Part 18 (1/2)
”Head straight for him.”
”He's not going to let me hit him.”
”You don't need to.” Jerry hit a second switch. There was a whirring deep inside the hood of the Silver Lining. Slowly a steel plate rose to cover the front of the driver's winds.h.i.+eld.
The rider began to fire. Erica ducked. The coach began to veer.
Jerry grabbed the wheel as bullets bounced off the plate. The pa.s.senger side winds.h.i.+eld shattered. Jerry peered through a slit in the steel plate, and pulled a cable with his right hand.
The Silver Lining's grill dropped and revealed a solid line of barrels that stretched across the front of the motor home.
The rider saw the threat and tried to swerve.
Jerry yanked a grouping of cables that ran across the triggers of fifty-two shotguns mounted under the hood of his post-apocalyptic motor home.
The rider didn't explode, but disappeared into a misty cloud of blood. He caught the blast full on and flew backwards off his bike. The bike continued off to the side of the road and bounced harmlessly down the hill.
”Slow down.”
Her foot was glued to the floor.
”Slow down, Erica.”
This time she listened.
”Is everyone okay?”
”What was that?” The boys were bruised from the b.u.mpy ride, but otherwise unharmed.
”Fifty-two shotguns all fired at once. I put them there for barricades or zombies. But it seems to work for this too.”
He hit the switch again and the armor plate retreated back under the hood.
The boys looked at him in awe. Erica stared at him.
”Take this exit. We're going to have to cut through Dallas.”
She responded slowly, but took the exit. The onramp was, for the most part, intact. She navigated it carefully and they merged on to the Interstate highway that would take them into the jungle city of Dallas.
TWENTY-THREE.
The wheel wobbled. Bent out of alignment, it shook the rider who struggled to control the bike. He had one hand on the throttle and the other cradled across his chest; a bone protruded below the elbow.
Two men rushed to steady the bike as the rider carefully pulled a tender leg over the frame. Limping, he approached his commander.
Pacing the length of the trailer, the major surveyed the flattened tire and grumbled as he walked from one flat to another.
”What do you have to report?” he wheezed as he knelt to inspect the bullet hole. The phosphorus rounds had not only torn through the rubber, but melted it as well.
”They got away, sir. The others are dead.”
The major didn't react. He continued to study the tires. Placing a finger through the hole, he found that the tire was still smoking. ”They shot my tires.”
”I'm sorry, sir.”
The major stood and turned to the rider.
The battered soldier flinched. The major had always been gruesome and intimidating. Now he stared, patch-less, into the eyes of the fallen rider.
”Is something wrong?”
”No, no, sir.” The empty socket was filled with scar tissue deep inside the cavity. The healing wounds across his face puffed around the st.i.tches. The rider backed away. The major's pale blue eye didn't waver.
”The patch was aggravating the st.i.tches. Hurt like a sonofab.i.t.c.h. It doesn't bother you, does it?”
”No, sir.”
”Now,” the major stepped forward and took the rider by his broken arm, ”let's talk about how they got away.” The major dragged the rider down the length of the trailer.
The limping caused him to lose a step to the major. The major responded by pulling harder on the arm.
”Tell me what happened.”
The rider bit back screams of pain, ”The, the Winnebago was armored and there were guns everywhere.”
The pair stopped in front of the prison car. The dirty ma.s.ses inside peered out through the slats of the former livestock hauler.
”I cannot allow failure in my command.” He twisted the rider's arm at the wrist.
The soldier screamed ferociously and dropped to his knees. Twisting his body, he attempted to move with the major to lessen the pain.
”I gave you shelter, food, purpose, and you reward me with failure!”
Crewmembers stopped their tasks and turned their attention to watch the reprimand.
”You're weak.” The major tugged on the arm again, exposing more bone. ”My command is no place for the weak. This world is no place for the weak. The weak will only suffer. Only the strong will prosper.”
He released the soldier's arm and shoved him back against the truck. There he leaned, doubled over, cradling his mangled limb.
”Stand up, soldier! Stand at attention when you stand before me.”
The soldier grit his teeth and stood, painful as it was, with his arms at his side.
”Be strong.”