Esmerelda: A Rogue Enforcers Novel by Darlene Tallman (phonics books TXT) 📕

of years, if ever. That is, if they didn’t lose the knowledge in the next generation. It had almost happened during the last battle of Lakota. They came a hair's breadth from being overrun. He knew Gunny and General Carson were eager to get other cities up and operating in case one did get wiped out by zombies or Muslims or sickness or Casey’s Raiders. Occasional reports had been coming in about them from victims of their raids who had escaped. They were like a swarm of locusts, assimilating all the little settlements they came across into their ranks or making them pay for protection. They were little more than a modern-day Genghis Kahn army. Mobile and vicious, taking what they wanted, terrorizing outposts, and forcing survivors to pay tribute. Carl took the drink Tina brought for him and smiled, trying to get back in the celebratory mood. He hoped Jessie would find other outposts that were doing better than they were. There were plenty of small places living like time had been set back a hundred years, burning woodstoves for heat, candles for light, canned goods for food. But what happened when the canned goods ran out? What happened when there was no more gas for the chainsaw? Did people know how to make candles? He hoped and prayed Jessie found something out there that would help them because if Lakota was the pinnacle of civilization, they were in trouble.

7

Jessie

Jessie was so glad to get away from Lakota, away from the well-wishers, away from the eyes that always landed on his scar then quickly looked somewhere else. Away from the SS sisters constantly wanting to probe him and take blood samples. Away from the faces in the mirror urging him to hurry, to get out in the world, to balance the scales. The car felt a little bouncier than it had before. His old man had welded in new suspension from a Raptor that had oversized shocks and springs, so it took him a little while to get used to the way it handled. Not bad, not hard to drive, just different with the run flat tires. He no longer had to tense up when he ran through a pothole or over a body. It was like riding in a Cadillac. The car was heavier and a lot quieter inside with all the Kevlar armor acting as a sound barrier. He could actually hear the radio Scratch had installed without having it cranked all the way up. The old man and Griz had come over the night before last and added dozens of heavy, gold filled, .50 caliber ammo cans under the bed in the converted back seat. His dad explained what they were and that it was his choice to distribute them to the new communities as he saw fit. He was definitely a little more than just a mailman.

The path to the Hutterite Colony was pretty well established, the truckers had already made a few runs to pick up fresh produce from their greenhouses and trade them tools they needed. Jessie looked at the map, at the courier bag that had his list of stops and decided to take a different route. He knew this probably not the mayor’s idea at all. Probably his dad’s so he’d know where he was even when he was outside the walls. He was pretty sure there were a lot of other guys more qualified to be an emissary. Couldn’t blame the old man, he supposed if he ever had a kid, he’d worry about him, too. Not like that was going to happen anytime soon, not with a face like his. He turned off the main road and hit a secondary, falling back into old habits of searching for tell-tale signs of smoke from a chimney or a horde of zombies surrounding a house. Signs of survivors.

Another thing he was doing this time out was tearing down fences. Tommy had rigged up a barrel clamp on a chain and all he had to do was grab a post with it and drive off. He could pull up a half mile before the wire dragging behind started bogging the car down. It was slow work, it would take years to even make a dent in all the fences crisscrossing the land, but they had to begin somewhere. The longest journey begins with a single step, as ol’ Confucius would say. If other people started doing it, too, maybe the penned in horses, cattle and hogs would survive and become numerous again. At least it gave them a fighting chance.

It was only a hundred miles to the Colony, but by the time Jessie was rumbling up to their gated and barred bridge, it was nearing dark. He hadn’t found any survivors, but he’d freed a lot of cattle and mixed himself a bottle of Trucker Speed from a convenience store out in the middle of nowhere. He didn’t need it, not yet, but it was better to have it ready to go, just in case. Bob woke up from one of his endless naps when the car slowed and stopped.

A big, burly-looking man came out to greet him once he’d slid past the gate and they’d secured it.

“You must be Jessie,” he said and stuck out his hand, his eyes not glancing away at the raw scar like so many people did. “I’m Dozer. They said you were on the way.”

Jessie hesitated, memories of the last man he’d shaken with still fresh in his mind. The man who’d grabbed his hand in a death grip then put a gun in his face. Jessie finally raised his own hand in a fist and they bumped. He didn’t care if this was supposed to be a friend. He wasn’t going to make the same mistakes twice.

The man didn’t seem to take offense and invited him to follow his truck down to the community center. He had arrived at the tail-end of dinner