Post Apocalyptic Ponies: Revolutions Per Mile, Book 1 (8 page)

“I'm just fine!” Jo came screaming out of the kitchen
into the little front room. She'd caught Marjorie off guard. The big
aluminum flashlight she carried fell on Marjorie's skull and she
collapsed to the floor. “Thank you for asking!”

I stood incredulous.

“What's happening here?” I shouted it over the ringing
in my ears.

She didn't answer. She went to her gun and noticed the magazine
had been removed. A frantic look outside the window.

“Where is it? I need the mag for this or we're dead.”
I could just hear her talking at normal volume.

“Umm, she had it.” I pointed to Marjorie, but I didn't
see the little steel box. We searched under the sofa and the little
curio cabinet. That's where it was.

With great violence she turned over the cabinet, grabbed for the
missing piece, then worked to get it into the gun.

“This is going to be close.”

With a flourish she patted the top of the gun like it was alive,
then lined up her shot. Unlike Marjorie—if she wasn't
pretending—Jo acted like a professional. She held the big gun
close to her shoulder and braced herself while looking down the scope
from a safe distance. I was prepared this time, and even put my hands
over my ears, but the sound
still
startled me.

“One.” She said calmly.

I watched as her finger tensed, then let up. Then, when she was
ready, she squeezed again.

Gunshots from outside. The window above the open screen shattered.
I stood there, not realizing the danger...

Another explosive burst. My ears thanked me for covering them, but
they still buzzed and rang madly from the first shot. No more shots
came in.

“Two.” Her workman-like dealings were completely in
contrast to how she acted the rest of the day. Far from being a
flighty, flirty girl, she was a totally focused killer.

Again, my face betrayed me.

“Come on, see what this is about.”

“How in the hell did you drive on that gravel road? I thought you were scared to death of it?”

“I closed my eyes.”

She left me to ponder that as she walked ahead and checked on the two dead officers by their car. I followed, with reluctance. There was no doubt they were dead. They had huge
pieces missing from them.

She stood behind the car the two dead men had been driving. “You
aren't going to believe this, but we just saved four lives today.”

She was right, I wasn't going to believe it. By my math more than
four people had
died
today.

But when she opened the trunk, I was looking at two young teen
girls dressed in dirty nightgowns. Both were much younger than me.
They still had the faces of children, though their bodies were more
mature.

I helped them out, and they cried in my arms.

We all walked back toward the house, and the second car. When Jo
opened that trunk, two more little girls jumped out. Both were
hysterical.

I felt like I was repeating myself, but I needed to know. “What,
exactly
, is happening here?”

“Everyone inside.” Jo ushered us all into the front
room, where she kicked the professor to jostle her awake.

She walked the short distance to her gun and aimed it at the
injured woman. Marjorie was disoriented, but her eyes bulged when she
saw the big barrel of the gun near her face.

“Talk,” Jo insisted.

“What do you want me to say?” She no longer had her
hippy attitude. “That we started a few house fires to distract
the natives so we could make a transaction with our southern
neighbors? That we—”

“You killed Evans? You knew I needed him!” She roughly
poked the barrel into the chest of the professor, though her woozy
look made Jo pull back. Blood trickled over her face from the crack
on the skull.

“I knew you'd go right to the sheriff with news of the
fire,” she said with a grim stare at Jo.

We did go right to the sheriff.

I'd never seen Jo look taken aback. Like someone tossed her car
keys in the lake.

“But why are you involved with these girls?” Jo
continued. “It's horrible.”

“Everyone is looking for escape, Jo, you know that better
than anyone. These girls were helping me do that.”

Jo put the gun right up into Marjorie's face. I thought that was
it. I can't explain why, but I tried to keep Jo from shooting her.

“Maybe the girls know,” I ventured.

A long pause.

“Right...Perth. Let's ask the girls.” Jo turned to the
four little girls standing near the front door. They seemed hesitant
to get near Marjorie. “You four, have you seen this lady
before?”

They all shook their heads yes.

“And where do you know her from?”

The tallest of the four may also have been the oldest. Her long
hair looked long-unwashed and her overall demeanor would best be
described as hopeless. She spoke up for all of them.

“She sometimes works in the welcome center in Hays. We all
saw her when we came in. She helped us settle in. She told us she was
our friend. But then...”

The tears told the story.

“I talked to them on the drive in,” Jo continued,
“these poor girls were kidnapped by this bitch and were going
to be traded to the south for fuel. They couldn't answer why the deal
went sour, and I don't think those two will talk either.” She
motioned to the dead men outside with a gruff laugh.

The taller girl quietly excused herself to go deeper into the
house.

“You're some kind of undercover police officer, right?”
I asked. There were few police, and most were fighting to keep the
peace in their little villages. She would be something new, but who
else would steal a police interceptor on a whim?

“No. I had no idea these girls existed. I ran across that
field to get...something else. When I saw they left it running, well,
who could
not
take it?” A small laugh peeked through her
stern countenance. Her aim was still on the woman, but she was
looking at the three girls. “Don't worry, we'll get you to
safety. She can't hurt you guys anymore. None of them will.”

The tall girl rejoined her friends and they talked among
themselves.

I sidled next to Jo. I was happy to have helped with whatever she
was doing, but I had to keep my eye on the prize. “So, partner,
we make a good team. Still need a co-pilot up north?” I didn't
want to go back to doing the milk run, not after all the excitement
and time behind the wheel of “Penn.”

“I gotta be honest with you Perth. It's really dangerous up
there. More dangerous than this.” She swooshed her arm around
the room and out the window. “And, I was more looking for
someone with more experience for something I gotta do up there. You
got a lot going on down here. You've got your cherry pick of cars
though, huh?”

I looked outside. “You mean, I can have one of those?”
The afternoon sun glistened off the black paint, beckoning me.

“Well, I'll take one and you take other one. That's how we
trade up, right? The girls can return in my car.”

My eyes swirled. Owning a top tier car fresh out of pony runs was
unheard of. I'd be a rock star.

I listened for my father's rebuke. Braced for it.

Nothing.

While I was turned around talking, a piercing scream came from
behind. Jo raised her weapon, slowly since it was so heavy, and I
spun myself around with my hands as my only defense.

I couldn't believe it. The young girls all had steak knives and
poked them repeatedly into the already-injured professor. Her neck
was already open and shooting blood onto the floor. She flailed her
arms weakly. I took a step to help her—

“No, you can't. It has to be this way.”

I couldn't look at anything else. The girls were thorough and
worked with hatred. Anyone who stuffed little girls into cars of men
who were—on paper—there to protect them, deserved to die.

“You know, anymore, this is how things have to be. Courts.
The Law. It's all pretty much gone. The only rules that matter are
the ones plastered on the walls of garages.”

She tapped me so I would look back at her rather than the bloody
death of the professor. Her screams had become a gurgle, then a
hissing.

“Bring back the car. Bring back the parts. Bring back the
driver
. These kids are drivers, or will be. We did a good
thing by bringing them back. Marjorie was breaking rule 3. Death was
always going to be her fate if she was caught.”

No one gets banished anymore. We all knew it. Too many came back.
It only took a few dead ponies at the hands of banished and
revenge-minded criminals to establish that.

A switch turned off inside me. The interstate wasn't an exciting
and adventurous place. It was dangerous and hard work. Jo handled
herself better than I ever could, and we weren't even up on the big
highway. I knew what I was heading for if I tried to jump ahead.

I made a decision I knew my dad would appreciate.

When I woke up that day I never would have guessed how much my
life was going to change. I went from zero-to-one-hundred. I started
my routes as a pony and ended it in ownership of a true thoroughbred
racehorse. I could have been a superstar.

But the silence of my father made me understand the gravity of the
situation. If he had been there counseling me to avoid jumping right
to the big leagues, I admit, I probably would have done it. It would
have been childish and stupid, but he's my dad!

Instead, he left it up to me. I hope I made the right choice,
because I'd hitched my wagon to the brightest star I'd ever seen in
those dusty pastures. I discussed everything with Jo. She'd take me
on as her co-pilot, teach me the ropes, run a few routes together,
and practice under her watchful eye driving the same model of car
that I had waiting for me when I was ready.

By the rules of New World, the house became vacant when Marjorie
died. I claimed it so I could park my evil-looking Mustang there, but
I offered the place to the girls, too. It's kind of small, but no one
would bother them.

We found a cache of weapons from the cars we inherited; we gave
most of them to the girls so they could defend themselves. Jo and I
both took a couple for ourselves. I think she kept that big rifle
around for sentimental reasons. It was on my list to ask her about
it.

It made me happy to be in the saddle with Jo, even if I didn't
much care for the interior of her new car. It was like taking Death's
horse and riding it in the summer parade with big happy flags hanging
off the sides. It felt wrong. But, out there, only horsepower
mattered.

I also wasn't comforted by the presence of the black suitcase she
wouldn't let me near. She'd tossed it in the far rear with a knowing
look that said, “don't touch.” But, she also made a show
of ignoring the odds and ends—including a brown paper bag—I
threw in there. I guess the professor was right, we were all looking
for escape.

Later, on our way back to Hays, I marveled at how fast she bounced
back. She had a smile that couldn't be washed off. “I know we
just scored this amazing car, but you look happier than you should
for a couple house fires and busting a sex slave sting.”

“Why not? I'm the happiest and luckiest gal down here in the
pony pastures right now. I've got my bad ass ride, I've got a gal who
knows north from south and can fire the fifty, and I took four
assholes off the road. Plus, well, all I'll say is that I finally
feel like I know where I'm going in this world.”

Her smile was infectious. I didn't correct her that I'd never
actually fired “the fifty.”

I pulled out the small bobblehead dog I'd ripped off the
dashboard of my IROC back at the fire. I held it out to show her.
“Mind if he rides with us?”

“Is this your dad?”

“What?”

“You know, you said you were looking for your dad—back
at the fire. You thought he'd gotten injured in the wreck.”

It all clicked.

“Yes! I talk to this like he's my dad. It sounds stupid, I
know, but—”

“No, not at all. I get it. Put him up there. He'll liven
this place up.”

I plopped him on his butt right at the top of the center console.
The little golden retriever started to bob and weave with the road
below us. I fell back into my seat, feeling better at the whole turn
of events.

“Girl, we've got the wind at our backs, the big city ahead
of us, and more horsepower than two girls need. You ready to ride in
the fast lane?”

“Show me the way.”

The bobblehead dog nodded at me.

“Thanks, Dad.”

###

On the next few pages, please enjoy a snippet from book 2 of the
Revolutions Per Mile
series.

[This is the first chapter from
Post Apocalyptic Mustangs:
Revolutions Per Mile, Book 2
]

The fuel tanker was pretty typical. It was a probably less than
half full—they seldom top off because of the trouble driving
them here—so figure 4000 gallons. In the Old World I would
never have noticed trucks like that delivering their precious cargo
to my local gas station even if I was parked next to it. I
just didn't care.

Out there it stood out like Thomas the Train chuffing through
Strawberry Shortcake's village. That's because it was sitting on a
gravel road under the wide open sky of central Kansas prairie rather than dropping fuel in the city.

My childhood television viewing sometimes bleeds through...

“This one's an official tanker. We're good,” Jo told me as we
pulled up. There was a significant black market for fuel, though quality varied. Finding an officially recognized carrier helped.

Fuel was a dangerous business. Up north, where we got our gasoline, people
literally killed to get it. That's what we called the Northern Run.
It went from Hays up to somewhere in North Dakota. I'd never been
there, so I didn't know. Only the older boys and a few insane girls
drove on that route. However, down in the south—the pony
pastures—fuel trucks had a much easier time. The drivers were
usually greeted with food, supplies, and other goods for trade,
rather than bullets or the mercenary's knife.