Road to Riches: Deadline: Book 1 (Zombie Road) by Wesley R. Norris

Author:Wesley R. Norris [Norris, Wesley R.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9798542705637
Publisher: Wise Pug Publishing
Published: 2021-08-05T22:00:00+00:00

15

Cowboys

120 Miles from the Mississippi

I could smell gasoline in the air, at least one of my jerry cans had a new hole in it and was pissing gasoline. A quick calculation told me I had a little over one hundred twenty miles to go. I was still on schedule thanks to the blockers that’d cleared the way for me. My bar tab was going to be astronomical at the after party. I was gonna be neck deep in repaying favors for the foreseeable future, but I couldn’t have done it without them, and it was a debt I would gladly repay.

My last escorts would pick me up around the one-hundred-mile mark. The trucker speed Stabby had given me was starting to wear off and the hours of running and gunning were starting to tell on me. I yawned from the exhaustion. I’d barely slept since leaving Tombstone and there’d be no rest until I was safely across the river.

I was on a two-lane road now, Hwy 124. There wasn’t much out here. Fire had ravaged the area, blackened trees as far as the eye could see on both sides of the road for miles and miles. I slowed down due to the melted asphalt of the highway. Potholes were everywhere and sections of the road had collapsed where rainwater had washed away the soil of the roadbed. Burned out houses and rusting hulks of fire damaged cars interspersed through the hellish landscape sat on their blistered wheels, the rubber tires incinerated from the extreme temperatures of the blaze. In a few months, the forest would come alive with new growth, lush and green and any trace of the people who’d lived here would be buried beneath the vines and creepers that would sprout with the spring rains.

After crossing a creek, everything turned green again. I was looking at my map instead of the road, so I almost didn’t see them until I was nearly upon them. I grabbed the joystick for the machine gun, my finger hovering over the trigger until I realized they weren’t there to stop me. They appeared to be a young family who’d heard the chatter on the radio and wanted to see the legend in person.

A man about my age stood by a pickup parked on the shoulder of the road, holding a hunting rifle in one hand, his other around the calf of a little boy about eight or nine perched on his shoulders. A woman with an old Instamatic camera stood in the bed of the truck. The kid wore a cowboy hat and in his outstretched hand he was holding out a toy Jeep. He waved at me and yelled my name as I roared past. I watched his arm drop and his shoulders slump in disappointment when I kept going. No way was I letting that happen, I couldn’t resist his gesture. I hit the brakes and downshifted, swerved down in the ditch and spun the ‘Dillo back the way I’d come.

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