Sol Survivors by Benton Ken

Author:Benton, Ken [Benton, Ken]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic | Dystopian
Published: 2019-11-22T05:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirteen

Roller spent a good thirty minutes hunting for his weapon along the shoulder of the interstate. He was pretty sure he heard it clang on a rock or something when he dropped it, but there were no rocks of any size around. After a while, he wasn’t sure he was even looking in the right area any more. That damn sun was messing with his mind. Going over the same ground, scanning the same patches of weeds and picking through the same brush started to produce a new feeling, and it wasn’t a good one. Like he was in a cage he couldn’t break out of.

The rabbit hole was the only thing that made sense. But what were the odds it went down there, fortuitously bouncing so deep he couldn’t reach it sticking his arm in and contorting it past his elbow? If he had a shovel he could dig at the hole like a fool, while his gun likely laughed at him from some obvious spot his eyes refused to focus on.

The bike was history. Roller couldn’t ride it into town on the flat, because when he started it, smoke poured from the engine. But, better the engine than his pecker.

Damn, this freaking sun. What was up with it today? Was it the solar storm burning at his brain? Had to be.

So, the asshole could shoot. Why didn’t he shoot Roller? Wimp. Didn’t have the balls. Roller knew that weakness would be his end if they ever met again.

He stopped a moment to ponder a way that could happen. Roller had an excellent memory if nothing else. He memorized the license plate, but where could you get license plate data now that the grid was down? He knew some people back home who could get info like that on the dark web. But the internet had to be working.

Clyde spoke to him in his head, as if an apparition. Go to the closest truck stop and wait.

That would be giving up. The asshole wasn’t too far ahead on this road. Roller just needed a vehicle. It would be a hell of a lot easier to get one if he could find his gun.

But who would stop for him? Especially with everyone suddenly so paranoid. Maybe some sucker who felt sorry for an obvious stranded motorcyclist. His chances figured to be better if he tried to hitch a ride with his helmet on, concealing his hair and neck tats. And wearing the helmet would keep his face out of the sun.

Roller put the helmet back on. As soon as he did, everything looked normal again through the tinted face shield.

And then, like a lighthouse beacon in a storm, something metal reflecting sunlight flashed at him from a clump of weeds. What the hell? Roller had gone by that spot a dozen times in his search.

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