Read Online A Town Called America by Andrew Alexander - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Andrew Alexander
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care where your parents are or if they’re alive or dead. Hey, you…” Rick said, pointing his finger at the smallest one. “You’re gonna die first. Then I think I’ll kill your little dog Toto too.”
“Who the hell is Toto?” the oldest one said, looking confused.
At that point Rick realized the situation was only going to go one way—he wasn’t going to talk his way out. The youngest of the three had walked over to Rick and without expression pointed his pistol at Rick’s head.
That was all it took for Rick to know he had no choice.
As fast as he could, he reached out and grabbed the barrel of the pistol that was pointed at his head, and with as much force as he could muster, he twisted and pulled the gun away, almost pulling the smallest kid off his feet.
With his right arm, Rick reared back his closed fist and punched the kid, who probably weighed no more than 130 pounds, straight in the face. Instantly his face exploded with blood. Rick hit him so hard that he landed nearly three feet away on his back.
With catlike reflexes Rick drew his own revolver, which had an inscription on the handgrip that read, WHO ’ S THE KING , BABY ?
He shot the oldest of the three kids straight in the chest, and before the last one standing could react, he was lying on his back as well after Rick shot him twice.
Shaking his head in disgust, Rick stumbled over to the boy he had punched in the face. He reached down, pulled him off the ground, and held him by the throat. “Look at me, you little shit. Next time a grown-up tells you to do something, you’re gonna do it, right?”
Barely conscious and with a broken nose and fractured jaw, the kid muttered, “Yes, sir.”
Rick took a few moments to sit on the porch steps before he picked up all three handguns. After tossing them into his bag, he headed into the trailer for the night. He was tired, and kids or no kids, he was going to sleep.
THIRTEEN
O n the corner of Elm and Wood Park Avenue, Rick sat on a curb next to a bent metal post that no longer held its aluminum stop sign and was half buried in dirt and mud. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, attempting regain his strength, which was fading quickly. The dilapidated homes in what once had been a prominent, desirable neighborhood now sat silently dying, as paint peeled from the walls and the ceilings bowed and buckled from the waterlogged wood.
It had taken only a few weeks from the first signs of a government meltdown for looters to strip the entire neighborhood clean of its granite countertops and copper pipes. As in other neighborhoods, everything of value was gone, leaving only broken windows, which exposed the interiors of the homes to wind and rain.
Within a few years, the foundations cracked, making way for trees, weeds, and vegetation to grow inside the structures. Roofs collapsed, and walls eventually gave way. Only a decade after the beginning of the global collapse, almost every building appeared as though they’d been that way for hundreds of years. The entire neighborhood was a mere shadow of what it had been. Only gloom and depression remained when Rick opened his eyes.
Four blocks from the corner where Rick was sitting, Chris had slept, woken, and drunk, only to repeat the cycle until she had no more liquor to consume. Her mind was clouded, thus ensuring she didn’t have to cope with reality. She was, indeed, in another place—just as she had intended to be.
Sick to her stomach from booze and the lack of food, she was unable to maintain her balance. She had just woken from sleeping for what felt like days. With no release for her pain and unwilling to take her own life, Chris lay on the floor, curled up in a ball, not even bothering to try to make it to the bed. With her clothes stained with her own blood and vomit, she was at the lowest point in her life.
Outside, the clouds began to part, and after days of heavy rain, the sun slowly broke free. Instantly the warm yellow and gold rays
“Who the hell is Toto?” the oldest one said, looking confused.
At that point Rick realized the situation was only going to go one way—he wasn’t going to talk his way out. The youngest of the three had walked over to Rick and without expression pointed his pistol at Rick’s head.
That was all it took for Rick to know he had no choice.
As fast as he could, he reached out and grabbed the barrel of the pistol that was pointed at his head, and with as much force as he could muster, he twisted and pulled the gun away, almost pulling the smallest kid off his feet.
With his right arm, Rick reared back his closed fist and punched the kid, who probably weighed no more than 130 pounds, straight in the face. Instantly his face exploded with blood. Rick hit him so hard that he landed nearly three feet away on his back.
With catlike reflexes Rick drew his own revolver, which had an inscription on the handgrip that read, WHO ’ S THE KING , BABY ?
He shot the oldest of the three kids straight in the chest, and before the last one standing could react, he was lying on his back as well after Rick shot him twice.
Shaking his head in disgust, Rick stumbled over to the boy he had punched in the face. He reached down, pulled him off the ground, and held him by the throat. “Look at me, you little shit. Next time a grown-up tells you to do something, you’re gonna do it, right?”
Barely conscious and with a broken nose and fractured jaw, the kid muttered, “Yes, sir.”
Rick took a few moments to sit on the porch steps before he picked up all three handguns. After tossing them into his bag, he headed into the trailer for the night. He was tired, and kids or no kids, he was going to sleep.
THIRTEEN
O n the corner of Elm and Wood Park Avenue, Rick sat on a curb next to a bent metal post that no longer held its aluminum stop sign and was half buried in dirt and mud. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, attempting regain his strength, which was fading quickly. The dilapidated homes in what once had been a prominent, desirable neighborhood now sat silently dying, as paint peeled from the walls and the ceilings bowed and buckled from the waterlogged wood.
It had taken only a few weeks from the first signs of a government meltdown for looters to strip the entire neighborhood clean of its granite countertops and copper pipes. As in other neighborhoods, everything of value was gone, leaving only broken windows, which exposed the interiors of the homes to wind and rain.
Within a few years, the foundations cracked, making way for trees, weeds, and vegetation to grow inside the structures. Roofs collapsed, and walls eventually gave way. Only a decade after the beginning of the global collapse, almost every building appeared as though they’d been that way for hundreds of years. The entire neighborhood was a mere shadow of what it had been. Only gloom and depression remained when Rick opened his eyes.
Four blocks from the corner where Rick was sitting, Chris had slept, woken, and drunk, only to repeat the cycle until she had no more liquor to consume. Her mind was clouded, thus ensuring she didn’t have to cope with reality. She was, indeed, in another place—just as she had intended to be.
Sick to her stomach from booze and the lack of food, she was unable to maintain her balance. She had just woken from sleeping for what felt like days. With no release for her pain and unwilling to take her own life, Chris lay on the floor, curled up in a ball, not even bothering to try to make it to the bed. With her clothes stained with her own blood and vomit, she was at the lowest point in her life.
Outside, the clouds began to part, and after days of heavy rain, the sun slowly broke free. Instantly the warm yellow and gold rays
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