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

She left the dirt bike attached to the rocket and whipped across the bridge, nearly praying aloud that the bridge wouldn’t collapse. Not only did it not, but it was sturdy enough to even handle a heavier load. The bikes are pulling trailers.

She came out from the ravine and hit highway 75 with the throttle wide open. At last she was creeping up on a hundred and ten miles per hour and feeling the rush, the thrill, and the warmth of knowing that she was getting close. Close to finding and killing the bastard who was responsible for the death of her father.

Within a few minutes, the haze, like a mortician carrying away a body, blurred all traces of Jasmine’s tracks as if she had never stood in the grip of Death atop the Nine of Swords. As if she had never crossed the Red River, hurling past Sherman, McKinney, Alan, Plano, The Colony, and Carrollton. Neighborhoods that she remembered as a young girl, neighborhoods that she thought she’d never see again.

As she sped south on highway 75 she saw the peaks of some of the remaining skyscrapers. Their facades ripped away leaving skeletal ironworks rusting away, never again supporting the life that had at one time walked the halls of employment. Some of the taller buildings disappeared into the golden-brown haze and she wondered if they were still intact or had their tops crumbled down to the once-crowded sidewalks and tarred roadways. She also wondered if anyone had taken residence in the buildings. According to the information she had gotten, the Last Pharmacist took residence in a medical facility near downtown.

Jasmine pulled into an old gas station. The bay doors were down but looked fragile as if they were ready to fall with one good harsh wind. The plate-glass front was long gone with very little remains lying in or out of the building.

She pushed the bikes in through the windows and into the garage. The lift was on the ground and the oil-changing hole was filled with debris. No dead left behind. Nor were there traces of violence.

She pushed the bikes into a corner with the front facing outward in case she needed a quick escape and looked around, hoping she’d pick up a vibe that said she’d be better off elsewhere. She felt nothing, which was usually a good sign.

Exhausted, she needed sleep, and looked for a place she could lie down for a few hours, and found an office or maybe a walk in pantry-type closet. It was bare, and had never given shelter to anyone after the impact. In fact, the small room was quite clean comparatively to what she had seen since she left home.

She took her pack off and removed a sleeping bag that she knew would keep her warm; however, she moaned at the thought of having a nice soft mattress to lay on. “The floor will have to do,” Jasmine mumbled, and spread the bag in the corner where she could sleep sitting up, facing the door.

She then tried the door and was ecstatic that it closed with no effort. In fact, the door not only closed, it actually latched. The lock, which was on the inside, bolted in place with no effort as if the impact had never corroded its parts. It wasn’t new by any means but had been relatively untouched.

With a Glock in her lap and the Mossberg by her side she closed her eyes and within a few minutes she fell asleep.

She didn’t hear the coyotes padding through the storefront. Nor did she hear the sniffing at the bottom of the door that led to where she lay sleeping.

Five of them lay looking at the door. Waiting.

Something stirred. A dream maybe. Jasmine didn’t know but she bolted up, and as her body came up so did the Glock in her right hand. Her left hand rested on the Mossberg, ready.

Then she heard the sniff.

“Damn it,” She mumbled.

A paw appeared beneath the door. Then a brownish-black nose.

She stood, stretched and holstered both weapons. She had no desire to kill the hungry beast anymore than she wanted to open the door. She slept well, but not long enough and wondered if they had made a mark on the door.

Foolishly, she checked the lock. Then lightly pulled and pushed on the door to make sure it was still secure. It was. She checked her pack for rations and found something what could keep them busy. She needed a few more hours of sleep and knew if that brownish-black nose stayed out there it would make a good sentry. If anyone came into the garage they’d have to fire on the coyotes first.

Jasmine got to her knees and counted paws and noses and thought she counted four of the hungry beasts.

She had power bars made of peanut butter, syrup, and shredded wheat and barley. Not an exceptionally healthy snack, but not bad either. She pinched five bars. Then slid them beneath the door. She waited until the sniffing, growling, and grumbling settled down and then went back to her sleeping bag, and returned to her corner.

With a Glock in her lap and the Mossberg by her side she closed her eyes and within a few minutes she fell asleep.

She didn’t hear the padding of paws across the garage floor. Nor did she hear the clumping of boots.

Jasmine held her father’s hand and smiled when she felt both the roughness of his fingers but the softness of his palms. She loved it when he ran his fingers gently across her cheeks, then tweaking her nose in the morning when he’d awaken her for school.

Just like now.

She felt the fingers caress her cheek, then her neck, and it wasn’t until she felt the fingers push against her right breast did she know she was no longer dreaming and was in danger.

“You make a quick move, little girl, and it’ll be harsh. I might let you live but you’ll wish you were dead,” The voice said to her. Certainly not a voice she recognized and it was so close to her she felt his breath on her neck. “I haven’t seen someone sleep so hard in a long, long time,” The voice continued. “You slept through me chasing off the coyotes, jimmying the door open, taking all your weapons, then copping a feel.” He sniggered as his hand cupped her right breast. “Firm. I like that in a woman.”

Jasmine kept her eyes closed. Using her mind’s eyes she looked for his weakness.

“I know you’re awake, so you can open your eyes anytime now… I suspect they’re big—”

“Better to see you with,” Jasmine answered. Faster than she had ever moved she hit the man in the throat. Then bounded to her feet as he fell back, gagging. In the fluid movements that she had trained so hard to perfect, she grabbed his pistol stuck it against his shoulder and pulled the trigger.

The bang was loud but his scream was louder.

Standing over him, she pointed the pistol at his forehead. “Never! Ever! Wake me up like that again!”

The man laid clutching his throat and gagging, and trying to scoot to the door. All the while amazed at how fast she was able to hit, disarm, and shoot him.

“If you move again I’m going to have to shoot you, so do us a favor and lay still,” Jasmine said. He froze with one knee pointing upward as if he ready to push himself again. She then picked up her weapons and holstered them. “Where’re my knives?”

The man motioned behind her and she picked them up and returned them to their sheathes.

“Are you out of your fucking mind? Did my weapons not give you a clue? Not only am I fully armed but I’m damned dangerous, you stupid shit.” She looked out the door. “If you killed just one of those coyotes, I’m going to kill you. Now lay still.”

He couldn’t move if he wanted to. He was still gasping and gagging for breath, his shoulder burned, and he was scared out of his mind. In all of his conflicts of trying to stay alive he had never run into anyone like her.

She rolled him over on his stomach and zip-tied his hands behind his back. Then rolled him back onto his back and then dragged him over to the wall and pulled him into a sitting position.