Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors Part 19

"What I know about Dallas, I know from Jerry."

"What's in Dallas?"

"The bombs grew more than a jungle there."

"How did he get out?"

"Luck."

TWENTY-FIVE.

Dallas had always sweltered. Summer heat mixed with the reflective properties of concrete and drove temperatures to miserable degrees. Even at night, the heat did little to dissipate.

Since the world blew up, the concrete jungle of Big D had been consumed by an actual jungle and added humidity to the already uncomfortable atmosphere. Agent-filled warheads had mixed in unpredictable ways. The resulting compound had caused what little vegetation there was in the Metroplex to mutate and grow at accelerated rates.

Elevated roads had remained relatively clear of the growth. The Silver Lining bounced on the occasional vine but made its way over the surface with a lumbering ease.

Moving up 35 into the city, across Woodall Rodgers and down 45 would keep their path well above the undergrowth. Jerry quietly prayed that the trip would be uneventful, but his eyes darted constantly through the shattered windows of the cab.

Erica watched him grow less and less comfortable the further they moved up 35.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Where's your rifle?"

"It's in the back."

"Get it, would you?"

She stepped into the rear of the home, picked up her rifle and gave the three boys a look that spread her panic to them. She returned to the cabin.

"Here it is."

"Keep it close. And get in the back."

"What's out there? Why are you so nervous?"

"I'm not."

"You can hardly sit still."

"Just get in the back. And send Alex up here."

She made no argument as she moved into the cabin and told the oldest boy to step up front.

He hesitated and looked to his siblings. They, too, had picked up on Jerry's nervous actions. Alex clutched a beaten hunting rifle for comfort, not defense. Austin had placed his bear head back on and gripped Chewy tight around the neck. Trent could hear him weeping.

Alex buried his own nerves and stood. He looked Trent in the eye, patted Austin on the bear head, and moved to the front.

"Yes, sir?"

"Alex, I need you to ride shotgun."

"Yes, sir." The teenager sat in the pa.s.senger seat.

"Alex."

"Yes, sir?"

"Grab a shotgun."

"Yes, sir."

The coach swayed as he steered around rubble in the road. Alex was tossed back and forth as he struggled to get to the gun rack. He pulled a semiautomatic 12 gauge from the former TV mount and climbed back into the pa.s.senger seat.

Little traffic clogged the highways. Dallas had been one of the few cities to receive an evacuation notice during the apocalypse. Almost everyone complied. The joke in the wasteland was that everyone in the city had been waiting for a reason to get out of Dallas.

"Just keep it pointed through that hole in the window. And shoot at anything that moves."

"What if it's a person?"

"Especially if it's a person."

Alex's grip on the gun caused it to tremble. The clattering of the weapon's action drew Jerry's attention. He saw the fear in Alex's eyes. He wondered if his looked the same.

"It'll be okay, kid. We shouldn't have a problem with the highways."

"Look out!"

Jerry turned back to the road and slammed on the brakes. Ahead, the road dipped to pa.s.s beneath the deck park that had been built across the highway shortly before the world blew up.

It had collapsed.

"Dammit."

"What do we do now?"

There was an exit on his right that led downtown. Chest heaving, he struggled to calm his breathing. Fear soured his stomach. His arms didn't want to respond.

Down those roads were the memories of his rebirth into the ravaged world. Terrifying memories.

A breeze blew the rank stench of the jungle's rotting undergrowth through the busted windscreen. He inhaled it deeply, refusing to choke on it. It smelled like him-Jerry's first nightmare in the new world. His raspy voice echoed in his head with dull thuds that repeated in a constant rhythm.

Chewy whimpered. She remembered the smell.

"What is it, Jerry?" Erica's voice shook.

The sound of her not calling him a d.i.c.k stopped his breath short. A moment later his breathing returned to normal. The shaking stopped.

"It's nothing. Everyone hold tight. We're going to make this quick."

Jerry cranked the wheel and pointed the ma.s.sive vehicle into the overgrown streets of downtown Dallas.

TWENTY-SIX.

Beneath the pileup was a layer of clear blacktop that had been protected from the ravages of time. The sun reflected off of the oily surface and threw up a scent that reminded the major of time spent in theme parks and on walking trails.

Twisted piles of former cars stretched for half of a mile down both shoulders of the road to create an iron canyon. The next traveler to find the site might see it as a sign of hope. Perhaps thinking that a reconst.i.tuted government had reorganized to the point of a.s.signing road crews.

The major knew better. There was no hope. Whatever optimism he had once had in a new world had faded with the pa.s.sing of his wife and grandson. Since then, life had been only a brutal struggle to survive. Often, he questioned his own persistence. He had lost two sons and a daughter-in-law during the apocalypse. The pa.s.sing of his wife and grandson a year later removed from him all personal interest in living.

He supposed he had a new family to protect, but they were no subst.i.tute. In the end, he always attributed his pursuit of survival to his stubborn nature. His wife used to tease him about it. It looked like she was right.

"We found a rig a few miles down the road, sir. The tires should be here soon." The runner's voice pulled him from his musings and back to the road before him.

"The path is clear?"

The runner nodded, "We've scouted to within sight of the town. The road is clear all the way to the gates."

"What's the status of the town?"

"It looks like they're ready for us, sir."

The major smiled, "Wake them up."

The runner saluted and dashed ahead of the major to the prison car. Striking a crowbar against the slats of the livestock trailer sent a clatter through the cage that the prisoners could not ignore. The captives awoke in a panic. Those near the slats sprang back, trying to save or comfort bashed fingers and ringing ears.

The runner slid the crowbar back into his belt. "The major will now speak!"

The major strode to the midpoint of the trailer and surveyed his audience. In some eyes he still saw rage, but generally it was fear. Fear was necessary, but he had hoped to alleviate some of it. He had replaced the shredded eye patch to hide his disfigurement, but there was little he could do to hide the healing wound on his face. They stared in disgust and terror.

The raspy voice did less to soothe them. Wheezes and squeaks like the final gasp of the dying brought his message to the prisoners.

"Ladies, gentlemen, and children, welcome. You are guests of the mighty nation of Alasis, the most powerful nation in the former United States. The power you see before you is a fraction of our empire. It is a vast nation, and you have been selected to become citizens.

"Each of you will enjoy a security that your former home could not provide you. Our nation will provide you with comfort, food, and a steady economy. You, in turn, will pledge your loyalty, your labor, and your love to Alasis.

"We don't wish to harm you. We wish to welcome you, with open arms, into our family. We have one more community to liberate from the brutalities of the wasteland; then we will return to your home.

"I hope that in the time we have left on the road you will reflect on your good fortune. You've been accepted into a wondrous new beginning, a chance to rebuild the world that man's gluttony and greed destroyed.

"Alasis is mankind's best chance at building a world that can survive.

"Thank you for your time."

With this, the major stepped away from the trailer full of prisoners, wondering if even he believed a word he had said. Alasis was the most powerful and organized city-state on the continent. Whether acceptance into its walls was a blessing or a curse, however, even he couldn't be certain.

TWENTY-SEVEN.

A belief in the power of concrete and modernization had caused the Downtown district of Dallas to pave over most things green or old. It wasn't until the renaissance trends of the late 2000s that the planners decided to develop green s.p.a.ces within the city. This exceptional lack of plant life worked in the post-apocalyptic travelers' favor.

The growth accelerant had few large trees or park s.p.a.ce to affect. This left only office plants and landscape shrubbery to absorb the agent. Had more green s.p.a.ce been available, the growth would have made Dallas streets impa.s.sable. Instead, lucky bamboo, bonsai trees, and ivy vines that had been abandoned on desktops and windowsills absorbed the chemical. These office plants erupted from their planters and burst through skysc.r.a.per windows to drape a canopy of green over the former business district.

It was also unfortunate that the apocalypse occurred on Valentine's Day. Ma.s.sive rose bushes had shattered ornate vases, plummeted from office buildings, and taken root in the city's storm drains. Stems as thick as trees rose from crumbled sidewalks and bloomed with ma.s.sive roses that tinted the sunlight hues of red and yellow.

The Silver Lining crashed through the creeping vines. Snapping like gunfire, the vines left sap and pulp across the body of the motor coach. Leaves and spores poured through the open windshield covering the dash.

Alex flinched as branches and vines jutted in and out of the shattered windshield. He brushed the seedlings from his eyes quickly, struggling to keep both hands on the shotgun.

Small vines snapped away at the ma.s.s of the coach, while the thicker ones caused the vehicle to lurch and bounce as it made its way down the street.

Jerry fought the wheel, wrestling the coach from their grasp. He marveled at the growth. It was much thicker than he had last seen it. The canopy had lowered and threatened to touch the ground in several places.

Inside the coach, the pa.s.sengers were thrown from their seats during a hard left. Jerry demanded everything from the engine as he maneuvered deftly through the streets. Though it seemed random to his pa.s.sengers, the route he took through the city kept the vehicle clear of the few parks and patches of gra.s.s in the area.

He hadn't forgotten the streets. Despite the frantic steering, he kept his bearings, always moving south and east to reach a ramp up on the elevated safety of highway 45.

"What was that?" Alex sat up, his grip on the shotgun tightened.

Jerry followed the barrel and looked into the street.

"What?"

Alex peered into the dense growth coming from the lobby of one of Dallas's many nondescript office buildings. "I guess it was nothing."

"Keep watching." Jerry sped up.

A chorus of faint, high-pitched whines penetrated the truck as countless vines scratched against its skin. Those heavier with water slapped against the truck, splattering the moisture across the body and in through the bullet holes.

"There!" Alex pointed with the shotgun.