G Hopf - Driver 8 - A Post-Apocalyptic Novel

The three exited the house and found Crusher on the far left side leaning against the corner of the house. “What’s up?” he called out.

“Chef, he’s missing,” Jacob said.

“I haven’t seen him,” Crusher said.

“Stay on guard, Portia’s inside, Leigh go around back check out those small outbuildings, I’ll go search the barn and Gunny, go to the garage,” Jacob ordered.

Just as they all stepped off, the front door opened and Portia came out, “Hey, he’s in here.”

They all came back to the house. Jacob entered the house first, he was a mixed bag of emotions, first and foremost, he was concerned, but secondly, if he found out that Chef was screwing off, he’d be severely angry with him. “Where were you?” he asked Chef.

Hovering near the dining table, Chef answered, “I was out back, looking to see if the propane tank was off. The oven is gas, thought maybe I could cook something warm for us.”

Jacob approached him and asked again, “Where were you?”

“I told you, I went out back to see if I could find the propane tank.”

“You went back to the kitchen almost fifteen, maybe twenty minutes ago,” Jacob said, suspecting something was wrong.

“It’s that simple, don’t be such a stress monster,” Chef snapped. “And I’ll let you know I did find the propane and we have a pot of baked beans cooking now.”

The others stood just behind Jacob, all leering suspiciously at him.

“What the fuck guys, I was only trying to make sure we had warm food versus cold, lighten up,” Chef barked and stormed off.

“Next time tell us, if you haven’t been aware, we’re being hunted right now,” Jacob hollered.

“Give him a break, boss,” Leigh said and went back to the dining table.

“Communication is key to everything,” Jacob said.

“I disagree, I think its firepower,” Leigh said, dropping the magazine, locking the slide to the rear and catching the bullet as it flew out of the chamber.

“If I were fifteen years younger,” Gunny joked at Leigh and gave her a wink.

“That’s sweet Pops, but I like my men at least younger than eighty,” she fired back. “Although you’re hot for an old guy,” she said returning the wink.

“Don’t listen to her, I’m only fifty-five, but I can still get it up,” Gunny said to Portia.

Portia chuckled at the inappropriate conversation.

Jacob hadn’t moved, he was still looking towards the kitchen. He sensed something was wrong but couldn’t put a finger on what it was.

The drive was slow but so far successful. He’d only had to make one detour and quickly got back on his route.

The glow from the countless fires helped illuminate his path and allowed him to go faster. The other major impediment was the debris that riddled the streets. He found himself swerving and veering around any number of large items left strewn on the street.

By his estimate he was over half way across town. He came to a crossroad street. From his memory, if he turned left and went south it would take him out of town but in order to get back on the old interstate he’d have to drive a few hours around through a pass. Straight ahead was direct and the interchange for the freeway was only two miles away. The issue was the bright glow from a bulk of the fires came from that direction.

“Which way?” he said out loud.

Out of the shadows a woman ran up and slammed her left hand on the hood, “Help, please.”

The clarity through the night vision wasn’t the best but it was good enough to tell him she wasn’t a Generate.

“Help, they’re after me, please,” she pleaded, her voice echoing down the street. Cradled in her left arm was a baby in a swaddle. “Please, help me.”

He revved the truck, hoping she’d get out of his way but she didn’t. He had three choices, run her over, help her or go in reverse.

The distinct cries from Generates sounded to his right. He looked but couldn’t see anything…yet, but they were coming.

“Help me,” she screamed, her voice panicked after hearing the Generates coming.

He revved the engine again and tapped the accelerator enough to warn her to get out of the way, but she wasn’t relenting.

“Please, they’ll kill me and my baby.”

This was not the situation Kyle wanted or needed to be in. He could easily run the woman over and even considered it, but doing so only made him like Barry or Xavier. No, he had to help her. He cracked his door and yelled, “Go to the passenger door!”

She ran for it just as a small pack of Generates cleared the corner of a building and raced towards them.

He leaned across the cab, unlocked the door and pushed it open.

She reached the door, put the small infant down on the seat and went to get in herself but was prevented when a Generate grabbed her arm and pulled her out. She hit the ground and screamed.

Kyle shot the Generate several times.

She rolled to her side and went to get up but three more Generates tackled her. She wailed in pain as they began to plunge their knives into her.

Kyle emptied his magazine into them but more came. She was dead and he knew it. He heard more cries from Generates and looked ahead to see what could only be described as a herd coming his way. Unable to save her, he slammed his foot down on the accelerator and turned the steering wheel hard to the left. His plan to save time by going through Grand Junction was over. If he wanted to live through the night, he’d have to take the longer route south.

Through the altercation, the baby cried and wailed but there was nothing Kyle could do to comfort it until he was well enough away.

The bright glow from the city grew more distant with each mile he took. Feeling he was at a safe distance, he pulled the truck over. He tore off the night vision, reached down and picked up the crying child and held it in his arms. “Ssh, baby, ssh, it’s okay now,” he said softly rocking the baby in his arms. By the size, the child was no more than three or four months old. After several minutes of rocking and shushing, the child grew quiet and began to coo.

“What in the hell am I going to do with a baby?” he asked himself out loud. “Am I cursed?” Not only had he tacked on additional time to Salina but he now had a baby to care for.

“I don’t know how you do it, but you managed to turn regular canned beans into a gourmet meal,” Gunny gushed patting his belly.

Chef nodded, a big smile stretched across his face.

Through the meal, Jacob kept an eye on Chef.

Leigh picked up on this and was also being watchful.

“You don’t look that much older than me. How long were you a chef before the war?” Portia asked.

“Not long, I had just graduated culinary school and was on my way to my first real chef’s position when it began raining nuclear weapons. I was just west of Albuquerque when I started getting the reports on my mobile phone and on the radio. I never made it to Phoenix, thank God. I first went to a FEMA camp but that quickly deteriorated, I then spent a couple years migrating from place to place with a small group of others. One by one we began to get picked off by marauders and what not. A couple more years pass, I’m working for a warlord in northern Arizona. I run into Gunny here, he took a job working security for this warlord. What was his name?”

“I shit you not, he called himself King David, this dumb ass literally thought he was a decedent of the great Kind David,” Gunny answered.

“Yeah, King David. What a character he was. Liked his food cooked until it was burned,” Chef said.