G Hopf - Driver 8 - A Post-Apocalyptic Novel

The Tree of Justice stood just outside the main gates along the Eagle River. It served two purposes, one as an instrument to punish and two, as a warning to residents and any passersby, to obey the laws.

“I guess we should string him up, is that the correct term?” Barry laughed.

The guards dragged Kyle to the base, a guard each, held up his arms as another lowered the chains from above. When his wrists were secure in the clamps, they pulled him to his feet.

Kyle groaned with each pull.

The stopped when his feet were dangling five feet from the ground.

The guards put on the ankle clamps and just to add to his misery, they attached a thirty pound weight to each ankle chain to stretch Kyle’s body out further.

Barry walked up and nodded his approval. “Good job. Cisco, add an additional liquor ration for each one of these fine men.”

“Yes sir.”

“Driver Eight, I hope in these last days you’ll come to see that I was the better man. I had been the one who evolved, you didn’t. I told you numerous times and I’ll say it again, you’re a stupid man. Had you not treated me so poorly who knows, maybe we could have become allies.”

Kyle looked down and mustered two words, “Fuck you.”

“There’s nothing more to say. I beat you. You’ll die and your wife will become someone’s whore. Goodbye Driver Eight.” He signaled a guard. “Don’t remove his body. I want him to rot, make him food for the vultures and post a guard, I don’t want someone to take him down.”

Kyle didn’t have the strength to reply or look up to watch them leave. His thoughts raced to where Portia was and how, like Tiffany, he had let her down. Once more he had failed the woman he loved. No amount of bravado or positive talk was going to get him off this tree, he was a dead man, plain and simple.

“Psst, psst!” a voice sounded from behind a grove of shrubs.

Kyle’s eyes openly slightly. It was nighttime and the only light around came from the gates of Prime several hundred yards away. For all intents and purposes, he was immersed in the black of night. He looked into the blackness that surrounded him and saw nothing. Am I hallucinating? He thought.

“Psst, Kyle!” the voice boomed.

Hearing his name, Kyle lifted his head and tried to widen his eyes to get a better look, still he saw no one. This is it? I’m hearing things. My time is almost up . He said to himself.

“Kyle, are you alive?” the voice said now coming from behind the tree.

Mustering the energy, Kyle replied, “Are you an angel or the devil?”

“Both,” the man replied.

Weakened but now hopeful that someone might free him, Kyle found the strength to again reply, “Who are you?”

“It’s Tommy.”

“No, there’s a guard.”

“I took care of him already. That was easy, lazy bastard was sleeping. Picking these locks, that’s the tough part.”

“Hurry, get me down.”

“I am,” Tommy said working on the locks.

An audible click sounded.

“Got them, now I’m going to lower you down slowly,” Tommy said.

Kyle didn’t reply.

Cautiously, Tommy brought Kyle down to the ground. All that needed to be done was remove the lower ankle clamps.

The hard ground felt good. Kyle let his body relax.

“All done,” Tommy said referring to the removal of the ankle clamps. He scooted to Kyle’s side, lifted his head and put a bottle of water to his cracked lips. “Drink slowly.”

The fresh cool water soothed his parched throat.

“Bro, I thought you were supposed to be king fish here, good thing I didn’t show up a few days before or I’d be on another tree with ya’.”

“Portia, they took Portia,” Kyle muttered.

“Who’s that? Is that your wife?”

Kyle nodded.

“Where did they take her?”

“Slave,” Kyle answered.

“Fuck me, that could be in any direction. If I knew who their main trading partner was, then we could have an idea exactly where she’s gone too,” Tommy said. He was familiar with the slave trade being a bounty hunter. “Do you know who they trade with?”

“Republic I think,” Kyle replied solely on the hunch based upon where he found Barry.

“Hmm, there’s several main players over there, but if you don’t know for sure it could be a wild goose chase. We need to find out exactly who they deal with in each area.”

“I know who knows,” Kyle grunted.

“If he’s inside those gates, we’ll need to get you healthy first. Can you stand?”

“I’ll try,” Kyle said.

Tommy threw Kyle’s arm over his shoulder and pressed him up.

On his feet, Kyle tried to stand but his legs were weak and wobbly. “I feel like shit.”

“Bro, you look like shit and your face is a fucking mess, almost as bad as mine,” Tommy joked and began to head towards his truck parked a mile away off the main highway.

“Thank you. You’re a true friend,” Kyle groaned.

“It’s what friends do,” Tommy said.

The trailer stank of feces, urine, sweat and rotting flesh. It took everything Portia had to not vomit at any moment. The few times they stopped she’d push her way past the other women and leap from the back to get away from it, only to be forced back on when they had to go. Her companions in the trailer were unfamiliar to her but all former residents of The Collective, who had failed health tests. At their first stop days before she counted seventeen women, now there were only sixteen, sometime during the night one of the women had killed herself. Someone she managed to find a piece of glass and instead of using it as a weapon to attack her captures, used it to lay open her wrists. The others cried out that she had died but the truck had a schedule to keep and they didn’t stop but once a day.

Portia overheard the drivers discussing the trip during the pit stop. It appeared the first destination would be the next stop and so forth.

The brakes on the trailer engaged and the truck began to slow.

Portia woke. She sat up and looked around but it was almost impossible to see around the dimly lit trailer. “Are we stopping?”

“That or we’re slowly to make a turn,” a woman replied.

“I’m scared,” another woman said.

“If we fought back, we could overwhelm them,” Portia suggested. This wasn’t the first time she’d mentioned it but no one seemed interested. It’s as if life in The Collective had made them rule following lemmings.

“Not again. I’m not risking my life,” a woman said from the front.

“I agree with Nancy, it’s a bad idea,” someone added.

“Bad idea? Being sold into slavery isn’t worse?” Portia sniped.

“At least I’ll be alive,” Nancy answered.

“Is anyone with me? I heard this next stop is where it all begins,” Portia said.

“What begins?” someone asked.

“Being sold off begins,” Portia shot back frustrated.

The brakes kicked on again and the truck shuddered.

“We’re stopping, this is it,” Portia said looking around. “Is anyone with me?”

No one spoke up.

She thought she could fight now or wait for a more opportune time. Not having the support of any of the others, she’d be outmanned and most likely not escape.

The truck came to a full stop. Seconds later the doors opened allowing the light of day and the fresh air in. Like all the other times, Portia was the first person to jump from the back. She looked around and saw a landscape foreign to her. To her right, a building with the name, THE RUSTY NAIL, sat, its weathered appearance looked like nothing inside the walls of Prime. Ahead of her the road curved to the right and disappeared behind a hill, and to her left was another road and a long field beyond.