satellites

Adam walked quickly, his hands jammed deeply into the pockets of his jacket. The jacket itself was buttoned from bottom to top, including the seldom used throat button which held the flipped-up collar tightly around his neck. He tucked his chin down and pulled his shoulders up as far as he could.

Skivvy had actually pulled the tail of his coat up over his head, and held the corners across his chest, forming a miniature tent over his head.

The temperatures had gone from a comfortable fifty down to below freezing in a matter of two days. It had begun snowing the morning before, and hadn’t let up since. The snow collecting on the freeway was now almost eight inches deep and beginning to become a hazard, and in many places snow drifts had collected to waist-height. They had found shelter in an old van the night before, and neither of them was much looking forward to another night outside, but their options were looking slim as dusk quickly approached. They had consulted a map, but there were no charted settlements between them and their target, the town of Charleston, which was at least another six hours. It wasn’t going to happen tonight.

Apparently Charleston had discovered some way or another to power their motor vehicles (at least the smaller ones) and now it seemed that every commune in the tri-state area wanted to open up channels of communication with them. Which included the Roadhouse, hence why Adam and Skivvy were stuck wading through the snow in these frigid temperatures.

He heard Skivvy’s crunching footsteps beside him stop. Adam stopped, somewhat annoyed (if it’s another goddamn pressed penny machine, he thought) but Skivvy was looking down into a gully beside the road. There were lights.

“Hot damn,” Adam stuttered. He thought he had never been so relieved in his life.

+

As it turned out, picking their way down the steep slope had a whole slew of issues all its own. There were plenty of slips and trips and near neck-breaking plunges (Adam was reminded of his father’s professed dislike toward taking busted-up kids to the hospital) but after twenty harrowing minutes they stood at the bottom of the gully.

They approached the town, which was really more of a hamlet; there were a few dozen huts in rings around one larger building, which Adam presumed to have originally been a highway maintenance building. The presence of the maintenance building meant that there was probably a maintenance road as well. They’d look for that on the way back out.

There was warm orange candlelight coming from the windows of the huts, creating a comforting glow in the graying evening. A man emerged from the opposite side of one of the huts. He had a hunting rifle in his hand, but he never pointed it at them.

“Who goes there?” he demanded.

Skivvy suppressed a snicker at the cliché line. Adam smiled and stepped forward, his arms spread out beside him in what might have been surrender or bravado.

“My name is Adam. This is my companion, Michael. We’re traveling diplomats, and we’d appreciate it if you could just put us up for the night.”

The man took a step forward.

“C’mere into the light where I can see you two better.” They did. The man, an older fellow who looked like he could handle himself, gave them each a once over. He seemed to have found whatever he was looking for and nodded. He stuck out his hand.

“Name’s Rick. Welcome to Satellite Community 12-D.”

+

Rick heated up some water in his hut for tea. It was surprisingly luxurious for such a modest exterior. There was a main living space, decorated with rugs and pictures and featuring a sofa and an armchair, a little table off to the side with two chairs, and in the back was a bedroom. Adam assumed there was an outhouse somewhere around town.

“Now, you said this was a ‘satellite community’?” Skivvy asked as Rick handed him a mug.

“Yes sir, that’s the official story. But we like to call this place Starksville. Because, well, you know.” Rick handed a mug to Adam.

“Thanks. What exactly is this place a satellite of?”

“Technically Charleston.” Adam and Skivvy looked at each other.

“You know, that’s where we’re headed,” Skivvy said.

“Oh. Really now.” Rick was studying his tea.

“Yeah,” Skivvy continued. “Isn’t that a bit far?”

“Closer than anything else.” Rick looked markedly uncomfortable. They finished the rest of their tea in silence.

“Well,” Rick said, standing after they had finished, “As you can see our homes are a bit small, but I can house one of you here if the other doesn’t mind coming with me to my neighbor’s.”

Adam looked over at Skivvy, who had already drifted off to sleep.

“I’ll go,” Adam said, stood up, and shouldered his bag and his field surgeon’s kit.

+


Rick knocked at the door. After a brief pause, there were several clicks and sliding sounds as bolts were thrown. These people are scared, Adam thought. The door opened and there stood a man who couldn’t have been much older than Adam was. His brow furrowed slightly and he glanced at Rick.

“He’s a traveler, needs a place to crash. Is it alright if he stays here with you for the night?” Rick said.

The man looked Adam up and down the same way Rick had. After a moment he smiled and his body loosened; Adam hadn’t realized it had been tense at first. The man stepped aside and allowed Adam to enter his home.

Adam looked around. It was somewhat sparser than Rick’s place, but it was very cozy and well-kept. He realized he was probably staying with a married couple. Rick and the new guy were talking quietly by the door when a little girl rushed into the room. She looked to be maybe four.

“Daddy, who’s at the--” She stopped when she saw Adam, clutching a stuffed bear tightly to her chest. Adam smiled and crouched down. He took off his bags and set them aside. He was now at her eye level. She looked a bit uncomfortable, but no longer scared.

“Hello there, miss. My name’s Adam.” He held out his hand.

“I’m Maddy,” she said quietly. She took his hand.

“Well it’s very nice to make your acquaintance, Maddy. Let me ask you something. Do you like candy?” he asked as he produced a chocolate bar from his jacket’s inner pocket.

Her eyes widened as she reached out for the candy bar.

“Make sure you let it last, so you can share it,” Adam said as he placed the candy in her hand.

“What do we say, Maddy?” her father asked from behind Adam.

“Thank you thank you thank you!” she said, hopping up and down. She ran back into the back. He heard her talking to Mommy, now.

Adam had been aware of the man standing behind him, probably ready to bash him with a chair if he posed a
threat to his daughter. Adam gave Maddy the candy as much to pacify her as the man behind him. He turned.

The man’s hand was extended, and there was a pleasant grin on his face.

“My name’s George,” he said.

“Adam. You have a beautiful daughter.”

“Thanks. She gets it mostly from her mother. And I really appreciate you giving her some candy. It’s so hard to find nowadays, and, well, I don’t recall if she’s ever had any more than once.” George’s voice cracked slightly.

“It’s no problem,” Adam said. “I don’t really eat it much. So you guys farm, then? I noticed a lot of empty space behind the town.”

“Yeah, we do. Just pulled in our crops a week ago. None too soon, I’d say, from the looks of things.”

“You can say that again. It’s not exactly conducive to my profession, either.”

“I can imagine,” George chuckled. “You missed dinner, but we have some leftovers if you’re hungry. We can talk while you’re eating.”

“That would be delightful,” Adam said, his stomach growling.

+

George’s wife, Rita, had joined them at the small table while Adam ate. Maddy had gone to bed.

“When I first met Rick,” Adam said between bites, “he said that this town was ‘technically’ a satellite of Charleston. Why only technically?”

Rita and George looked uneasily at each other.

“If you don’t want to get into it, I’ll understand.”

“No, no,” Rita said. “It’s not that. It’s just that we’re a little unsure. We’ve never really liked the way Charleston did its business, which is why this community sprung up out here. However, while we were setting up, we still needed protection. So we paid what was basically a tribute, some of our crops, to Charleston, in exchange for protection. We’ve been paying for nearly nine years now, but this year . . .” Rita trailed off.

“This year we decided enough was enough,” George finished. “They pulled their guards out and left. We . . . we don’t think it’s for good.”

“What, you think they’ll attack you?” Adam asked.

“Not attack, per se. That’s never been their style. They tend to only harass you if they don’t like you, but that could entail any number of things. Maybe just torching our storage, maybe our homes. I really couldn’t say.”

“How long ago did the troops leave?”

“About a day after we reaped our harvest and informed them we wouldn’t be sharing this year,” George replied.

“Well, I’m sure you know that we’re heading to Charleston on business. We could try to use some leverage to get you a break.”

Rita’s face brightened.

“You’d do that?” she asked excitedly.

Adam nodded. But he knew that if Charleston was full of the kind of people he was beginning to imagine were there, then there would be little anyone could do to stop an attack, if it was indeed an attack they had in mind. Adam thought it’d be more like a slaughter.

+

Adam was sleeping soundly when suddenly he sat up stiffly. He stopped, listening, but all he could hear was the oppressive silence around him. He was beginning to lay back down when he heard a strange noise carried on the wind. At first he couldn’t place it, the strange rhythmic thumping. Something in his head recognized it, though, and that something, after struggling for a moment or two, broke free. It was an engine. It was a dirtbike engine.

He swung his legs off the couch and began to pull his boots on as he looked around for his shirt. He had slept in his jeans. Suddenly there was another noise overtop of the engine, and this time he recognized it instantly: gunfire. He quickly looped his gunbelt around his waist, went to his bag, grabbed three extra clips, and jammed them in the back of his pants.

By this time George had come out, clutching a terrified Rita’s hand.

“What’s going on?” he rasped.

Adam shrugged apologetically and opened the door.

The town was ablaze. Men in dirtbikes zoomed through the town, kicking up great plumes of snow. Some tossed Molotov cocktails, while still others sprayed the area with Uzis. Through the flames, he saw Skivvy emerge from another house, his hair in a tangle, also naked from the waist up. They met eyes. Adam pointed to the maintenance building in the center of the town and Skivvy nodded. They went separate ways.

The maintenance building was made of brick and steel, and therefore was safe from all but the luckiest cocktails and bullets. They had to get everyone in there.

“The building! Get in the building!” Adam screamed to the panicked citizens. Bullets raked through the snow toward him. He rolled sideways and fired, dropping the biker. “Come on!” he continued.

With Skivvy doing the same, occasionally firing back with his MAC-10, it was only a matter of minutes until everyone had made it inside the buildings. Skivvy and Adam met up just inside the door.

“We’ve got to get back to our rifles,” Skivvy panted. Adam nodded.

“Let’s go.”

It took him ten seconds at a full sprint to make it from the building to his hut, but he managed to discharge the remaining rounds he had on his person, dropping two. Skivvy dropped another three with his machine pistol, which brought the remaining bikers to about seven.

Adam burst into the hut to see George and Rita had not left yet.

“I can’t find her!” Rita was screaming. “Why would she hide?”

“She’s scared,” Adam said, not looking at her as he grabbed his gear and threw it out the open door. He picked up his carbine and yanked the action.

“I’m sure she’s around--” A cocktail crashed into the side of the hut, engulfing the entire wall in flames.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” Adam said softly.

“But Maddy . . .” George threw up his hands dejectedly. Rita was sobbing.

“She probably already got out,” Adam said a bit more strongly. He felt sick to his stomach. “Come on.” He grabbed both of them by the arms and dragged them out of the house before they could respond or fight back.

He barely had them out when something in the house caught fire and burst (propane or something like it, Adam thought) blowing out the wall entirely. The house tilted, and then collapsed straight down.

Rita was screaming, and George was pale and slack-jawed. A bullet whizzing by Adam’s ear, though, brought him back to the matter at hand. He dropped to a knee and begun firing. Coordinated with Skivvy’s fire from his AK, they managed to kill another four. The rest rode off, defeated.

Adam turned back to see George and Rita trying desperately to reach into the fire on the other side of the remains of the house. The fire was too hot, though, and neither of them could get their hands into it. Adam circled around and saw what they were reaching for.

Sticking out of the rubble was a blackening hand, a child’s hand, and beside it a burning teddy bear. Adam turned away and vomited.

+

It had stopped snowing and the sun had come out. It was back above freezing, thankfully, as Adam and Skivvy walked the lonely highway towards Charleston. Adam could not have been more unaware of the weather, though.

Amidst the burning, screaming, dying, there was promising: Her death won’t go unpunished. I swear it.

Including Maddy, only four people had died. From a statistical standpoint, the battle was a resounding victory. Most of the intended victims had survived, and most of the intended attackers had died. In addition, there was a working bike left, which had been rigged to run on vegetable oil. But none of that mattered when you considered that the dead were parents, siblings . . . daughters.

He had told Skivvy about a mile out of Charleston that he intended to avenge Maddy and the others who had died. He told Skivvy that he’d understand if he couldn’t help him. But Skivvy only nodded. We’re in this together.

They didn’t have a precise plan, yet, and they wouldn’t until they could see the layout of the city. But there were two things they had agreed upon: no innocents would die by their hands, but the whole city would feel their wrath nonetheless.

They had been walking for hours, now, and finally the city of Charleston crested the horizon. The community didn’t encompass the entire ruined city, only a section of it. The rest, as far as Adam could tell, was ghost town. Adam spotted something out of place for a city skyline.

“Silos,” he murmured.

“That must be where they keep the food,” Skivvy said. “The government’ll really feel the pinch if something were to happen, wouldn’t you say?”

Adam was smiling, and it didn’t make Skivvy feel entirely comfortable.

+


“I’ll need to see your papers, please,” the stone-faced guard said. There was a wall of junked cars surrounding the city, the spaces filled with concrete. The single break in the wall faced the highway, and was where Adam and Skivvy stood face to face with about a half-dozen guards with automatic weapons.

Adam pulled his identification out of his back pocket, unfolded it and handed it to a guard. Skivvy did the same, handing his to another. Adam wasn’t really sure what they’d be looking for, since this was the first official contact they’d had, and the guards wouldn’t know their official ID from a page of the dictionary. Nonetheless, the guards seemed satisfied and handed back over the papers.

“Go ahead in. I’ll have a man take you to the commissioner.”

“Thank you,” Mike said. Adam smiled and nodded curtly. They were pointed towards a guard with an Uzi, who gestured for them to follow.

The city wasn’t as big as they’d originally thought, but it was still bigger than the Roadhouse was. It took them nearly ten minutes to reach the commissioner’s office.

“In ‘ere,” the guard grunted, jerking his head towards the door. Adam and Skivvy entered.

“Well hello!” a plump man sitting behind a beat-up desk said. He stood and circled the desk, and shook their hands vigorously. “I assume you came to investigate the bikes, eh?”

“Yes sir,” Adam said dryly. “But if it’s all the same to you, we’ve been walking all day, and we’d really appreciate a little food and a good night’s sleep.”

The man’s smile faltered, but he quickly recovered.

“Of course, of course! I’ll have an aid show you to some rooms right away.” He rang a bell, and a few seconds later a meek-looking woman entered the room.

“Rebecca, dear. Please show our guests to some rooms, and see that they’re fed properly.”

“Yes sir,” she said quietly with a bow. “If you’ll follow me . . .”

“Seems like we’re doing an awful lot of following,” Skivvy whispered to Adam.

“For now,” Adam replied. “But you know that’s not our style.”

+

The room they were shown was very sparse and utilitarian, but it was comfortable enough. The food they were served wasn’t very fresh or very good, but it was filling. And the attention they received was decent, but mostly they were ignored. Which was perfect for their plans. Adam had had no desire to speak about the bikes, since he already knew what they ran on, and since he planned on riding one home tonight.

Adam sketched out as best he could the general area between the two main silos and their room. They had gone on a walk earlier in the evening, and managed to locate the garages for the bikes (which were heavily guarded) and an armory, which was in actuality very lightly guarded. The plan was to leave their rooms at approximately midnight. They would proceed to the armory and sneak in, if at all possible. Adam thought it would be; Charleston’s government seemed to be mostly concerned about their precious motorcycles. Adam supposed they thought no one would ever try to attack Charleston without the proper weapons already in their possession.

After getting plastic explosives from the armory, they would proceed to the silos. There they would set the explosives, get close to the garages, and detonate it. Adam hoped the guards would be distracted enough for them to steal two bikes. Vegetable oil was easy enough to find to not worry about fuel until they put the burning city far behind them.

“Seems like a good plan,” Skivvy said. “Did you account for the Skvarla factor?”

“That’s why we're starting so early.”

“What about the Mason factor?”

Adam held up his weapons.

“Then let’s be off, shall we?”

+

Adam cracked the door. The streets were empty in front of their building. He half-expected there to be a guard posted, but it seemed that they didn’t really deem the two wandering diplomats to be much of a threat.

“It’s clear,” Adam whispered. They ran out into the street, turned left, and ran towards the garages.

They stopped a few blocks away behind a wall, and Skivvy did a quick head count as he peeked out.

“There are four guards, all armed with automatic weapons.”

Adam nodded.

“Is there anywhere for us to stash our gear?” he asked.

“I see a few dumpsters a block down, but that’s about it.”

Adam wrinkled his nose.

“I suppose it’ll have to do.” They stole down the alley and quickly located the dumpsters. They were about a
hundred feet away from the garages, and completely shielded from view. Perfect. After they tossed their bags in the dumpsters (mobility was capital for this operation) they retraced their steps back toward the street.

A perpendicular street led them away from the garages and towards the armory, and beyond that the silos. They stopped a good distance away and surveyed the situation. There were two guards, one on either side of the door. And there were Adam and Skivvy, no silenced weapons.

“Piss,” Adam muttered.

“Do you know how to throw a knife?” Skivvy asked.

“Kind of, but even if we get right up on them, that’s still like fifteen yards.”

“Well, I don’t have any other ideas, do you?”

“No, not really. But that still leaves the issue of the second guard,” Adam replied.

“I’ve got a plan for that, I think. I’ll take off across the street and get around the corner from them. Then, if you can draw them out and take one with the knife, I can get the other one.” He spun his butterfly knife open.

“Okay.” He clapped Skivvy on the back. “Let’s rock.”

+

Adam watched Skivvy sprint across the open road. The guards had both turned to look at something that Adam couldn’t make out, and Skivvy took the opportunity to book it. Now the guards were starting to turn back, and Adam wasn’t sure if Skivvy could make it. He put his hand on the butt of his pistol.

Skivvy put on another burst of speed, moving faster than he ever had before, to Adam’s best recollection. Still, it didn’t seem like enough. Skivvy dropped to the ground and baseball-slid the remaining five feet and up against the wall. The guard turned back and looked over his shoulder, confident that all was quiet tonight.

Now came Adam’s part. He picked up a stone from the ground and tossed it to himself a few times. He put it down and selected a larger one. He positioned himself with his back pressed to the edge of the wall and threw the rock blindly around. It landed in the middle of the road with a dull knock.

“What the . . .” he heard faintly. Now he could hear footsteps. He readied his knife, twirling it in his fingers of his right hand. He still wasn’t entirely sure he could make the throw, but if he didn’t, he and Skivvy were up shit-crick. The footsteps stopped. The blade stopped in its arc, and Adam snatched the grip (he had learned a long time ago that holding the tip only made the knife less stable). He spun his body around his left shoulder, stepping out into the street. His arm was trailing behind him, and now he whipped it around as hard as he could, hurling the knife sidearm. He felt his shoulder pop, but the knife flew true. The guard looked up towards Adam just in time to catch the blade fully in his throat.

The guard dropped, attracting the attention of his partner, who immediately began to run toward his fallen comrade. Skivvy stepped around the corner, catching the man with his hand over the guard’s mouth and jammed his knife under the guard’s arm twice in quick succession. The second guard slid to the ground.

Adam was already at the first guard, searching for anything useful. He found a ring with a half-dozen keys on it, the guard’s ID, and of course his knife buried to the haft in the guard’s throat. His shakedown finished, he grabbed the guard by the boots and dragged him to the door of the armory. Skivvy did the same. Adam quickly tried the keys and found the one he needed, opening the armory. They dragged the bodies in and closed the door.

Skivvy felt around for a lamp, and, feeling none, tried the light switch on impulse. Halogen bulbs flickered to
life.

“They must have gennies running on vegetable oil, too,” Skivvy muttered.

Adam didn’t hear him. He was too busy rummaging through boxes of weapons.

“Hell yes,” he said after a minute. “Here we go.” He pulled out three blocks of C4 and detonators. He dumped out an ammo bag and filled it with his findings, and then grabbed a few grenades, both smoke and fragmenting. Skivvy put a few in his pockets.

“Think we should take some better weapons?” Adam asked.

“Not really. If it comes to the point that we have to use them and we’re not already leaving, we’re pretty much fucked.”

“Fair enough.”

They left the armory and crept down the empty streets toward the silos.

+

They met no more guards until they reached the buildings a block or so away from the silos. After a quick count, there were easily a half-dozen, but it was impossible to be sure with their erratic paths that often took them out of their line of sight.

“I was afraid of this,” Adam whispered.

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” Adam closed his eyes for a minute, thinking. He reopened them and dumped out his ammo bag. There were six fragmenting grenades and four smoke. He set one of the smokers aside and put the rest of the grenades into the bag. Then he picked up the C4 and detonator, studying them for a moment. He remembered DPM explaining to him a long time ago how C4 worked. You set the timer on the detonator for how much time you wanted, then stuck the prongs of the detonator right into the C4. Adam was fairly sure he could do that much. Piece of cake.

He smashed the bricks of C4 together, molding them into a lumpy ball about the size of a cantaloupe. He pressed an entire detonator into the side of the ball, and then took the loose wires and jammed their prongs in as well. He set the timer for thirty seconds (but was careful not to trigger it yet) and placed the ball inside the bag along with the grenades. He smashed the other two timers.

“Okay,” Adam breathed. “Here’s what’s going to happen. One of us—and I mean you, you’re stronger—is going to hammer throw this bag, hopefully getting it in between the silos. Before that happens, I’ll set the timer and prime a smoker, and toss that in. Then you take the bag and do your thing. Da?”

“Da,” Skivvy said. “That’s pretty far, man.” He squinted. “I’d have to be out in the road to get a clean shot.” Adam nodded, pulling an extra grenade from his pocket.

“Diversion, anyone?”

Skivvy smiled.

“Let’s get crackin’.”

+

Skivvy strode out into the street, counting backwards in his head from twenty-six. He was at twenty-three when he heard Adam grunt and an object whiz over his head. He began to spin in a circle, centrifugal force lifting the bag.

At twenty, he heard a shout as a guard noticed either Skivvy or the metal sphere that Adam had thrown. He wasn’t sure which. Smoke began to seep out of the bag. At seventeen the grenade went off, and the guards were momentarily diverted. By fifteen he was content with the force of his spin, and prepared to let go. He knew the greatest danger was releasing the hammer (in this case, a bag) the wrong way. He took an extra second to get his bearings, and by thirteen he released the bag. After a three-second arc, smoke trailing, it thankfully landed squarely in the ten-foot gap between the silos. Skivvy booked it back to wear Adam was hiding.

“I hope the detonator didn’t get fucked,” Adam said.

“I guess we’ll know in ten seconds,” Skivvy replied.

+

Ten seconds later, the guards frantically trying to discern what was in the bag, there was a blossom of fire, followed by several secondary explosions as flaming grenades detonated. The bases of the silos peeled back and crumbled, and the silos fell inward. They struck each other and collapsed straight downward onto the flames. Something must have been combustible in the debris, because seconds later there was a second fireball rising into the sky.

“Hell yes!” Skivvy whooped, smiling. Adam laughed and they shook hands. Guards ran past the alleyway they were hiding in, from the direction of the garages.

“Alright,” Skivvy said. “You get our shit, and I’ll see about wrangling up a few bikes.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Adam said. They stood and ran down the alleyway. Skivvy doglegged to the left into the
street toward the garages. Adam continued straight until he hit the main road and then turned right, heading for the dumpsters a few blocks down.

Adam skidded to a halt as a man with a handkerchief around his throat stepped out into the road. He was grinning at Adam. He had a leather gunbelt slung across his hips, and a revolver hung in the holster.

“Howdy,” the man said. “Name’s Connors.”

+

Adam smiled back.

“Well Connors, I certainly hope you’ve got something to back up all the theatrics.”

Connors scowled.

“You better stay in line, boy. I’m the fastest around here. Faster’n a punk like you, at any rate.” Connors smiled again. “But hell, you’ll find that out soon enough.”

“I bet,” Adam said. For some reason he knew that this man was dangerous, but he also knew that Connors was underestimating him.

“You’re dealin’ with the top dog here, my friend. I’m in charge of all this, you know,” he said, extending his arms to the city. “Maybe not directly, but when you control the military--”

“The military,” Adam interrupted.

“Yes, the military,” Connors mocked.

“Starksville . . .” Adam couldn’t get his mouth to speak any more.

“You mean 12-D? So, you ran into ‘em. They had it comin’, you know. They needed us, but they got cocky. I hear they got a coupla regular gunslingers protectin’ them. We’ll just have to--”

“Fuck you, Connors. I hope you can haul iron as well as you can work your Goddamn mouth.” Connors recoiled as if struck, but quickly regained his composure.

“Well let’s just get to it, then,” he sneered. He reached down and loosed the catch on his holster.

Adam reached around to the holster at the small of his back and did the same. He turned, putting his right leg forward, the butt of his gun facing Connors.

They were still. Connors snarled at Adam; Adam stared daggers at Connors. Somewhere in the distance
there was another explosion, but it was far away. The world lacked any meaning aside from Connors and the familiar weight at Adam’s back.

Connors’ fingers danced beside his holster. Adam remained still. He had regained his composure, but he still had his face twisted in disdain. He wanted Connors to underestimate him more. It would make killing him even better. The thought never crossed his mind that he was underestimating Connors; something inside of him told him exactly what Connors was capable of. Killing civilians, maybe. Killing children, maybe. But he didn’t have what it would take to beat Adam.

Connors’ shoulder tensed and his hand shot up the side of his holster, gripping the butt of his revolver. That was as far as it ever got.

The second he saw Connors tense, his arm automatically swung back. His hands latched onto the grip and he hopped backward slightly as he brought the gun up to bear and fired.

The bullet tore through Connors abdomen, and he reeled backwards and fell. Adam began to walk towards him. Connors’ revolver had slid from his holster, and he reached for it. Adam put a bullet into his elbow; Connors roared in agony.

“Scream, fucker, scream; it won’t save your soul.” Adam had reached the supine form of Connors. He planted his boot in Connor’s throat. The scream cut off in a wet gurgle.

“This is for Maddy,” Adam said, and squeezed off three more rounds into Connors’ face.

+

Adam dashed to the garage, his bags and rifle slung across his shoulders, Skivvy’s gear in his hands. Skivvy was already sitting astride a dirtbike in front of the garage, another propped up against a wall.

“What kept you?” Skivvy asked.

“Later,” Adam said as he thrust the gear into Skivvy’s arms. The guards were starting to gain control of the fire.

Skivvy slung his gear on his back and kicked the engine to life. Adam mounted his own bike and was momentarily overcome by the complexity of the machine. He took a deep breath, and the old adage proved true. He started his bike.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” Skivvy yelled over the roar of the engines.

Adam nodded, twisted the handgrip, and they left the burning city of Charleston.

Obsession

I stepped through the broken window and my ears perked at the sound of crunching glass; alarms rang out in my head, screaming for me to freeze because they would hear. I swung my other leg through the glassy maw and did stop, gun out, to scan the area. The logical part of my head told me that the zombies were dead, truly dead, and had been for years, but the reaction was hardwired now; it was the only way anyone survived in the world when it was so infested back…God, it was only ten years ago, though it seemed like a life time. Not that the slate is completely wiped clean, you understand. No, we still get the rare undead wandering into an outlying village or hamlet from time to time, infecting one or two, sometimes even nine or ten, or the residents; most times we make to them in time, sometimes though we don’t, and the zombies shamble back to whatever nest, whatever keeps spawning them.

That’s the world I lived in now, the world after the zombies; this world where I’m crouched on the other side of a broken window waiting for some horror to stumble out of the darkness craving my living flesh.

The pressed penny machine sat in the shadows a few feet ahead of me, against the wall that had propped it up for the last twenty years. I hoped I could get the press out of it, that magical wheel that turned a useless piece of history into an even more useless piece of history. Still, I’d been collecting the pennies since I was fifteen and a little thing like the end of the world wasn’t going to stop me, though it seriously put a damper on my efforts. There was really no way to press the pennies I wanted out in the reclaimed wilderness that was America, so every time I found a machine I would open it up and take the dies. Even with these I was at a loss to make my pennies until a few years ago when I came across a hand crank machine. It was a bitch to haul back, but was definitely worth it, at least to me; Adam, well, he has a different opinion on the matter entirely.

Now these dies I was collecting, Adam didn’t seem to mind that much, probably because all he had to do was watch my back, which meant standing outside and looking up and down the street, just like he was doing.

Seconds passed and nothing moved. Content that I was alone I crept forward toward the machine. It was a mess, just like everything thing else from the time before everything hit the fan; most of the wooden case was rotted, showing the metal internals which were rust covered. The last few years it had been getting harder and harder to find dies worth salvaging; I ended up throwing out three quarters of those I found. Still, that was a better percent than most things that were still left lying around the last fifth of a century.

The work of a minute had the case open while another three had the die in my hands. It wasn’t in too bad of shape; a bit of work and it might even still be serviceable. I smiled as I swung my bag around and put my new treasure snugly within it.

The smile didn’t last long, however, as I heard that unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked.

“Well, Mr. Skvarla, we finally meet.”

It’s never good when a stranger holding a gun to you knows your name. “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure,” I responded, stalling for time and trying to assess the situation.

There was a crunch of glass as the man took a step forward. I caught a slight movement on the ground and saw his blurry reflection in a large piece of glass.
“No, you’ve been one step ahead of me for the last few months, moving on just before I could set a trap.”

Pieces fell into place like Tetris blocks. “Bradson,” I said.

“Ah, there you go; maybe you’re as smart as I’ve heard.”

“That doesn’t mean much coming from a vagabond like you.”

“Now, now. That’s not very nice. I’m a perfectly legitimate businessman, I’ve got my letter of marque.”

“That scrap of paper doesn’t mean squat out here, especially outside of Charleston territory. You’re nothing more than a highwayman, a common criminal who ought to swing from the hangman’s noose.”

I saw the image in the glass raise his gun a bit, and I knew it was my last chance. I dove to the side - cutting my shoulder deeply on some window shards - rolled to my back and threw the glass. It didn’t hit, but the guy flinched enough for me to pull my own pistol, a .40 H&K USP Tactical, from a back holster before he fired. A spurt of blood shot away as the bullet took a hunk out of forearm. It hurt like hell, or at least would; I didn’t feel it, or even know the guy hit me as I pulled the trigger. The slug flew true, though I wasn’t at a great angle, and hit the man in the gut. He doubled over, trying to stop the lifeblood from spilling over his shoes, but it ran through his fingers unabated.

I was up running and out the window before he hit the floor. Adam was there almost instantly; the moment he saw me his face went white. I was confused, I thought I’d only scratched one arm, but when I looked both were running rivers of red. I think it was about then that I passed out from blood loss.
The next thing I knew I was laying across the back seat of the sedan we’d picked up as payment from some villagers. The plan was to drive it on what little gas it had back to the Roadhouse and hand it over to the mechanics for parts or even a working vehicle if it was in good enough shape. It wasn’t that cars were rare, you could find old rusted out shells along the ditch of any major highway or in the fields to the west. No, it was that all the gas had turned in the last twenty years and the only city-state refining it charged outrageous prices for non-citizens. There’s been talk among the council of building our own refinery, see if the Pennsylvania crude could give us our own supply of fuel, but we don’t really have the resources to build one from scratch. Maybe in another twenty years after the agriculture and population allowed it, but not yet.

Bandages enshrouded both arms from shoulder to elbow; Adam had done a good job once again. I sat up, too quickly I guess, and almost passed out again. The car bounced up and down as we traveled over the roads that had fallen into disrepair and more than a few times I thought it might not make it all the way home. It did in the end, and I was glad at not having to walk.

We pulled into the Roadhouse after four hours of tough riding. The mechanics started to siphon the tank dry almost before we shut the car off while Adam went off to make the official report to the council; we’d stopped in at Lewisburg, two hours out, and sent a message over the CB so the council could convene a special session – they liked to hear from the long range reconnaissance and emissaries as soon as they arrived, provided it wasn’t in the middle of the night. I know I should have been there, at least courtesy and the common law say I should have been, but I just had to try my new treasure; everyone knew of my slight obsession with pressed pennies, so I was sure I’d be excused from being late once again.

I slipped the die into the machine after a quick rub down with steel wool. I held my breath as I inserted the copper coin and turned the crank. One full turn and I heard the tinkling as the penny slid into the tray. I picked up the gem and looked it over: a seahorse surrounded by waves and the words “Tennessee Aquarium.” I smiled and put the lone penny into my bag of pennies. Another piece of history well worth the price.

a loss

Adam and Skivvy walked down the dusty highway with their newfound companion, Nancy. She was about fifteen or so (Adam couldn’t resist a comment, which was met with a swift punch in the arm), and had lost her family. The guys were fully aware that she wouldn’t be able to stay with them, but had promised to take her to the next community they found.

Nancy walked with her hands jammed into her pockets, and was kicking a small stone as she went. Suddenly, angry high-pitched whining filled the air around them.

“Shit!” Skivvy spat as he ducked. He grabbed Nancy and threw both of them over the median. Adam dove over not far behind. Nancy covered her ears and curled on the ground, while the other two blindly returned fire.

“Where’s it coming from?” Adam shouted over the din.

Skivvy shrugged. “We’ll have to take a look!”

He poked his head up just enough to scan the horizon, and pulled it back down just before the concrete exploded, showering him in fine bits of concrete.

“There!” Skivvy gestured with his head. “Ten o’clock! I think it’s coming from the blue car!” Adam nodded, dropped his gear, and ran down along the median, keeping as low as he could. Skivvy slowly counted to ten, and then stuck his rifle over the median and began firing. When he heard return fire stop, he sat up and trained his rifle on the car, firing bursts whenever he saw movement through broken windows. He heard movement beside him as Nancy stood up, trying to get a clear view of the action.

“Stay--” He was cut off by the whizzing of a slug past his head. He fired back, and prayed that Adam was making his move.

---

The highwaymen were occupied with Skivvy. It was go time. Adam vaulted over the median and sprinted toward the car. There had been five of them, as near as he could tell, but Skivvy had brought down one. It would be tricky to get the remaining four, but he and Skiv had gotten through bigger shitstorms. He brought up his carbine and began firing, sending sparks off of the car. One of the shots connected though, dropping a kid in a blue shirt. He couldn’t have been more than Nancy’s age. He fired off the rest of the clip and dropped the carbine, simultaneously drawing his P99 and his combat knife.

The other gunmen had begun to turn when Adam reached them. He drove his knife into the closest man’s chest, a bear of about sixty, and threw his weight against him, pushing him into one of his friends, who was knocked into Skivvy’s line of fire. The last gunman, a skinny balding man, turned to flee. Adam pulled the knife from the fat one, who promptly fell back, and leveled his pistol at the survivor. He squeezed the trigger and the man stumbled once and fell.

He resheathed his knife and holstered his pistol, and turned to begin poking around for his carbine when he heard Skivvy’s voice on the wind.

“Get over here! HURRY!”

Adam promptly forgot about his carbine and broke into a full sprint towards Skivvy and . . .
He couldn’t see Nancy. He pushed himself harder and hurdled the median at stride. The toe of his boot caught and he hit the road face first, but he ignored the gash in his forehead as he looked on in horror at bloody Nancy in Skiv’s arms.

“She’s been shot. Stomach,” he said, not looking up at Adam. Nancy’s eyes were wide with fear, and she was whimpering. Adam nodded and grabbed his pack, pulling out a field surgeon’s kit.

“Get her shirt off,” he said to Skivvy. Under other circumstances, it would have been a joke. No one laughed now. Skivvy ripped her shirt open as Adam pulled out a syrette of morphine, pulled off the cap with his teeth and squeezed out about a third of it. He jabbed the needle into her thigh and emptied the morphine into her system, placing his other hand on her carotid artery. Her pulse rate slowed as her eyes drooped closed, but it didn’t stop, as Adam had feared. But it was weak.

“Was there an exit wound?” he asked Skivvy. Skivvy was laying her on her back.

“Yeah,” he said. “It tore right through her.”

“Shit,” Adam spat. He didn’t get a good look at the weapons the highwaymen were carrying, but he could imagine what her back looked like. He hoped her spine was intact.

“We have to disinfect it.” Adam pulled off his jacket and laid it down beside her. Then he took a bag of salt from his bag and tore it open, dumping part of the contents into the wound on her stomach.

“Help me roll her,” he said, and Skivvy obliged. They got her over and Adam felt his stomach turn. There was a hole the size of a baseball, oozing blood. There were bits of bone, too. He dumped the rest of the bag into the hole.

“I don’t know what to do,” Adam said, panic beginning to clutch the back of his throat. “I don’t know how to fix this.” He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

“We need to stop the bleeding, for now,” he said calmly, opening his eyes again. “Fold me a thick pad.” Skiv did and Adam placed it over her back. He then took the arms of his jacket and pulled them up and around Nancy’s waist, tying them tightly.

“Roll her back.”

They did. Blood was beginning to seep through the back of Adam’s coat, which was over her stomach.

“We need another pad.”

“Adam,” Skivvy said softly.

“Not now, I need the pad.”

“Adam. She’s dead.”

Adam looked up at her pale face. Her mouth hung open slightly, and blood had begun to trickle from the corner. He checked her wrist. No pulse. Her throat. Nothing.

“Look, man . . .” But Adam had already turned away to find his weapon so they could move on, away from this empty stretch of road.

The Confrontation

Now that the web of communication throughout the world has been shut down due to power loss as well as the loss of humans to keep it running, I have no way to keep in contact with the outside world. I now write this journal to document my life from the point of the outbreak and the end of life as we know it until the end of my own life. There have been many obstacles to overcome as well as hardships to endure, thankfully I have so far managed to stay on top of them and make an efficient and almost comfortable way of life for myself.

I clearly remember the events that led up to the day that I have now come to call Armageddon, it was in the fall. Leaves were changing into their many bright colors of reds, oranges, and yellows, and would soon fall as the cold weather came and flushed them from the trees. At this time every year, there is no better place on Earth to watch the world do its work than at my family’s cabin in Somerset County where there are few people, less noise pollution from the outside world, and complete isolation from the world granted by the surrounding trees. With most of my closest friends gone, having left for college and my remaining friends busy with family and matters of the sort, I decided to take a ride up for the weekend with just my one friend Ben.

As we were packing the truck with all of our things, another news report came over the radio about disturbances in the west. These reports had been being broadcast for about a week now and were becoming more frequent as they seemed to get further east toward my home in what used to be a small town known as Harrison City, about a half hour east of Pittsburgh Pennsylvania. All of the broadcasts had to do with satanic cults or something of the sort, in which people who were shabbily dressed, dirty and sometimes covered with blood would stumble into a town from the woods moaning and attack anyone who got too close, eating them alive if not stopped in time. As we listened to the report it stated that several hospitals were attacked from the inside, there was no clue as to how they got in or why, all that was known was that they would come from the critical care units and start attacking staff or other patients and that there were becoming increasingly more of them.

“Eh, that’s enough of that for one day,” Ben said as he switched off the radio. “This shits happening way out there, it’ll all get worked out. Crazy people seen to many horror movies for their own good and now they think they have to act like they’re in one,” he remarked almost to himself as he loaded a cooler with our food for the weekend into the back of my truck. “We gonna do some target shooting?” Ben asked me after the last of the baggage was situated in the back. I replied that we would and went inside to grab my firearms. Choosing what I thought would be fun to just shoot at rotten fruit in the woods for a while was a choice that saved my life. From my bedroom I grabbed my absolute favorites, my M1911A1 Colt .45 semi-automatic pistol and my Mossberg 800 12 gauge shotgun with a telescopic stock and about 200 rounds for each. I now thank God that I had just bought ammo and that I chose to bring it all with me. From the cabinet downstairs, I chose a few of my fathers guns that he rarely uses which were a WWII M1 Garand and an M1 carbine as well as the M-16 and .375 magnum pistol as well as the ammunition for all of them. “Think we’ll need all of those?” Ben asked as I put them into the back of the truck. “Varity is the spice of life,” was my reply.

The journey to the cabin took roughly about an hour as usual and was mostly uneventful except for the few dozen people we saw stumbling through a field along the road. They appeared lost, confused and unbalanced but there was no point in stopping due to the fact they were about 100yds from the town of Donegal which they looked to be heading for.

Upon our arrival, it was around 2 o’clock Saturday afternoon. We unloaded the truck and began to gather firewood for that evening’s campfire, some wood needed to be chopped which required getting the axe from the shed. After we had an ample amount of wood amassed for what we hoped would last the rest of the weekend, we returned inside and made dinner.
As dusk approached, we ventured outside and were making the fire, when we noticed a small group of people coming through the yard toward us moaning. “Can I help you?” I called out to them several times with no reply. Ben then walked toward them asking if they were ok, it was almost as soon as he reached them that they stepped into the pool of light created by the floodlight near the fire pit. What I saw was the most grotesque image I have ever seen in my life; four people, three men and a woman wearing tattered dirty rags of clothes that looked as if they’d been worn during miles of travel through woods and swamps, all of them had broken appendages or compound fractures. There were several chunks of their flesh missing that looked to be taken from human bites and they were covered from head to toe in what could have only been blood, weather it was their own or that of someone else I could not be certain.
Ben stumbled backward in fright and tripped over the chair behind him, as he lay on the ground too shocked to move the woman grabbed his leg and took a massive bite out of his calf. He screamed and kicked until he shook her off, but the others soon swarmed him. I yelled at them to get back, and grabbed a large stick off the ground, I charged toward them and hit the nearest man to me as hard as I could on the back instantly breaking the stick in half. The man fell on his face from the force of the blow but was soon staggering to his feet. He then came after me with his arms outstretched and reaching for me. I hit him again with the broken stick but to no avail, I then charged at him with the jagged end of the stick out in front of me and threw all my weight behind it as it made impact. When my improvised spear hit the man, it penetrated about six inches into his chest and came out the back…..it didn’t slow him in the smallest of ways.
With experience from when I had taken tae kwon do as well as from numerous sparring matches with my friend Adam, I was quite capable in the matter of hand to hand combat. Using these skills, I brought a roundhouse kick to the man’s head and took him off his feet for the second time. It was then that I saw the light glinting off metal by the fire….the axe from when we were chopping the wood. I dove over the fire pit and grabbed it by the handle quickly bringing it up as I charged toward where Ben was still on the ground attempting to ward off his assailants.
By this point I was frightened enough to take drastic measures, as the adrenaline pumped harder in my veins from my instinct to survive, I knew I was ready to kill these lunatics if I had to. Bringing the axe above my head I brought it down with all of my strength as well as the momentum of running directly onto the spine of the woman who first attacked Ben as she was down on all fours trying to grab another of his limbs. There was a crack as the axe broke her spine and in two more hit she was down and her torso nearly severed from her lower half. It was then that I noticed there was no blood coming from her and despite being in two halves she was still moving, seemingly unhurt!

Stunned I turned to see a man still kneeling by my now badly wounded friend looking at me. His eyes were yellow and his hands and face were covered in blood that I knew had to be Bens. The man made a slow lunge toward me that I dodged by side stepping to the right. As he missed me he fell to the ground and I took the opportunity to bring the axe down on the back of his head. The contents of his skull flew messily about and he lay still, he did not move again. I knew at this point that the head was their only weakness.
Pulling my axe free, I turned my attention back to the woman whom was now dragging the upper half of her torso back toward Ben with only her arms to continue her attack, again I lifted the axe and hit her again, this time on the back of the head as I had done before to the man that attempted to attack me. She now was also finally brought down for good and would not attack again. I pulled on the handle of the axe hoping to finish off the other four of them only to find that it was stuck in the woman’s skull.

Before I was able to free it I felt hands on my shoulder, I instinctively threw a hard side kick into the ribs of the man on my left, his bones were brittle and my foot smashed through his torso putting him badly off balance. Spinning to face him I delivered a front kick to his chin, removing his jaw and knocking him onto his back.

Ben was by this point able to move due to the fact that he now only had to deal with one rather than four. His legs were far to mauled to be of use to him, and he was near to unconsciousness from loss of blood, but he was still able to grab one of the burning logs out of the fire and use it as a club to start smashing on his one remaining attacker’s head. While he was fighting off that man, turned my attention back to the one I had impaled with the firewood spear.
Next to the fire pit there is a small picnic area which consists of a patio made of loose bricks, these bricks were the only objects in the area I could see that could serve as any form of weapon. Stooping low I grabbed one from the ground and charged the one still standing and impaled man and brought the brick down on his head instantly knocking him to the ground, where I proceeded to hit his head until he stopped moving.

By this point Ben had finished off the last of his assailants and I ran over to see how badly he was hurt. Upon checking I saw that his legs were nearly destroyed and there were chunks missing from his lower abdomen. He was losing consciousness and saying that he was feeling cold. I was about to run into the house to call for an ambulance when I noticed that our struggling had attracted more of these….things….to us, there were roughly about a dozen of them coming from across the front lawn which I knew to be the only direction of any other cabins. “Everyone else must be dead,” was the only thing I said to Ben as I grabbed him by the shoulders and started to drag him toward the house. He started to convulse and then went limp with a final sigh.

I continued to drag him not sure if he was dead or alive, by the time I got to the base of the stairs with the new deranged people getting closer, Ben start to move again. He looked up at me and opened his eyes, they had gone from the blue they used to be to the same sickly yellow that the man’s at the fire had been. Shocked, I dropped him to the ground where he began to moan and pull himself along the ground with his arms toward me, snapping his jaws. It was then that I remembered the news cast from earlier in the day that stated how hospitals were attacked from the inside starting in the morgues or critical care divisions. Everyone killed by these cultists were coming back to life as one of their murderers.

Startled, confused, and more frightened than I had ever been I turned and ran into the house where I locked the door. Immediately I ran for the back bedroom where I had put all of the weapons after we unloaded the truck. First, I grabbed my .45 in its shoulder holster and strapped it on checking the clip to see it was loaded. I then found my extra magazine holder which held four clips that thankfully were all loaded, and hooked it to my holster rig. I could hear these murderous fools now scratching at my front door, now that I had one weapon ready to fire, I had time to load the others. Next I pulled out my 12 gauge and began putting shells into the tube. I had only got six shells into in when the door caved in and they began to file into my house.

Seeing how their assault was slowed by the way they had to come through the door one at a time and they were all trying to get through at once, I took the opportunity to lean out around the corner and began to pump a virtual wall of lead shot at them. They blew apart like the watermelons my friends and I used to use for target practice. I watched as an arm became detached and a leg came off below the knee, horrified at the mere thought of what I was doing to live people, the only thought that consoled me as I continued to pump the weapon and pull the trigger was that they were not people anymore, they were something else that I didn’t know.
A final time I slammed the chamber closed and pulled the trigger when the dreaded inevitability occurred that I heard the hollow “click” that told me the tube was empty. It was at this time that I was glad I had chosen this model when I was at a gun show with Skivvy, Kurt, and Roney. Though I had fired all eight rounds that the weapon held, on the side of the collapsible stock, there is a cartridge rack that holds and additional five rounds. I began to grab the shells from the rack and feed them back into the tube as quickly as I could.

It was during this lull in my gunfire while reloading that I noticed that of all the people I had torn to shreds as they came threw the door, I had not dropped one of them for good. All of them were now getting back to their feet and continuing their slow, moaning advance toward me. Now I was just getting annoyed as this new terror drove even more adrenaline into my system.
I slammed the pump forward racking a new shell into the chamber, and pulling the stock out to its full length. I gripped the powerful weapon in my hands and brought it to my shoulder putting the first poor bastards head in my sights. The shotgun fired a blast of unimaginable power out of the barrel and was nothing short of devastating when the projectiles hit their target and turned it into powder.

Pumping the next round into the chamber and taking aim I put brought down another one, I aimed and fired until I had brought down five and expended all my ammunition on hand, I didn’t have the time to dig through my bag for more shells and reload. There were still my M-16 and M1 carbine behind me, unfortunately I never keep the clips loaded because constant pressure on the springs from being depressed can wear them out and cause them to not feed, and there was no time to load them. My M1 Garand however takes eight round clips that only hold the ammunition, the spring action is provided by the weapon itself, and there were three bandoliers with sixteen clips apiece in the case with it.

Yanking my .45 from holster and slamming the slide back to pull a round into the chamber and leveling it at my nearest enemy, I smiled slightly knowing now that these bastards didn’t stand a snowballs chance in hell of winning this one. I squeezed the trigger, the report sounded like a grenade going off in my hand as the explosion sent the large slow moving slug out of the front and pushed the slide back to cycle another round to be fired. The bullet blew through the first menace’s head like a wrecking ball and exited out the back hitting another in the shoulder. The one without a head fell to the floor while the other advanced with a baseball sized hole in his arm.

Still aiming for the heads I emptied the clip rapidly dropping three more. Counting my shots I had another magazine ready as soon as the first was empty, I quickly swapped clips dropping the empty one on the floor and resumed firing. After the second was empty I had cleared them back and thinned them out enough that I had time to grab the M1. I slung a bandolier around my neck and jammed a clip down into the auto closing breech which immediately slammed itself shut. I went back to the door and got down on one knee bringing the rifle up and looking through the peep sight slowly picking off my enemies one by one. There were seven left…they were down in seven shots, and I knew the last one in the chamber belonged to my lost friend whom could be heard moaning at the base of the stairs out front. He will be missed, but not forgotten.