At the End of the Journey by Charles E. Gannon

Author:Charles E. Gannon [Gannon, Charles E.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Science Fiction, Apocalyptic & Post-Apocalyptic, Military, Action & Adventure
ISBN: 9781982125226
Google: MI6ZzQEACAAJ
Amazon: 1982125225
Publisher: Baen
Published: 2021-03-02T05:00:00+00:00

The house with the tower shared a driveway with another one: the Berber castle that really wasn’t. They both overlooked the bay, but the one we were heading toward was built a little below the crest of the ridge and was a third the footprint of the other.

The front walkway was pretty overgrown, but we could still make out the sign—Grayrock Manor—and the reason for its name: the house was quite literally built out of gray rock. Obviously really old, despite all the modern features. Looking through the ruined front door, you could see through to the empty infinity pool.

The music stopped. “Well,” drawled a loud voice with a midwestern twang, “you comin’ on in, or whut?”

I looked at the others. We exchanged shrugs. We pushed the remains of the door out of the way, walked in.

Actually, we entered a covered walkway joining two separate buildings: a solid, squat house on the left and the tower on the right. And leaning over the tower’s parapet was a tall, lanky man: in his fifties, I guessed. He had long stringy hair, a Cubs baseball cap, a gun sling around his neck, and a week’s growth of beard. I was impressed that anyone in his situation was still shaving at all.

“Hi,” I said.

He stared, then threw back his head and laughed; either his parents hadn’t been able to afford an orthodontist or hadn’t cared. “Dude!” he said still chuckling. “I like you; I like that: ‘hi.’” He chortled some more. “End of the world and the dude just waves and says, ‘hi.’”

I could feel more than hear Tai and Ning moving their hands closer to their weapons.

He was still chuckling, but his eyes narrowed, grew sharp and bright. “Now don’t you all start thinking of doing something stupid. Not when we’re just having fun getting acquainted.”

I nodded, sent a palms-down gesture back at them; I sensed the guns lowering, saw it in the survivor’s eyes. “Sorry,” I explained. “Just like you’re not used to new people saying ‘hi,’ we’re not used to new people laughing.”

He nodded. “Fair enough. But I gotta tell you, I’m not used to new people at all. So you gotta fergive me my manners. Which will get a lot better once you all put your guns down. Sling ’em, would be best.”

“I could send a couple of my friends to wait outside, with all the guns, if that would—”

“Shit, boy! No guns? Here? Or anywhere, these days? Look: I don’t think you’re here to kill me. But these days, it seems like all kinds of misunderstandings could occur, so just—well, keep ’em handy, but keep ’em stowed, okay?”

I had been worried that his laughter meant he was halfway to insane. And I supposed he still might be, but if so, he was a very reasonable and practical madman. We did as he asked.

He came down from the tower, toting—I will never forget this—an M60 machine gun. I figured the strap around his neck meant he was carrying a

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