The Best Dark Rain_A Post-Apocalyptic Struggle for Life and Love by Marco Etheridge

Author:Marco Etheridge [Etheridge, Marco]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Post-Apocalyptic
Publisher: Marco Etheridge Fiction
Published: 2017-11-22T05:00:00+00:00

Pat’s reverie was broken by a weird thumping sound and a rhythmic jangling. Thump jangle, thump jangle, the noise coming from up the hill. Pat lifted the Savage 22-250 and laid it across the shooting rest in front of him. As he sighted down the barrel, he saw the smoke from his cigar drifting off the roof of the Fort, the dissipating cloud heading toward the Key Arena. He dropped the cigar into the butt can at his feet and turned his attention back to the rifle. I’m killing whoever it is just for making me waste a good smoke, thought Pat.

A lone man emerged from under the trees where they arched over the pavement, clumping out into the middle of the street. He was walking with a crutch and carrying what looked like a baseball bat in his left hand. Reaching the crown of the roadway, the man continued crutching his way closer to the Fort. He seemed to be looking for something, turning his head from side to side, not wavering in his slow progress down the hill. It was obvious the man was making no effort to hide from anyone. Pat could not see any other weapon except the baseball bat, but he wasn’t taking any chances. His first instinct was to shoot, no questions asked. Liz was below him in the Fort. This guy was a threat. Pat had had enough. No more threats, no more surprises, no more mercy. Shoot him now! Pat hesitated. He never wavered when it came to pulling the trigger. Even the one time when he should have walked away, Pat had pulled the trigger. This is a threat to Liz! Focus! The hobbling man was less than a hundred yards out, an easy shot. Pat sighted in on the man’s chest, relaxed his breathing, and slid his finger over the trigger. One exhaled breath, one gentle squeeze, and it would all be over.

The man stood still in the middle of the street, as if making it easy for Pat, as if he could feel the bullet about to enter his chest. Pat watched him through the rifle sights. The man slipped the baseball bat into his right hand, falling into an awkward lean on the crutch. He raised his left hand over his head, palm forward. Before Pat could squeeze the trigger, the man spoke out in a ragged voice.

“Whoever you are Mister, you’ve got damn good taste in cigars.”

Shit, hissed Pat under his breath. Shit, shit, shit. He raised his head from the rifle, keeping the weapon trained on the man.

“That’s as far as you go,” shouted Pat. “One more step and I will shoot you dead.”

The man shifted his position, raising his eyes until he found the source of Pat’s voice.

“I believe every word you’re saying Mister. I am not taking another step. I’m not all that sure I have another step in me. As far as shooting me goes, you might be doing me a favor.” The man stood still, his eyes fixed on Pat.

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