Read Online 600 Miles: A Post-Apocalyptic Adventure by G.P. Grewal - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: G.P. Grewal
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Puts most pistols I've seen to shame."
"It was a present of sorts, a gift from some scumbag who had a bounty on his head up in Utah. Of course he was dead when I took it. I don't think he would have been willing to part with it alive."
"No kidding? So you're a bounty hunter then?"
"Used to be. Not for long, though it was good work for a while."
"Why'd you stop then?"
"Too much killing. I'm no Christian, at least not anymore, but it gets to you after a while. Problem was, not many men were willing to be brought in alive when they knew they were going to end up hanging anyway, and so finding a man usually meant a choice between getting shot at or gunning him down."
"I see. I got to admit it sounds pretty exciting though. Me, I ain't ever do much other than hunting for salvage and doing a little trading to get by, though one time I did have some work as a guard for some religious folks who was making a pilgrimage to some holy place down in Mexico. Too bad they hadn't hired more men though, because it was just me and one other fella and two days in we got attacked by some men on horseback, some mean sons of bitches who called themselves the 'The Pale Riders', which were strange seeing as not a single one of them was white."
"Interesting. So what happened?"
"Hell, they ended up shooting everybody. Didn't even care if you stuck your hands up, which most of them poor folks did. Well, everyone but me. Me they shot but I played possum until they'd looted the wagons and took off. I would have died, had not some other folks who was heading to Nevada found me after I'd been laying there bleeding a while. They patched me up real good before heading on."
"Looks like Lady Luck was with you."
"Sure was. Hey, let me show you my pistol too. Ain't nothing fancy like yours but it sure has served me good."
I pulled it out, holding it up and turning it back and forth like he did.
"Nice. .357 Magnum?"
"Yup. Genuine Smith and Wesson. Just a snubbie, but it makes it easier sticking her in my pants. Nothing more reliable than a revolver, I'd say. I've had some of them fancy semi-auto pistols before and they weren't nothing but trouble half the time. Ain't no use in being able to shoot twice as many bullets if your gun jams up on you at the wrong time. Of course, none of them was as nice as yours. I imagine that pistol is about as reliable as they come."
"Sure is," he said.
It seemed he weren't much for talking shop, so I stopped gabbing and left him alone. Weren't nothing worse than someone who didn't know how to shut up when the other person just wanted quiet, and I didn't want to be impolite. When Gitty woke up we ate a little of what we had, which was some jerky I had in my pack and some nuts and stale crackers Roy was good enough to share. Then we was moving deeper into the city, some of the streets blocked by so much rubble that we had to climb over it to get by, them buildings looming tall, old automobiles smashed and rusted and flipped over, vines and dry weeds bursting up through the broken concrete, like Mother Nature was slowly trying to take back what was hers. Down one street was a tree growing up right in the middle, the road all cracked and turned up, rats scurrying back into their hiding places, a whole army of pigeons staring down at us from the windows high above.
And so we traveled through the maze of the city, every street looking as blasted and burned out as the one before.
"Must have been some fierce fighting here," I said.
"Looks like it," said Roy.
"Man, I ain't ever seen so many skellies before."
They was all around, hundreds of them just laying in the street, some of them still sitting in their cars, fleshless, dumb, and grinning, their empty sockets watching us as we passed.
"I don't like it here," Gitty said, sticking close to me the whole time. "Why are we even here? Ain't nothing but skeletons and rats."
"Oh, come on. Where's your love of adventure? Hey, I'll bet we'll find some real nice treasures
"It was a present of sorts, a gift from some scumbag who had a bounty on his head up in Utah. Of course he was dead when I took it. I don't think he would have been willing to part with it alive."
"No kidding? So you're a bounty hunter then?"
"Used to be. Not for long, though it was good work for a while."
"Why'd you stop then?"
"Too much killing. I'm no Christian, at least not anymore, but it gets to you after a while. Problem was, not many men were willing to be brought in alive when they knew they were going to end up hanging anyway, and so finding a man usually meant a choice between getting shot at or gunning him down."
"I see. I got to admit it sounds pretty exciting though. Me, I ain't ever do much other than hunting for salvage and doing a little trading to get by, though one time I did have some work as a guard for some religious folks who was making a pilgrimage to some holy place down in Mexico. Too bad they hadn't hired more men though, because it was just me and one other fella and two days in we got attacked by some men on horseback, some mean sons of bitches who called themselves the 'The Pale Riders', which were strange seeing as not a single one of them was white."
"Interesting. So what happened?"
"Hell, they ended up shooting everybody. Didn't even care if you stuck your hands up, which most of them poor folks did. Well, everyone but me. Me they shot but I played possum until they'd looted the wagons and took off. I would have died, had not some other folks who was heading to Nevada found me after I'd been laying there bleeding a while. They patched me up real good before heading on."
"Looks like Lady Luck was with you."
"Sure was. Hey, let me show you my pistol too. Ain't nothing fancy like yours but it sure has served me good."
I pulled it out, holding it up and turning it back and forth like he did.
"Nice. .357 Magnum?"
"Yup. Genuine Smith and Wesson. Just a snubbie, but it makes it easier sticking her in my pants. Nothing more reliable than a revolver, I'd say. I've had some of them fancy semi-auto pistols before and they weren't nothing but trouble half the time. Ain't no use in being able to shoot twice as many bullets if your gun jams up on you at the wrong time. Of course, none of them was as nice as yours. I imagine that pistol is about as reliable as they come."
"Sure is," he said.
It seemed he weren't much for talking shop, so I stopped gabbing and left him alone. Weren't nothing worse than someone who didn't know how to shut up when the other person just wanted quiet, and I didn't want to be impolite. When Gitty woke up we ate a little of what we had, which was some jerky I had in my pack and some nuts and stale crackers Roy was good enough to share. Then we was moving deeper into the city, some of the streets blocked by so much rubble that we had to climb over it to get by, them buildings looming tall, old automobiles smashed and rusted and flipped over, vines and dry weeds bursting up through the broken concrete, like Mother Nature was slowly trying to take back what was hers. Down one street was a tree growing up right in the middle, the road all cracked and turned up, rats scurrying back into their hiding places, a whole army of pigeons staring down at us from the windows high above.
And so we traveled through the maze of the city, every street looking as blasted and burned out as the one before.
"Must have been some fierce fighting here," I said.
"Looks like it," said Roy.
"Man, I ain't ever seen so many skellies before."
They was all around, hundreds of them just laying in the street, some of them still sitting in their cars, fleshless, dumb, and grinning, their empty sockets watching us as we passed.
"I don't like it here," Gitty said, sticking close to me the whole time. "Why are we even here? Ain't nothing but skeletons and rats."
"Oh, come on. Where's your love of adventure? Hey, I'll bet we'll find some real nice treasures
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