him again was the tremendous roar. This time it was the same he had heard when the mutant animal tackled Chewy into the woods—blood curdling and vicious.
He rolled over, expecting to see the monstrous creature towering above him.
There was nothing there.
He peered into the branches and discovered the source of the roar. There were several of them perched high in the limbs of the trees. Loudspeakers.
“I can’t fucking breathe in this anymore.”
The nomad turned his attention back to the bears inside.
The one sitting down had removed its head and placed the bear mask aside. He was young, only a child.
One of the bears roared at him.
“I’m not putting it back on. Find something for my hand. That damned dog almost tore my finger off. And it’s probably infected.”
One of the bears went back to working on a drawer.
The other yelled back at him. His true voice muffled by the bear mask.
“They’re not going to follow me. The dog may have bit me, but they were scared. You should have seen that dude. The only reason he didn’t pee himself is because he was too scared.”
There came a muffled argument.
“Yes. Yes, you can.”
Another muffled argument came from the bear.
“You can too be too scared to not pee yourself. Now, quit being a jerk and help me.”
The bear gave him the finger and went back to searching the coach for food.
Jerry had seen enough. Without a sound, he slid over the edge of the motor coach and lowered himself to the ground. He stepped into the cabin and announced his presence by cocking the shotgun.
“For Super Smart Bears, you’re really stupid.”
THIRTEEN
Squinting through one good eye, the major scanned the deserted street. The retail center had not been directly affected by the apocalypse. Looting accounted for the missing windows in the storefronts.
Sporting goods stores and food centers were hit after the electronics stores had been picked clean.
Looters had taken everything. In the seven years since the bombs, no store escaped the scavengers. People looted jewelry stores hoping there would be value in shiny metal objects. And there had been, for a short while, before hunger overtook greed.
Furniture stores were cleared out for firewood. Auto parts stores were picked clean for fuels and parts to run generators.
Pharmacies were often places of conflict as looters were more discriminating. People searching for life saving medicine became more aggressive fighting over a prescription than they did a media player.
The only stores that had been ignored by the rampant looting were the Blockbusters. No one ever went to Blockbuster.
If there had been anything useful left on the shelves of the strip mall, his scavenging team would have already found it. Trained to be efficient and thorough, it was rare that they missed a useful item.
There was one item, however, that he could not ask his crew to collect.
Personal property was not permitted on the truck. That was the code he enforced on his crew, and drilled into them at every opportunity. Everything was for the good of the whole. The truck would carry nothing that didn’t benefit the crew or the nation they served.
It was for this reason that the major often gathered his gear, placed his lieutenant in charge, and strolled off into the wasteland alone.
Had his charge ever been foolish enough to question his orders, he would explain that it was to determine, firsthand, that the scavenging team performed to expectations. He would tell the soldier this after striking him with whatever blunt object was within reach.
The truth was more personal.
He shifted the weight of the rifle across his back. High-caliber and scoped, it was a tool designed for bringing down large game. While the major feared no man, mutations populated most of the wasteland. They had spread in a very short time; it was necessary to be prepared for an encounter.
The major touched the patch that rest across his temple; his first
He rolled over, expecting to see the monstrous creature towering above him.
There was nothing there.
He peered into the branches and discovered the source of the roar. There were several of them perched high in the limbs of the trees. Loudspeakers.
“I can’t fucking breathe in this anymore.”
The nomad turned his attention back to the bears inside.
The one sitting down had removed its head and placed the bear mask aside. He was young, only a child.
One of the bears roared at him.
“I’m not putting it back on. Find something for my hand. That damned dog almost tore my finger off. And it’s probably infected.”
One of the bears went back to working on a drawer.
The other yelled back at him. His true voice muffled by the bear mask.
“They’re not going to follow me. The dog may have bit me, but they were scared. You should have seen that dude. The only reason he didn’t pee himself is because he was too scared.”
There came a muffled argument.
“Yes. Yes, you can.”
Another muffled argument came from the bear.
“You can too be too scared to not pee yourself. Now, quit being a jerk and help me.”
The bear gave him the finger and went back to searching the coach for food.
Jerry had seen enough. Without a sound, he slid over the edge of the motor coach and lowered himself to the ground. He stepped into the cabin and announced his presence by cocking the shotgun.
“For Super Smart Bears, you’re really stupid.”
THIRTEEN
Squinting through one good eye, the major scanned the deserted street. The retail center had not been directly affected by the apocalypse. Looting accounted for the missing windows in the storefronts.
Sporting goods stores and food centers were hit after the electronics stores had been picked clean.
Looters had taken everything. In the seven years since the bombs, no store escaped the scavengers. People looted jewelry stores hoping there would be value in shiny metal objects. And there had been, for a short while, before hunger overtook greed.
Furniture stores were cleared out for firewood. Auto parts stores were picked clean for fuels and parts to run generators.
Pharmacies were often places of conflict as looters were more discriminating. People searching for life saving medicine became more aggressive fighting over a prescription than they did a media player.
The only stores that had been ignored by the rampant looting were the Blockbusters. No one ever went to Blockbuster.
If there had been anything useful left on the shelves of the strip mall, his scavenging team would have already found it. Trained to be efficient and thorough, it was rare that they missed a useful item.
There was one item, however, that he could not ask his crew to collect.
Personal property was not permitted on the truck. That was the code he enforced on his crew, and drilled into them at every opportunity. Everything was for the good of the whole. The truck would carry nothing that didn’t benefit the crew or the nation they served.
It was for this reason that the major often gathered his gear, placed his lieutenant in charge, and strolled off into the wasteland alone.
Had his charge ever been foolish enough to question his orders, he would explain that it was to determine, firsthand, that the scavenging team performed to expectations. He would tell the soldier this after striking him with whatever blunt object was within reach.
The truth was more personal.
He shifted the weight of the rifle across his back. High-caliber and scoped, it was a tool designed for bringing down large game. While the major feared no man, mutations populated most of the wasteland. They had spread in a very short time; it was necessary to be prepared for an encounter.
The major touched the patch that rest across his temple; his first
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