G Hopf - Driver 8 - A Post-Apocalyptic Novel

The Generate closest to the door, replied, “Women.”

“Good, more fresh meat. Pull them out,” the voice ordered.

The six Generates leapt inside the trailer with cat like agility and rushed towards the screaming women. Portia thought to fight and when the first Generate reached her, she did just that. The only weapons she had were her fists and she lashed out, striking the first Generate in the face with several blows. Inspired by Portia, the other women also began to fight, punching and kicking the other Generates as they came at them.

The fight was short lived as more Generates poured into the trailer and subdued Portia and the women. One by one, they were dragged out of the trailer, their arms and legs bound and tied together behind their backs in what is known as a hogtie.

As Portia was carried past the cab of the truck she saw the carnage inflicted on Earl and his partner.

Earl grunted signaling to the Generates he was still alive, who promptly responded by tying him up and carrying him along with the women.

Just when Portia thought her life was upside down, it found a way to get worse.

Dana pushed the door of room five thirteen open and found it pitch black. She stepped inside quickly, disappearing into the darkness.

Following close behind, John entered and tried the light switch at the entrance but it didn’t work. “Hey where did you go?” he asked walking further into the darkened room.

“I like it in the dark,” Dana whispered from the far corner of the room.

John walked towards her voice with Chuck and Tim on his heels. “Are you hiding?” John asked feeling around until he walked into the bed.

“Over here,” Dana called out.

John tripped and fell down, “Oh, come on this is bullshit.”

The door slammed shut ridding the room of the little light there had been from the hall lights.

“What the hell, Dana?” John barked getting back to his feet.

The lights came on blinding the three men as they shielded their eyes. By the time they adjusted to the light, Kyle, Tommy, Cal and Eric opened up on them with their handguns. A dozen and a half rounds later, John was lying on the bed wounded fatally while Tim and Chuck were sprawled on the floor dead, blood oozing from several wounds in their chest, back and head.

Dana watched with joy at the sight of her enemies lying dead and wounded.

John reached out to her, “Help.”

She looked at Cal, who handed her the pistol he was using, walked over to John, placed the muzzle against John’s forehead and said, “You’re a piece of shit.” She squeezed the trigger once.

The single forty-five caliber round exploded out of the back of John’s skull, splattering blood and brain matter over the bed.

Kyle nodded his approval and caught Dana’s eye. She winked and handed the pistol back to Cal. “There’s three more at the door. Put a fresh magazine in and I’ll go finish the job.”

“You will?” Cal asked.

Before she could reply, Kyle said, “Makes sense, seeing her isn’t out of the ordinary; seeing us roll up would cause alarms to go off.”

Cal reluctantly put a fresh magazine in the pistol and handed it back to her. “Be careful.”

She nodded and said, “Follow me, stop at the last turn, when you hear me whistle come on down. Eric do you have the charges to blow the door?”

“Yes,” Eric answered tapping a large green satchel.

Kyle gave Tommy an odd look and asked, “You guys are really impressing me today. Exactly what are we doing here? You could have done this all by yourselves.”

“We’re not out of here yet, if this turns into a huge gunfight, we want gunmen who know how to fight to help us get out of here,” Dana replied cutting off Cal who opened his mouth to respond but wasn’t quick enough. Dana shoved the pistol into the small of her back and strutted past Tommy and Kyle, stepping over Chuck and Tim’s bodies.

As she walked by, Tommy asked, “Ever consider joining Leviathan?”

She stopped, turned around and said, “Talk to me about it once we get out of here. If it’s anything like this, I might say yes, I’m rather enjoying my night.”

Tommy grinned, gave her a wink and faced Kyle, “A really like this chick and she’s hot too.”

“C’mon boys, let’s finish this,” Dana said walking out of the room.

Portia watched from her perch as the Generates lit three small separate fires in front of the massive bonfire that lit the night sky. A metal grate was suspended horizontally above each of the smaller fires, for what, she didn’t know. Back and forth different groups of Generates came and went. Having never seen one before, she had only the tales of others, to include Kyle’s stories to help give her an image of what these nomadic people’s looked and acted like. From everything she’d seen, they fit the description perfectly. They were filthy, with their hair pulled back tight into buns or tails. The men’s beards were dreadlocked with tokens and small trophies tied onto individual locks. They all wore necklaces adorned with shriveled ears. Just how humans could resort to such life was foreign to her. A little over nineteen years before they were probably normal people, going about their business with concerns or stresses related to their first world existence, now they were barbaric and preferred the life of a wandering horde.

To her left and right, the other women sat bound to the same metal cable that stretched between two large trees. The only sounds out of any of them were whimpers, cries and pleas for mercy.

Didn’t they know Generates showed no mercy? Portia would say to herself when she’d hear one of the women call out to a Generate passing by.

The heavy sound of footfalls came from her right, she looked and saw dozens of Generates appear out of the shadows and gather around the smaller fires. A lone man remained standing, no doubt their leader. He was average height, lean build, with a long beard and hair pulled up into a bun. Across his face, dark red stripes went diagonally from his temple to his chin. He was shirtless and his chest bore the same stripes. He patted several of his people on the head and said, “Good hunt, I am proud of you. We shall feast and fuck all night!”

The Generates sitting clapped their hands on their thighs, some grunted their approval.

“Bring our sacrifice,” the Generate leader said.

Several Generates appeared from behind Portia dragging Earl. “No, don’t, please.”

Portia searched her thoughts for the stories she’d heard about Generates and recalled a story from Kyle where he described witnessing a ceremony. He told her that they brought a man forward, tied him to a post, cut off his ears and gave them to the Generate who had been most effective on their hunt, then proceeded to skinning him alive. When they were done, they tossed his body onto a rack and cooked him.

Portia looked and saw the post. She put two and two together and assumed the fires and the metal racks had to be there to cook Earl on once he was dead.

Seeing Earl dragged to the post, crying and pleading, some of the women began to call out for mercy.

Portia kept her mouth shut because she didn’t want to draw attention to herself.

With Earl’s arms tied above him and to the post the Generate leader called out, “We sacrifice this human and from his body we shall nourish ourselves.”

The other Generates were getting excited. They rocked back and forth and were anxious to begin the savage ritual.

The Generate leader removed a long blade housed in a sheath on his hip and walked over to Earl. Without hesitating or saying a word, he removed Earl’s left ear.