5. Christopher #2
My shoulder throbs, but we make it to the top without a problem.
Zinnia’s a real trooper. I close the silo’s sliding roof, then notice the wall’s gate has closed.
Hair rises on the back of my neck. Did renegades sneak in behind me?
I should have tripped the breaker…but I was too concerned about returning to the truck without delay.
“They close automatically.”
I glance down at the munchkin I hold. Did that clear voice really come from her? I sniff at the air—no strange smells—so I flip the switch in the utility box, and it opens again.
“Where’s Mommy?”
I trigger the bed covering to rise and whoosh to the back of the truck.
Zinnia twists in my arms to glance from her mother to me. “Why is she here?”
“Stretched out, she’ll get the best rest as we drive home.”
“Oh.”
I close the bed cover, then help Zinnia into the truck’s passenger seat and buckle her in.
A memory from a long time ago about car seats momentarily bothers me, but there’s nothing I can do about it.
The truck is a custom-equipped electric vehicle provided by the Lux and not designed for transporting children.
It’s also a vehicle that renegades would give both fangs for.
The night sky grows lighter. Sunrise is closer than I’d like.
I put the pedal to the metal and get us out of there.
The washed-out road leading to the highway is bumpy, and without seatbelts we’d be tossed around, but the truck’s oversized off-road tires make passage over desert sand and rocks possible.
An on-ramp takes us to the main highway, one of the roads that survived the monsoon rains, so we should make decent time returning home.
Zinnia’s silent, staring out at the starlit desert.
I appreciate the lack of chatter. We’re not out of danger just because we’re on the road.
I drive with the headlights off. I’m not giving renegades an easier chance to spot me.
They’ve been more active in this area lately, rattling their sabers over choice scavenging territory.
The electric motors—one driving the rear axle, the other powering the front—run silently at this speed, which means the only sound that gives me away is my tires on sand.
That, and my tracks. Although the wind usually whips up sand, which covers those pretty fast.
Twenty minutes into our journey, Zinnia turns in her seat to face me. “Why is your picture on your t-shirt?”
So that’s what had her so fascinated earlier. “That’s me and my band. From one of our pre-Collapse tours.”
Wearing shirts from past concerts keeps my spirits up and my mind focused on my dreams. I hope to earn enough from a scavenging contract to get the band back together.
I have my own recording studio at the preservation ark and send new songs to the other members of Wine Dark Night to get their opinions.
My co-lead singer, Evelina, will sometimes lay down a harmony track and send it back.
When we’re done with our ark contracts, we plan on touring again.
A dream I blew to bits when I turned Maria into my fledgling.
Zinnia tilts her head. “What’s a band?”
I glance up at the road. Dammit! Renegades have constructed a temporary blockade across the highway. Could this night get any worse?
I tap the brakes. “I’ll tell you later, kiddo. Gotta concentrate on defending us right now.” I reach over and tug on Zinnia’s seatbelt to make sure it’s tight. “You’re going to hear a loud noise. Nothing to worry about.”
“You have bigger guns than they do?”
Her voice is so clear for a preschooler. Maybe I’ve misjudged her age. She looks up at me with those big, plaintive eyes.
“Yeah, much bigger guns.”
I bring up the targeting screen, confirm two Sidewinder missiles are ready for launch, and lock on the stack of rusted cars forming the blockade.
If I hit my target, it’ll spin the cars off the road and roll them onto the sand.
Firing directly at the road itself is a bad idea.
I have to drive this highway again, and public works crews are no longer available to repair the asphalt.
I catch glimpses of the renegades in the spaces between the top and bottom cars. On foot, they shuffle around behind the barrier. Taking careful aim, I hit the button for the first missile.
Unlike in the old movies, the missiles move silently. They release an initial puff of smoke and a slight sparking sound, then nothing. But when the warhead hits, Zinnia reacts to the boom, crouching in her seat.
I pat her head, feeling awkward doing so. “It’s okay.”
I return my gaze to the road and swerve. Screw me. I aimed too low. I swing the steering wheel again to miss the buckled asphalt, taking us through the path the Sidewinder cleared, then into the crevice it carved, and out the other side.
A renegade team follows on their four-wheel dirt bikes—they must have been waiting, anticipating my defense. They’ve modified the bikes, adding big, fat tires they’ve scavenged over the decades, which allows them to glide over the sand behind me.
But my truck is faster, and I can outrun them. I just hate leading them back to the ark. I’d rather they think I’m another renegade like themselves. Then they’d leave me alone.
As a zookeeper, I have things they envy.
Blood.
Air conditioning.
Running water.
A safe and comfortable place to sleep.
I glance over at Zinnia. She sits back up, peering out the windshield into the purplish predawn.
Mashing the accelerator to the floor, the electric truck doesn’t just accelerate—it launches forward.
No hesitation, no downshift, just an instant, violent surge pinning my spine flat against the seat.
Thank God I fastened the belt and harness around the little girl.
We zip along, watching the renegades fall back.
And then it happens. My truck begins to slow.
Butter my butt and call me a biscuit.
I’ve pushed too hard, and the flashing emergency gauge warns that the battery is dying. I thump my finger on the light. Why isn’t the inverter automatically switching to the backup battery?
I can’t take the risk that the warning gauge is faulty.
The backup battery will get us to the ark, but not by much.
With the inverter failing to do its job, I bypass safety protocols and punch the manual override button on the dash.
Interrupting our power supply automatically runs the dual motors in reverse, and the truck slows even more.
Then a high-voltage hum ripples through the floorboards as the backup battery floods the motors, and we seamlessly accelerate.
I glance at the rearview video screen. The renegades are gaining on us. Is it worth wasting a Sidewinder on the scattered bikes behind me? Probably not. It might take out two of them, but the rest would continue following.
The road ahead is flat and straight. I can do this.
“Stay down,” I tell Zinnia.
I tap the button to deploy the machine gun. Loaded with silver bullets, it should slow them down, and I slide the moonroof open. The only problem with the machine gun is I can’t fire it remotely.
Which leaves one option if we’re going to keep driving. “Zinnia, see this pedal on the floor?”
“Uh huh.”
“Can you release your seatbelt, crawl on the floor, and press it with one hand, keeping the other on the steering wheel? Don’t let it move.”
“Will Mommy be okay?”
“She’s okay if we’re okay.”
“Will the bunnies get hurt?”
Priorities. I almost laugh. Almost. “Not if I stop those guys behind us.”
She nods.
“Okay, do it.”
Once she’s in place, and I feel confident she’s applying sufficient pressure, I stand up on the seat and stick my head through the moonroof, reaching for the controls on the machine gun.
I aim and strafe them from left to right and back again. The renegades fall behind, some filled with silver and dying, others surviving by jumping from their bikes to avoid the deadly bullets.
A sudden swerve almost tosses me out the moonroof, and I lose my footing. I drop onto the seat, twisting to face forward, and grab the steering wheel. We’ve hit a section of the road blown out by God knows what.
Hanging on tight, I swerve us around the damaged asphalt.
In fifteen minutes, we’ll arrive at the ark.
“Okay, kid, you can let go of the pedal now.”
I nudge her hand away with my boot, taking over, and apply a little more pressure.
With any luck, we’ll make it home safe and sound.
Then I’ll have to deal with her mother.