G Hopf - Driver 8 - A Post-Apocalyptic Novel

Kyle ran inside, “Tommy, I think I know where she is. Jacob left a message. She was sent to the Republic.”

Tommy didn’t respond. His eyes were closed and he lay motionless.

“Tommy?” Kyle asked walking up beside the bed.

Still Tommy lay motionless.

Kyle checked his pulse but didn’t find anything. He sighed and sat on the bed next to Tommy. “Ah, shit. I’m so sorry,” he said. With Tommy dead he needed to press forward. First thing he needed to do was call Jacob and see if he had further information. Timing was everything. He left the bedside and headed back outside. Once he was in the open and the phone had a signal he dialed the last number on the phone.

The phone clicked and began to ring. He patiently waited, but no one answered. “Come on, pick up.”

With the best clues as to where Portia might be, Kyle began to load his truck with anything of value he could find from the house and Tommy’s truck. It took him a short time to get everything he needed, the last order of business was Tommy.

It had become custom to burn bodies as burying them led to Generates or other animals digging them up. Using a small amount of gasoline, he dosed the bed and surrounding area. That would be enough to ensure the entire house would burn down. When he was ready, he lit a Molotov cocktail and tossed it into the bedroom. The bottle exploded into a ball of flames catching the bed and everything around on fire. Soon the entire room was covered in flames with black smoke pouring out of the front door and windows.

Kyle got behind the wheel of his truck and watched as the flames now engulfed the small house. “Goodbye, Tommy, I’ll see you in Valhalla.” He put the truck into gear, slammed on the accelerator and sped off towards his first stop, Salina.

Portia opened her eyes from a dead sleep and bolted upright. Sweat clung to her forehead and face. She looked around to find she was in the backseat of an SUV. The last thing she remembered was fighting the urge to fall asleep. Laughter came from outside. She twirled around to look but the windows were steamed up. She wiped an area and peered through the grimy window. Not far away, she saw the ragtag group sitting around a fire, talking, eating and telling jokes. Curious and hungry, she exited the truck. When she slammed the door the group all turned their heads and stared.

She gave them a nervous wave and cautiously walked towards them.

“Don’t be shy,” Jacob said waving her over. “We don’t bite.”

“Unless you want us too,” a large man with a thick beard said. In the group he was known a Crusher, it was a name he’d been given early on after he’d crushed a man’s skull between his hands. He was a hulk of a man, standing six foot seven with hands that were oversized even for his stature.

Portia took a seat next to Crusher who gave her a wink. “Smells good,” she said looking at the open pot cooking over the fire.

“Yeah, but it tastes like shit,” Crusher joked shoveling a large amount of the stew into his mouth.

“It’s my specialty,” another man said. He went by the name, Chef, primarily because that had been his occupation before the war and due to the fact he was the team’s cook. He stirred the contents and continued, “I call it Whatever Stew.”

“Hmm, why do you call it that?” Portia asked.

“Because I make it with whatever ingredients I have available,” Chef said his thick New York accent showing through.

Portia smiled.

“Would you like some?” Chef asked.

Portia nodded.

“I introduced myself last night, but I didn’t get your name,” Jacob interjected as he stirred his bowl of stew with a spoon.

“Portia,” she answered.

“Nice to meet you, Portia, again my name is Jacob, and going around from my left, you have Leigh, who you met last night, Crusher, Chef and Gunny over their on watch.”

In earshot, Gunny turned and waved.

“Some interesting names,” Portia said taking a bowl of stew from Chef.

“They think they’re super heroes or something,” Leigh quipped.

Portia gave Crusher a cautious look and said, “I can assume you crush things.” She nodded to Chef and said, “And yours is simple, you’re a chef.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Chef said.

“And Gunny because he likes guns?” Portia asked.

“No, on the account he was a Gunnery Sergeant in the Marines,” Jacob said.

“Oh,” Portia said. She took a spoonful of stew and brought it to her lips. She blew on it and sipped it. “Hmm, has a meaty, wait, it tastes like corned beef hash.”

“Close, its a couple cans of dog food, mixed with potatoes, canned corn, powdered garlic and onion.”

A look of revulsion swept over her face as she put the bowl down.

“Now why did you have to tell her about the dog food?” Jacob said smacking Chef on the arm.

“I’ll have you know that those old cans of dog food are decent. It was made with decent ingredients. Hell, a can of dog food is a better meal than what you can get at any roadside slop house in the Republic.”

“But now you’ve got the lady all upset,” Jacob said.

Portis wiped her mouth and looked for a bottle of water.

Sensing her needs, Leigh pulled out a canteen and offered it to Portia.

Portia took it, swished the water in her mouth and spit it out.

“Give me the water back,” Leigh snapped unexpectedly.

“But I didn’t take a drink yet,” Portia said surprised by Leigh’s abrupt change in tone.

“You spit out a precious resource. I won’t have you wasting anymore water. I get you didn’t like the taste of the stew but we don’t waste,” Leigh barked. She looked at Jacob and said, “She must be from The Collective.”

Portia handed the canteen back and said, “I’m sorry.”

Leigh snatched it back. “If you’re going to run with us, rule number one, don’t waste resources.”

“I’m sorry,” Portia again said.

Jacob jumped in, “She didn’t know.”

“Jacob, what are we doing? This little side job cost us two days, we could’ve been in Puerto Penasco by now and on our way,” Leigh complained.

“I made a promise, you know that,” Jacob said.

“But you made a promise to your team first,” Leigh countered.

Portia watched the back and forth. Leigh was a strong women by all counts. She looked tough, but her persona screamed, “Don’t fuck with me.” She was impressive looking with her war paint, intricate braids and leather clothes.

“My team is my top priority,” Jacob said defending himself.

“I don’t even want to go, but we voted as a team and the majority wants to go. I say fuck everyone, let’s go kick ass and at least go out fighting,” Leigh said.

“I agree with Leigh,” Crusher said nodding.

“I love ya’ girl, but I’m over this shit, I’ve been fighting for my entire life. If there is a place called Paradise, I want to see it,” Chef chimed in.

“Cause you’re a pussy,” Leigh growled at Chef.

“I am what I eat,” Chef countered with a devilish smile.

“Team, enough, we voted and it was three to two. And as always we do things as a team,” Jacob said.

“Dumbest thing ever,” Leigh said.

Portia loudly cleared her throat and asked, “What’s Paradise?”

“There’s been rumors floating around for years that an island exists, not far off the coast of Central America. It’s untouched by the ravages of war; no radiation, no Generates, no conflict. Anyway, up until recently I thought it was just a rumor until a map came into my possession. The coordinates point to an island exactly where all the rumors say it is, seven hundred plus nautical miles west of Costa Rica.”