Brian Steele - 4POCALYPSE - Four Tales of a Dark Future

Following Jasmine’s instructions, Eric walked closely behind her. He held her Glock in his right hand pointing upward, while she held her Mossberg pointing at the door. She only had three grenades left and wanted to save as many as she could. Since the weapon was new to her, she was extremely overzealous and used it even though her pistols were sufficient. It was the same for the shotgun, and although she was a better shooter with her pistols, in the darkness and the harsh elements she felt safer using a wide blast. For the first time in her life she was nervous, even close to being frightened. The tarot cards played on her mind like a mosquito landing on the back of her neck biting her time and again. That damned death card over the nine of swords was starting to worry her and she wondered if she had done the right thing.

They stopped and Jasmine ever so cautiously eased the door open with the tip of her shotgun and cringed as the hinges let out a wretched squeal as if connected to an alarm system. She bounced back, expecting an onslaught.

Nothing.

Just as Eric started to speak, she held up her hand quieting him. She then pointed to the right side of the door. Then in two quick flashes, she fired into the door where a cry erupted from the other side. She then crouched down, banged through the door, and rolled to a crouch position looking for someone pointing something at her.

Inside lay a man who looked to be an old prospector in his seventies; however, upon closer examination he was nearer to his late thirties; possibly due to cannibalism, or due to the elements, but more likely both. He lay on his back, dead; half of his face ripped off from the headshot. Pieces of wooden shrapnel stuck out from what was left of his face in a porcupine fashion. Looking at him lying on the floor, she was surprised the pellets from the body shot penetrated the many layers of clothing. A large crimson patch darkened his chest.

She crept deeper into the room until she heard moans and soft sobs. She holstered the Mossberg and pulled her Glock, and used the attached flashlight, which she rarely utilized; that was the first place she’d shoot at when confronted by someone using a flashlight. She never failed a good hit, and often times it was a solid hit in the head. Although Tank knew this, he attached a flashlight to the top and laser to the bottom of the barrels anyway, thinking she’d use one or the other when the need required it.

Along the back wall were cages, and in each gage were two to three women. “Holy, shit,” Eric breathed and then hurried to the closest cage. When he opened it, two women crawled out. As Eric went from cage to cage, releasing the women, Jasmine continued a visual all the while thinking how badly she wanted to hurt Owen.

“You’ll take them with you, right?” Jasmine said more of as an order than a request.

“I was hoping we could go with you,” Eric responded.

“That’s not an option,” Jasmine said in an even more forceful tone.

Eric nodded. “With luck we’ll be in Oklahoma and you’ll be with Owen in a day or so.”

“How many vehicles work?” Jasmine asked one of the older women who looked as if she might have been a leader at one time.

“All of them. They’re under this building.” Jasmine looked around. “The entrance is around back,” the woman continued. “A small pickup, a van, a dozen or so motorcycles, plus a car. Enough to get us the hell out of here.”

She stared at the woman for a long beat and felt she could trust her. “Take me,” Jasmine said. To Eric, Jasmine continued, “Take them to your parents. Your father will know what to do.”

Jasmine followed the older woman back through the door she and Eric had come in and went around the back, which resembled a junk yard of old vehicles: cars, trucks, trailers and motorcycles. Parts were strewn about the ground, which to Jasmine looked more like a potential arsenal if a tornado touched down. Near the far end of the building was a ramp with an entrance—no doors—that led beneath the building.

“I’m surprised they had a garage under the building… if anything were to happen they’d lose their food source,” the older woman said in a tone filled with hate and anger. “Take me with you; I want to help you kill the son of a bitch.”

A harsh wind raced behind the building, kicking up dust and debris. Something cried out in the night. One of the women, Jasmine thought. A faint roar rumbled like a freight train in the distance.

As they crept down the ramp and into the darkened entrance, Jasmine handed the woman the same pistol Eric had carried. The woman two fisted the pistol as if she had experience using a handgun, keeping it pointed toward the ground and away from Jasmine. She acted as if she had special training, police maybe. She also had a look that said she would not hesitate pulling the trigger. She then went to the left of the entrance. Following her lead, Jasmine went to the right.

They stood by the entryway, peering into near-black darkness. Jasmine then peered into her mind’s eye and after a long moment, she pointed to the pickup. She knelt down to a crouch, and then down to her stomach. Pulling with her elbows, she crawled deeper into the garage. The older woman followed and crawled into the darkness behind her, stopping short when Jasmine touched the woman’s head. Jasmine then twisted toward the woman and lightly breathed, “There’s two in the bed of the pickup.” The woman nodded. “And a third over by the bikes… you do him but stay down until I shoot.” The woman nodded and crawled in the direction of the bikes.

The two women reached the bottom of the ramp at nearly the same time, and both rose into a crouch position. “Hey, assholes,” Jasmine shouted. When the two men stood, Jasmine took them out, two shots in rapid succession, before they could get a bead on her. When the man hiding behind the motorcycles stood to take Jasmine out, the woman shot him.

The percussion and screams raced up the ramp and out into the harsh wind. After a long moment, silence followed the screams up the ramp, disappearing out the door. A tornado roared off in the distance, reminding everyone how vulnerable they all were.

The two stayed crouched in the darkness for another couple of minutes, waiting to see if someone else would appear.

Jasmine stood first, and slowly went deeper into the garage. The older woman followed.

“You’ve had training,” Jasmine said, turning to the woman. “Law Enforcement or Army?”

“Oklahoma police. The platoon was captured and taken down so fast we didn’t know what hit us,” the woman answered. “Corporal Angela Tanner.”

“Please to meet you, sir,” Jasmine said, and then in a casual manner saluted her.

“They brought most of the women and half the men here. Seems Owen is a chicken shit and only takes weak or injured men and kids. From what I understand, whoever does the take down keeps most of the women,” Angela said while offhandedly acknowledging the salute. Out here under these conditions formalities didn’t matter much.

Angela went deeper into the garage and found the electric ignition switch, and turned on the lanterns. “These bastards are smart; I have to give them that. They’ve been living outside since the impact, and very few of them have died off. None from the elements—” she laugh inwardly, “Although I’ve heard Owen has a pick every now and then when his supplies run low.”

Angela pointed to a set of double doors. “In that room is enough food to feed these people for at least five years, why they turned cannibal mystifies me. They fed us well, and not one bite of human flesh…”

“Well, if you think about it, our normal diet consists of animals that do not eat animals, maybe they have the same thought when it comes to cannibalism,” Jasmine wondered aloud with a shrug.