Read Online Last Man Standing (Book 1): Hunger by Keith Taylor - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Keith Taylor
Tags: Zombies
Ads: Link
heavy plant nearby to shift the vehicles, I figure, or they've recruited the Hulk to help them build their roadblocks.
This continues all the way down to 9th Street, where a yellow JCB with an enormous scoop slowly levers an old cab up onto its hood until it finally falls, upside down, on top of a beautiful silver Porsche 911 ragtop. I can't help but wince as I watch the windshield cave in under the weight of the cab. It feels like such a waste. The street is thronged with old beaters. Couldn't they have spared the nice cars?
A young soldier flags us down, and Kate rolls down her window.
"OK, guys, you can just pull it into that gap right there." He points to a break in the cars by the Porsche. "Wedge it as best you can, understand?"
Arnold leans over Kate and berates the soldier. "Son, I've been driving this car fifteen years. She's like a child to me. Why don't you just use one of these other cars and leave her be?"
The soldier shoulders his rifle and leans in the window. He looks like a twelve year old pre-shaver, but he does his best to stick out his chin and act like a tough guy. "Because, sir , we don't have the keys to these cars. It takes ten minutes for this fucking earthmover to push each one onto the pile, and I need to get this street secured by sundown. Now shut up and wedge the damned car."
Arnold turns away from the soldier and puts the car in gear. "Sorry, Bessie," he sighs, pulling it slowly into the gap. "I guess this is where we part ways." He coasts it gently up to the Porsche and stops a couple of feet from the front bumper. "You were a good girl." He pats the wheel and cuts off the engine with a sigh.
The young soldier turns back from his work directing the JCB and calls out. "Pull it in closer, old timer. I want it wedged right up against that Porsche. No gaps."
Arnold reluctantly restarts the engine, shifts into gear and slowly, gently pulls the car a few more inches closer before putting it back into park. There's still a solid six inches of space between the vehicles.
"Jesus!" yells the kid. "We're making a roadblock here. Stop being so fucking precious about it. Pull. It. Closer ."
Arnold shuts off the engine and calls out. "You know what, fuck you, kid. This is my damned car."
"Easy now, Arnold," I warn, resting my hand on his shoulder. "We don't want any trouble, OK? We have bigger things to worry about than a car."
My words have no effect. Arnold seems to have slipped into that recalcitrant state shared by crotchety old people and little kids who flat out refuse to eat their vegetables. I'm sure he knows deep down that he's acting irrationally. He knows it's crazy to try to protect a car when the world is collapsing around him, but he's been pushed too far by an uppity kid holding a gun, and now he won't move another inch. He crosses his arms and stares down the soldier.
"Oh, for the love of God," the kid sighs. He pulls his rifle down from his shoulder and holds it menacingly, pointed at the asphalt in front of the car. "I'll do it myself. Get out of the car, sir." Arnold stares straight ahead and tightens his arms. "Get out of the car now ."
With the final word he lifts the muzzle of the gun and points it directly through the window at Arnold. Kate flinches in the front passenger seat and lets out a panicked cry. She grabs Arnold by the arm and shakes him. "Do what he says, for God's sake! Arnold, this is crazy!"
Kate's voice seems to get through to the old guy more effectively than the gun pointed at his head. He looks at her and sighs, slowly uncrossing his arms, and mumbles. "It's just..." I can't see his eyes from the back seat, but I can hear tears in his quivering voice. "Bessie belonged to my son." He places both hands on the wheel and holds it tight, like he's holding the hands that used to rest there. "He didn't leave much when he went to Iraq, but I promised him I'd take care of her until..." his breath catches
This continues all the way down to 9th Street, where a yellow JCB with an enormous scoop slowly levers an old cab up onto its hood until it finally falls, upside down, on top of a beautiful silver Porsche 911 ragtop. I can't help but wince as I watch the windshield cave in under the weight of the cab. It feels like such a waste. The street is thronged with old beaters. Couldn't they have spared the nice cars?
A young soldier flags us down, and Kate rolls down her window.
"OK, guys, you can just pull it into that gap right there." He points to a break in the cars by the Porsche. "Wedge it as best you can, understand?"
Arnold leans over Kate and berates the soldier. "Son, I've been driving this car fifteen years. She's like a child to me. Why don't you just use one of these other cars and leave her be?"
The soldier shoulders his rifle and leans in the window. He looks like a twelve year old pre-shaver, but he does his best to stick out his chin and act like a tough guy. "Because, sir , we don't have the keys to these cars. It takes ten minutes for this fucking earthmover to push each one onto the pile, and I need to get this street secured by sundown. Now shut up and wedge the damned car."
Arnold turns away from the soldier and puts the car in gear. "Sorry, Bessie," he sighs, pulling it slowly into the gap. "I guess this is where we part ways." He coasts it gently up to the Porsche and stops a couple of feet from the front bumper. "You were a good girl." He pats the wheel and cuts off the engine with a sigh.
The young soldier turns back from his work directing the JCB and calls out. "Pull it in closer, old timer. I want it wedged right up against that Porsche. No gaps."
Arnold reluctantly restarts the engine, shifts into gear and slowly, gently pulls the car a few more inches closer before putting it back into park. There's still a solid six inches of space between the vehicles.
"Jesus!" yells the kid. "We're making a roadblock here. Stop being so fucking precious about it. Pull. It. Closer ."
Arnold shuts off the engine and calls out. "You know what, fuck you, kid. This is my damned car."
"Easy now, Arnold," I warn, resting my hand on his shoulder. "We don't want any trouble, OK? We have bigger things to worry about than a car."
My words have no effect. Arnold seems to have slipped into that recalcitrant state shared by crotchety old people and little kids who flat out refuse to eat their vegetables. I'm sure he knows deep down that he's acting irrationally. He knows it's crazy to try to protect a car when the world is collapsing around him, but he's been pushed too far by an uppity kid holding a gun, and now he won't move another inch. He crosses his arms and stares down the soldier.
"Oh, for the love of God," the kid sighs. He pulls his rifle down from his shoulder and holds it menacingly, pointed at the asphalt in front of the car. "I'll do it myself. Get out of the car, sir." Arnold stares straight ahead and tightens his arms. "Get out of the car now ."
With the final word he lifts the muzzle of the gun and points it directly through the window at Arnold. Kate flinches in the front passenger seat and lets out a panicked cry. She grabs Arnold by the arm and shakes him. "Do what he says, for God's sake! Arnold, this is crazy!"
Kate's voice seems to get through to the old guy more effectively than the gun pointed at his head. He looks at her and sighs, slowly uncrossing his arms, and mumbles. "It's just..." I can't see his eyes from the back seat, but I can hear tears in his quivering voice. "Bessie belonged to my son." He places both hands on the wheel and holds it tight, like he's holding the hands that used to rest there. "He didn't leave much when he went to Iraq, but I promised him I'd take care of her until..." his breath catches
Similar Books
