Read Online 600 Miles: A Post-Apocalyptic Adventure by G.P. Grewal - Free Book Online
Authors: G.P. Grewal
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that there weren't nowhere in the world where it wasn't known.
We camped outside the ruins that night, dozens of long dead, broken down automobiles all around, our small fire keeping the chill away, everything so still and quiet, Gitty pressing close to me as she nervously eyed the darkness that caged us in. From far off echoed the sound of something striking metal, giving her a good scare, a banging sound like something knocking against a pipe, but we only heard it a moment before it went away.
"Just the wind unsettling things," Roy said, the firelight lighting up his rugged face. "It seems this city is as dead as I heard it was, though I wouldn't want to speak too soon."
My eyes searched the rubble around us, every creak and groan that came from the wrecked junkers and steel cables that stuck out from the crumbled overpass we sat under putting my nerves on edge.
"How come there ain't no people here, I wonder?"
"Nothing left here," Roy said. "Most probably died during the fighting. Those who survived probably decided to move on after the food ran out. We're probably the only ones around for miles. Go on, get some sleep. I'll take first watch."
I was tired and so was grateful he'd said it, laying myself next to Gitty and shutting my eyes. Weren't much sleeping that night though, at least for me, not in the ruins that was like an ancient graveyard, so creepy and quiet and feeling like death, the bridge over us creaking every so often as the wind blew. Still, no matter how sinister the place felt, nothing bad ever happened, which was a good thing because I wouldn't have wanted Gitty to be in any danger, though I have to confess I thought we might be knee-deep in it by now.
Maybe Lost Angeles was like every other place I'd ever visited after hearing so much about: a lot of tales of how exciting or dangerous it was, a lot of stories about adventure and hidden treasure, and then you get there and weren't much to it at all. A little boring, maybe. I guess that's just the way it was, things always being a lot less thrilling in person than people made them out to be, though at least it would still be some good sight-seeing and at least I'd be able to say I went.
I turned on my side and spooned up closer to Gitty, that good woman being the best comfort I could ask for sleeping in that gloomy place, my mind wandering to dreams of us resting nice and easy on the warm California sand.
Chapter 10
It weren't long after I got up to take watch and Roy turned in that the sound started coming again, that clink of metal on metal from somewhere out there in the dark. I listened a while until it finally stopped and it was quiet again, just the crackle of our little fire and the occasional creak from the overpass we was camped under, though I told myself it weren't nothing to worry about, that that bridge weren't going to come falling down on our heads.
All those hundreds of stars began to fade and then came the sun, and, though a little depressing, the dark ruins of Lost Angeles weren't so scary anymore. Roy was up even before Gitty, even though he'd hardly slept. Still, though the cobwebs were thick in my head he seemed alert and ready, though I could plainly see the dark circles under his eyes.
That cigar came out and he lit it on the fire and started puffing, his hand moving down to his holster, it being the first time I'd ever seen him draw his pistol since we'd been traveling together. He took out the magazine then slapped it back in, wiping down the barrel and the ivory grip with a fancy handkerchief that looked more like something Gitty would have worn.
"Fancy gun you got there," I said. "A real looker."
He stopped rubbing it down, holding it up and turning it around for show. "Yeah, she's a real sweetie," he said. "Hasn't let me down yet."
"Sure is something else," I said, taking in the beauty of that shiny, nickel-plated barrel and ivory grip.
"Beretta 92," he said, shoving it back in his holster.
"Where'd you get it?
We camped outside the ruins that night, dozens of long dead, broken down automobiles all around, our small fire keeping the chill away, everything so still and quiet, Gitty pressing close to me as she nervously eyed the darkness that caged us in. From far off echoed the sound of something striking metal, giving her a good scare, a banging sound like something knocking against a pipe, but we only heard it a moment before it went away.
"Just the wind unsettling things," Roy said, the firelight lighting up his rugged face. "It seems this city is as dead as I heard it was, though I wouldn't want to speak too soon."
My eyes searched the rubble around us, every creak and groan that came from the wrecked junkers and steel cables that stuck out from the crumbled overpass we sat under putting my nerves on edge.
"How come there ain't no people here, I wonder?"
"Nothing left here," Roy said. "Most probably died during the fighting. Those who survived probably decided to move on after the food ran out. We're probably the only ones around for miles. Go on, get some sleep. I'll take first watch."
I was tired and so was grateful he'd said it, laying myself next to Gitty and shutting my eyes. Weren't much sleeping that night though, at least for me, not in the ruins that was like an ancient graveyard, so creepy and quiet and feeling like death, the bridge over us creaking every so often as the wind blew. Still, no matter how sinister the place felt, nothing bad ever happened, which was a good thing because I wouldn't have wanted Gitty to be in any danger, though I have to confess I thought we might be knee-deep in it by now.
Maybe Lost Angeles was like every other place I'd ever visited after hearing so much about: a lot of tales of how exciting or dangerous it was, a lot of stories about adventure and hidden treasure, and then you get there and weren't much to it at all. A little boring, maybe. I guess that's just the way it was, things always being a lot less thrilling in person than people made them out to be, though at least it would still be some good sight-seeing and at least I'd be able to say I went.
I turned on my side and spooned up closer to Gitty, that good woman being the best comfort I could ask for sleeping in that gloomy place, my mind wandering to dreams of us resting nice and easy on the warm California sand.
Chapter 10
It weren't long after I got up to take watch and Roy turned in that the sound started coming again, that clink of metal on metal from somewhere out there in the dark. I listened a while until it finally stopped and it was quiet again, just the crackle of our little fire and the occasional creak from the overpass we was camped under, though I told myself it weren't nothing to worry about, that that bridge weren't going to come falling down on our heads.
All those hundreds of stars began to fade and then came the sun, and, though a little depressing, the dark ruins of Lost Angeles weren't so scary anymore. Roy was up even before Gitty, even though he'd hardly slept. Still, though the cobwebs were thick in my head he seemed alert and ready, though I could plainly see the dark circles under his eyes.
That cigar came out and he lit it on the fire and started puffing, his hand moving down to his holster, it being the first time I'd ever seen him draw his pistol since we'd been traveling together. He took out the magazine then slapped it back in, wiping down the barrel and the ivory grip with a fancy handkerchief that looked more like something Gitty would have worn.
"Fancy gun you got there," I said. "A real looker."
He stopped rubbing it down, holding it up and turning it around for show. "Yeah, she's a real sweetie," he said. "Hasn't let me down yet."
"Sure is something else," I said, taking in the beauty of that shiny, nickel-plated barrel and ivory grip.
"Beretta 92," he said, shoving it back in his holster.
"Where'd you get it?
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