Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors Part 3

"I missed you, air conditioning."

Chewy sighed in agreement and chomped harder on the bone. There was a crack that sickened the nomad. He pushed the bone's possible origin from his mind.

"Ready, Chewy?"

A steady stream of drool began to flow from her jowls as Chewy worked on the bone.

The nomad held a b.u.t.ton on the steering wheel. A chime sounded throughout the cabin's surround sound system and he spoke, "Play playlist Jerry's favorites."

The iPod beeped a confirmation and played Wonderl.u.s.t King by Golgo Bordello.

The gypsy punk sound filled the cabin and the two friends pulled into the afternoon summer sun towards the town of Vita Nova.

FOUR.

"What does Vita Nova mean, anyway?" Roy Tinner sat with Mayor David Wilson and Logan, the post-apocalyptic nomadic warrior, in the mayor's office.

"It's Latin," said the mayor. "It means new hope."

Roy's eyes widened, "What? They can't do that!"

"Do what?" Logan asked.

"We're New Hope. This is, this is ... copyright infringement." Roy stood. "How could they do this? It's an insult, it's an, an affront."

"An affront?" Logan looked to the mayor.

"Calm down, Roy," he said, barely acknowledging the pacing councilman as he mulled over the warrior's story and what he had seen on the camera.

"They can't ..." Roy stammered when he was agitated. He stammered often.

"They're dead," Logan said. "Your pending lawsuit isn't going to be their biggest concern."

Roy stopped pacing. His cheeks flush, he sat back down. The gravity of the situation had escaped him in his offense. He stammered, "Of course. Still, we should see to preventing this in the future."

Logan walked over to a large map on the wall, grabbed a pen and started marking towns and settlements. With each dot he proclaimed the name of the location, "Hope, Hopeful, Last Hope, Hopefulville, The Town of New Hopefulvilleness, The Town of Hope, Hope City, New Hope, New Hope, New Hope ..."

Tinner winced with each location and squirmed in his chair. New Hope was the name he had championed during the drafting of the town's charter. The moniker had faced stiff compet.i.tion from Freedonia and Freedomville. Political favors and pure begging had helped him force his choice through.

"The world is full of Hopes, Mr. Tinner." Logan set the marker back down.

"They're all hope?"

"I came across a Steve once."

"Steve?"

"They figured it sounded warm and welcoming, because *who doesn't like Steve?'"

Roy nodded, but then added, "Why not Steven?"

Logan shrugged, "Too pretentious?"

"I don't know. I knew a few Stevens, seemed nice enough."

The mayor jumped in, "Please, Roy. It's not important right now."

Tinner dropped the issue, but decided that his first act as the new mayor would be to change the name of the town. A new flag would be needed as well. He decided to start sewing one up that night.

Mayor Wilson sat, his head propped on his fingertips. Pensive, he stared not at Roy Tinner or Logan, but into the wall beyond them both.

The video was disturbing. Horrific. The news that a similar fate could await his town had removed the always present, rea.s.suring smile he had adopted since the apocalypse.

Dozens of people looked to him for guidance and a.s.surances that-even though the world had come to an end-everything would be okay. Men and women had come from all over to this town to be safe and, for the first time, the mayor wasn't certain that he could promise that safety.

"Well, this isn't good." The mayor looked to Logan and indicated the Flip. "How old is this footage?"

"Yesterday. I arrived not long after the a.s.sault. Too late to help, unfortunately."

"And you're sure that they are headed this way?"

Logan shrugged. "They were headed south. New Hope is the next inhabited town."

"So they could be here any moment." The mayor stood and walked to the map of Texas that hung on the wall. Logan had drawn in the approximate location of Vita Nova just across the former state line.

"We should evacuate." Roy Tinner was two steps toward the door. "I'll have everyone start rounding up the supplies."

"Hold on," Logan raised a hand to stop the councilman and turned back to the mayor. "You may have a few days. This entire road is lined with deserted towns." Logan indicated the route on the map. "They won't pa.s.s them up-no matter how fierce they are, they're scavengers at heart. And, with any luck, the road may prove difficult for them."

"What do you propose?" The mayor was hesitant to abandon the town, but for once he may agree with Tinner.

"Your walls are strong. Some of the strongest I've seen. With a few modifications and some arms for the town, you'd be able to make a stand here."

"Is that what Vita Nova did?" Roy had picked up the Flip and replayed the footage. "Evacuation is our only chance. And, if we leave, they'll just pa.s.s by when they find nothing here. Then we can come back."

"Or, they'll track you down and you won't have a wall to hide behind."

"No, Roy," Mayor Wilson turned his back to the map on the wall. "New Hope is where other people go when they need help. This is our home and we will defend it."

"David, this is a bad idea."

The mayor nodded. He couldn't completely disagree with the councilman. Defending the town may be the biggest mistake he would make during his career as mayor. This was little consolation in the fact that it could also be his last.

"It could be, Roy. But, it's the right thing to do."

"You're putting us in danger."

"Danger is being put upon us, Roy. Don't think for a moment that I'm forgetting what's at stake here. My daughter is one of the lives I'm putting on the line. But I would rather stand and fight and show her that true freedom is worth defending, than run and, most likely, be killed anyway.

"We've worked too hard to build this town to abandon it to the will of savages and bullies."

The mayor stood and offered his hand to the warrior. "This isn't your fight, I know. Still, is there any way I could convince you to stay and help us?"

Logan looked to Roy. The fat man perspired in antic.i.p.ation of the warrior's answer.

"Help us prepare our defense," the mayor continued, "and you can take with you all the supplies you can carry."

"I'll help. But I don't want anything."

"Then why would you ...?"

"I have my reasons."

"David," Roy's voice bordered on rage, "we can defend ourselves."

"Every hand helps," the mayor looked back to Logan.

Logan nodded, "I'll survey the town and start making plans."

"Again, thank you."

"I'm not going to let you do this, David. Not like this. You'll have to take this to the council."

Mayor Wilson nodded. "Of course, you're right. We'll take this to the people. Mr. Logan, would you mind addressing the council?"

"If it will help."

Roy stammered something unintelligible, stormed out of the office, and slammed the door. The steel walls of the barn rattled a moment later as Roy slammed the outer door.

"He doesn't like outsiders," said Logan. "That's his problem, isn't it?"

"No," said the mayor. "He's an a.s.shole. And it's more our problem than his."

Logan tried not to smirk. He couldn't do it.

"By the way, Logan. Do you play kickball?"

FIVE.

Roads weren't much worse than before the world's nations had seen fit to drop bombs all over them. With the exception of a few biological agents, it was rare that warheads contained anything that promoted the growth of plant life, or any life.

Vegetation had survived, but its growth had seemed stunted and easily held at bay by the existing concrete or asphalt barriers. Road surfaces would crumble in time, but for now they stayed smooth where they had been smooth, rough where they had been rough, and s.h.i.+tty all throughout Arkansas.

Traveling in the large coach had its benefits, large shock absorbers being one of them. Jerry had made extensive alterations to the motor coach, but he had seen little need to modify the suspension.

Other modifications were more crucial.

Larger water reservoirs ensured hydration in the wastelands and poisoned areas of the country. Solar panels and battery racks powered essential emergency systems that included the halogen bars that blinded light sensitive mutations. A beer fridge kept his beer cold.

A large plasma screen TV had been discarded in favor of turning its retractable housing into a weapons rack. Here he kept the majority of his larger weapons: a.s.sault rifles, shotguns, and a couple of submachine guns that he had come across over the years.

The second plasma screen was still in place and hooked to a DVD, VCR, and extensive sound system. Lining a media shelf nearby were the essential reference materials for those in his line of work. The DVD collection was comprehensive, including everything from A Boy and His Dog to Zardoz.

Everything that he and Chewy could need in the new world was carried in the Silver Lining. It provided the perfect post-apocalyptic existence; diesel was easy enough to make and the head was easy enough to dump.

Often, he felt like a cheat. No post-apocalyptic nomadic warrior in any pre-apocalyptic film or fiction had traveled in such luxury. Most traveled on foot or in a beat up muscle car. Custom military transports were the ideal mode of transportation, but they were the exception, even in Hollywood.

The Silver Lining was practical. He always argued with himself that if he was better prepared, he could be a better ally to those in need. Besides, it was better to be a rested post-apocalyptic nomadic warrior that slept in a queen-size bed, than one with lower back pains from a bedroll and rocky ground.

Chewy snored. Her face smeared against the window, drool streaked down the gla.s.s, collected on her mighty paw, spilled over, and dripped into the map pocket collecting in a disgusting pool at the bottom.

Sunlight faded behind oncoming storm clouds, pulling the world into a darkness that it had not known before Edison's epiphany. Jerry made no move to turn on the lights. Instead, he reached into a console beside him and pulled out a pair of night vision goggles and strapped them over his head.

Using lights were iffy at best.

While the halogen system on the roof of the vehicle was installed to repel mutants with sensitive eyes, they tended to attract others with less squinty vision. Clouds of mutant insects could descend upon the coach in swarms so thick that all forward motion would be a ding-filled game of gas and b.u.mp.

Rain lashed against the winds.h.i.+eld moments later. Sheets of off-colored water flooded his line of sight. The wipers did little to fight off the downpour. Static filled the goggles. At first the haze was light, but, as the rain grew thicker, the lenses displayed only white snow. He removed them and signaled to pull to the side of the road.

Cursing, he hit the signal lever to turn it off. It went too far and the left blinker engaged. He slapped it back down. The right blinker began again. Left, right, left, and then off. He grunted.

Relieved that the signals had gone unnoticed, he chuckled to himself that, after several years of being one of the only vehicles on the road, he still signaled before pulling the Silver Lining to the shoulder and parking it along the curb.

Outwardly he laughed, but he knew that it was small things like this that gave him hope for humanity's resurgence. If we can remember to use a blinker, he thought to himself, we'll remember everything else.

He cut the engine and stared into the darkness outside the winds.h.i.+eld. Pulses of distant lightning illuminated the roadside. Something caught his eye, even though he couldn't make out what the object was. He moved into the pa.s.senger seat and forced his face into the corner of the winds.h.i.+eld. He waited for another strike.

Most highway signs had been blown over or salvaged for shelters, but not ten feet from where he had stopped one had been replaced. It had been propped up with a variety of wood and steel poles. The messaging had been altered. Fluorescent orange paint covered the exit number, but other words had been added: Vita Nova, food, drink, shelter, and hope. The final word was painted the largest.

"Looks like we found it, Chewy."

The large dog broke wind and startled herself. Her head snapped around and she looked at her master.

"It wasn't me. You farted."

She didn't buy it.