Read Online 600 Miles: A Post-Apocalyptic Adventure by G.P. Grewal - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: G.P. Grewal
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for you here."
"I don't want any treasure if it means we're going end up like the rest of these folks."
"You worry too much," I chuckled. "Ain't nothing here dangerous but me and Roy. Ain't that right, Roy?"
"Look up there," he said.
Down the street was a great big white building that reflected the bright afternoon sun, taller no doubt than any building I'd ever seen, hundreds of windows, thousands maybe, stretching all the way up to the very top. When we reached the intersection where it stood, I could see in full just how far that giant tower reached up into the sky, feeling dizzy as I looked up. Skyscraper , I thought, understanding at last just why they were called it, marveling at how anything so big could have ever been made by human hands.
"Jesus Cries," I said, "I ain't never witnessed anything so tall!"
"A real life Tower of Babel," said Roy.
Tink... Tink… Tink.
I heard the noise. We all did, that hammering on the pipe racket from the night before. We looked around, Gitty suddenly all jumpy, though there weren't any telling where it was coming from, the sound echoing off the empty buildings that surrounded us. Then, silence.
"What do you think it is?" I said. "Don't seem like the wind doing it no more."
Then it came again, louder, stopping then starting every few seconds. I spun around. It seemed like it was coming from up the street, back toward the intersection from which we'd come.
"I don't know, but we should be moving," Roy said. "We might not be as alone as we think."
The noise tapered off as we started walking, as if standing still were the thing that made it come. Down Grand Avenue we went then made another turn, then another, each street as narrow and cluttered as the next, heaps of rubble and dead junkers blocking our way. Roy didn't seem to know where we was headed but he kept leading us, stopping at intersections and turning as if his instincts could guide us out of there, Gitty sticking close to me and staring up at the dark broken out windows and throwing looks over her shoulder like she might suddenly see something following us, though weren't nothing ever there.
Then it came again, only this time we hadn't been standing still when it happened. It didn't sound three times then stop like before either, but kept going and going, metal hitting metal, and there weren't no mistaking that it was following us from behind. My hand went to my pistol, Gitty unslinging her rifle as even Roy turned to listen, his boots crunching on broken glass as he walked back to stand in front of us.
Then we saw a startling thing coming from way down the street, tall buildings looming on either side. It was a man, half-naked, no shirt, just a ragged pair of old britches, his face looking like a skull. He kept walking forward, that painted on skull face—if that's what it was and he weren't some devil of Lost Angeles—getting closer and closer as we stood our ground.
Finally he stopped, maybe twenty yards, and we realized he'd been the one making all the noise. In his hands were two big metal pipes, and slowly he started tapping them again, that hollow clinking sound echoing off the walls.
"Holy moly!" Gitty said, the skull-faced man just staring at us, slowly banging his pipes together like he was keeping time with a windup clock.
"Come on," Roy said.
We turned away, walking faster than before, the skeleton man just watching from where he stood. After a few more steps Gitty stopped dead in her tracks, drawing a breath as she spotted the figures that suddenly appeared up ahead. They came out of the alleys, filing in from both sides until there were six, then seven, then even more, all wild and crazy looking like the one with the pipes, some of them with the painted faces, lean and hungry looking every one of them, wielding clubs and knives and baseball bats and broken bottles.
Weren't no parley to be had. They came on howling, fixing to make quick work of us, and maybe they was too dumb to know what guns
"I don't want any treasure if it means we're going end up like the rest of these folks."
"You worry too much," I chuckled. "Ain't nothing here dangerous but me and Roy. Ain't that right, Roy?"
"Look up there," he said.
Down the street was a great big white building that reflected the bright afternoon sun, taller no doubt than any building I'd ever seen, hundreds of windows, thousands maybe, stretching all the way up to the very top. When we reached the intersection where it stood, I could see in full just how far that giant tower reached up into the sky, feeling dizzy as I looked up. Skyscraper , I thought, understanding at last just why they were called it, marveling at how anything so big could have ever been made by human hands.
"Jesus Cries," I said, "I ain't never witnessed anything so tall!"
"A real life Tower of Babel," said Roy.
Tink... Tink… Tink.
I heard the noise. We all did, that hammering on the pipe racket from the night before. We looked around, Gitty suddenly all jumpy, though there weren't any telling where it was coming from, the sound echoing off the empty buildings that surrounded us. Then, silence.
"What do you think it is?" I said. "Don't seem like the wind doing it no more."
Then it came again, louder, stopping then starting every few seconds. I spun around. It seemed like it was coming from up the street, back toward the intersection from which we'd come.
"I don't know, but we should be moving," Roy said. "We might not be as alone as we think."
The noise tapered off as we started walking, as if standing still were the thing that made it come. Down Grand Avenue we went then made another turn, then another, each street as narrow and cluttered as the next, heaps of rubble and dead junkers blocking our way. Roy didn't seem to know where we was headed but he kept leading us, stopping at intersections and turning as if his instincts could guide us out of there, Gitty sticking close to me and staring up at the dark broken out windows and throwing looks over her shoulder like she might suddenly see something following us, though weren't nothing ever there.
Then it came again, only this time we hadn't been standing still when it happened. It didn't sound three times then stop like before either, but kept going and going, metal hitting metal, and there weren't no mistaking that it was following us from behind. My hand went to my pistol, Gitty unslinging her rifle as even Roy turned to listen, his boots crunching on broken glass as he walked back to stand in front of us.
Then we saw a startling thing coming from way down the street, tall buildings looming on either side. It was a man, half-naked, no shirt, just a ragged pair of old britches, his face looking like a skull. He kept walking forward, that painted on skull face—if that's what it was and he weren't some devil of Lost Angeles—getting closer and closer as we stood our ground.
Finally he stopped, maybe twenty yards, and we realized he'd been the one making all the noise. In his hands were two big metal pipes, and slowly he started tapping them again, that hollow clinking sound echoing off the walls.
"Holy moly!" Gitty said, the skull-faced man just staring at us, slowly banging his pipes together like he was keeping time with a windup clock.
"Come on," Roy said.
We turned away, walking faster than before, the skeleton man just watching from where he stood. After a few more steps Gitty stopped dead in her tracks, drawing a breath as she spotted the figures that suddenly appeared up ahead. They came out of the alleys, filing in from both sides until there were six, then seven, then even more, all wild and crazy looking like the one with the pipes, some of them with the painted faces, lean and hungry looking every one of them, wielding clubs and knives and baseball bats and broken bottles.
Weren't no parley to be had. They came on howling, fixing to make quick work of us, and maybe they was too dumb to know what guns
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