Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors Part 22

Chewy sat at his feet and panted. Jerry petted her head and looked at Erica, "You, too, girls. We've got to get to that town before that truck does."

"Hey," Trent said, "before we go, could you never call us the bear brigade ever again?"

"Get on the truck, Trent."

THIRTY.

The people of New Hope gathered before him. Strain from days of defense preparations had left them worn and tired. Several dozed while others batted their eyes in veiled attempts to stay awake. Logan paced the front of the room as everyone found their seats. All but the sentries had been called to the town hall barn.

Behind Logan was a map of the town, an aerial view that showed the walls of the city and where defensive positions would be taken. Archers were denoted by arrows, which seemed obvious to Logan, but the symbol took three votes and a compromise with the flamethrower committee to be accepted as the "little symbol thingy" that would tell the archers where to stand. The compromise was that the flamethrower teams would be referred to as fire people instead of firemen and would be indicated on the map as a dove, because a flame seemed too violent. Medics chose ambulances instead of crosses in case some of the attackers were of a different belief system than the people of New Hope.

A gnarled pool cue served as his pointer. As the last person sat, he banged it against the wall to get the room's attention. It could never be used to shoot a game of pool again, but it was perfect for planning the defense of a walled town against the onslaught of merciless villains in a giant armored truck.

"Now, when the lookout spots the truck ..."

The door to the town hall barn burst open.

"The truck is coming!" the young lookout panted.

The citizens of New Hope began to panic.

Logan bashed the cue against the steel wall. Thunder roared inside the town hall barn. "Calm down everyone. You all know what to do."

Various voices in the crowd responded: "No, we don't."

"You hadn't started."

"Am I an arrow or a fireman?"

"Fire-person!"

"Whatever."

Logan snapped the cue pool cue over his knee. The crack bounced off the walls and silenced the crowd. "Just get to your positions."

The town hall barn emptied. Logan took the lead and scaled a fabricated ladder to the outer wall of the town with ease. The people followed. Some hesitated. Others stayed close to Logan.

The citizen soldiers grabbed tie-rod crossbows, shouldered rifles, or manned flamethrower turrets. Medics took position in doorways, ready to run to the aid of the fallen. Logan jumped from his perch to the roof of the cement truck as it rolled into place.

Carl stepped from the cab.

"Gadgeteer," Logan yelled down to the small round man.

The town's gadget man looked up and smiled at hearing this. He gave Logan an enthusiastic thumbs up and an air fist b.u.mp. Logan held out his hand.

Carl threw an air high five. Logan stomped his foot on the hood, "It means throw me the keys, you idiot."

Carl was surprised at the outburst, but obediently dug into his pocket and tossed the keys to Logan.

The warrior grabbed them out of the air and stepped back onto the ledge that surrounded the wall. Pacing, his pistol in hand, he spoke to the people below him.

He turned his back to the wasteland and did his best to prepare the people for the coming horror.

"Remember," he shouted to the town. "The truck is most likely armored. Do not fire at the truck. Its walls are impenetrable. You must wait for the men to disembark."

"It doesn't look that armored," a woman holding a crossbow argued.

"Looks can be deceiving."

"It looks like it's about to fall apart," an older man said.

"He said it was huge. It's not that big." This began a chorus of doubt that moved up and down the walls.

"There can't be more than a few men in there."

"Is that a Winnebago?"

"I don't see the W."

"I don't think they all have Ws."

Logan turned to see a cloud of dust approaching.

"Bookworm?" he said under his breath. He yelled to the crowd, "Hold your fire. It's not them."

"How is that thing holding together?" The crowd continued to chatter as the motor coach pulled up to the gates of the town.

"Bookworm?" Logan shouted to the coach. With the winds.h.i.+eld shattered, he could see the mastiff in the pa.s.senger seat. Chewy growled.

Jerry stepped from the coach and stood before the town. "Good people of the town of New Hope, you are in danger."

"Really, a.s.shole? What do you think we're all doing up on the wall? Dumb a.s.s."

The young man was grabbed by an ear and dragged off of the wall. "Jefferson Davis Allen, you watch your mouth!"

"Logan is a fraud." Jerry pointed to the warrior on the wall.

"You're the fraud, Bookworm," Roy Tinner shouted back. "Logan told us all about you, library boy."

"Jerry," Logan stepped in front of the agitated crowd. "You should go. It's not safe here."

"I never would have guessed it, Logan. It was you all along."

"Jerry, take your girlfriend. And your ... bears? And go."

Jerry turned to see his companions behind him. The boys still wore their bear costumes. Each was covered in gra.s.s stains.

"How many towns, Logan? How many since Colorado?"

"Jerry, it's for your own good. Leave while you still can." Logan's mutt was at his heel growling at the group. Chewy burst through the front of the Silver Lining, put herself between the dog and her master and growled back.

"How many lives have you destroyed? How many people have trusted you, only to be betrayed?"

"I can't be responsible for your safety, Bookworm."

"I'm not leaving, Logan." Jerry stepped closer to the wall and addressed the crowd. "Good people, this man has sold you a lie. You are not safe behind your walls."

"He's protecting us," Roy pushed Logan out of the way and held up the crossbow as proof of his statement.

"Roy, don't," Logan tried to calm the councilman.

"They're fake," Jerry fired back.

"I'll show you fake, you ..." Roy Tinner lowered the crossbow and aimed it Jerry.

"Roy, stop!" Logan screamed.

Jerry stood his ground. "Shoot me, Roy!"

"Jerry, no!" Erica rushed to his side.

He pushed her back and turned back to Roy.

"C'mon, Roy. Pull the trigger, you spineless paper pusher."

Logan put his hand on the crossbow, but he was too late. Roy pulled the release and fired the bolt straight at Jerry's chest.

Erica screamed. Chewy barked. Jerry didn't move.

The bolt whistled through the air, struck against the grain of Jerry's leather jacket and shattered.

Roy stared in disbelief.

Jerry held up his hands. "Still don't believe me, Roy?"

Roy grabbed the crossbow from a man standing next to him and fired again with the same result. Splintered wood bounced at Jerry's feet.

"You see, it's ..."

Roy grabbed another bow and fired.

The bolt shattered.

"Okay, Roy. I think I've made my point."

Roy, the city councilman, asked for another crossbow.

"They're all the same. Don't you see?"

Another bolt shattered against his jacket.

"Would you stop it, Roy?" Jerry stepped forward. The pile of brittle wood cracked beneath his feet.

"It's going to be the same with flamethrowers. Maybe one good burst and they'll suddenly lose pressure. You've dug pitfalls around the walls, correct?"

One of the defenders nodded.

"They won't go for the walls. They'll go straight for the gate. And Logan will let them in."

Carl stepped forward. "Not this baby. She's a beast with a hardened load in the back." Carl giggled and looked to Logan for approval.

"Who has the keys?"

Without hesitation, Carl pointed at Logan.

There was a sudden burst of flame from one of the cannons. A roar of approval went up from the fire-person team. The jet of flame sputtered and fizzled; so did the roar of approval.

Roy had watched the pyrotechnic display and was finally convinced. He turned to accuse Logan, but the man had disappeared.

"Find him!" The mayor gripped his daughter close.

The town walls emptied as the people searched for the man they had trusted.

Jerry heard shouts and gunfire. Then, all was quiet. The town was still. The cement truck fired up and began to move.

Roy, the city councilman, stepped from the gates and waved Jerry and his friends into New Hope.

THIRTY-ONE.

The air brakes fired in quick succession and the ma.s.sive rig began to squeal as the calipers struggled to halt the forward momentum of the four trailers.

A lone rider sat astride his motorcycle. A second bike was propped up next to him. The rider waited for the rig to come to a stop and he yelled over the thrumming of the engine, "Apple Pie Sucks!"

The pa.s.s phrase was accepted. Doors flew open as the guard detail disembarked and secured a perimeter around the truck. Once it was established, two of the guards rushed to the bikes.

The rider dismounted and jogged to the rig as the guards fired up the motorcycles and pulled them into the rear trailer.