "You boys stay out here and watch for clearance."

Austin and Trent took a few steps back. Alex crossed in front of the vehicle to watch the other side.

Jerry settled into the c.o.c.kpit and inched the Silver Lining forward. The ride was mushy and the wheel response was sluggish, but the ma.s.sive truck pulled itself through the mud.

"Do you really think this will work? d.i.c.k." Erica peered up through the windshield as the coach moved forward.

"It's always worked before."

"You think you're so smart, don't you?"

"I'd never say that. I just read a lot."

He listened for warnings from the boys, but they gave only shouts of excitement as the roofline cleared the overpa.s.s. Sharp squeals were heard as the luggage rack intermittently met with concrete. The younger boys gasped, but Alex waved him on.

A rough b.u.mp signaled that he had cleared the mound of mud and rock. The coach was back on the road.

Alex and his brothers cheered along as the coach rolled through the underpa.s.s and emerged on the other side.

Back in the sunlight, Jerry smiled at Erica.

"Okay, so you did it. Now you've got four flat tires, genius."

He stood from his seat and climbed from the Silver Lining. Behind an exterior access panel was an emergency compressor. Ten minutes later the four tires we're filled and capped. The boys boarded the coach and he took his seat behind the wheel.

Erica noted his smirk. "You're luckier than you are smart."

"I'll take either one."

"Shut up, d.i.c.k."

"I'm so glad I rescued you."

"You didn't rescue anybody, I was ..."

Chewy barked.

"You're in her seat. Chewy rides shotgun."

Erica began to protest but decided to give in to the dog. She was about to step back into the cabin when her face lit up.

"Oh, my G.o.d. I just got it. She's your sidekick. Your copilot. You think she's your Chewbacca. You're a nerd."

"No, I'm not. I ..."

"Yes you are, Chewy, Chewbacca," she laughed, "nerd!"

"That's not why I called her Chewy."

"Sure it is. Why else?"

"She chews s.h.i.t."