Simon fought the truck as it bounced and lurched away from the rebellious Cagers. He felt something roll against his foot; his eyes barely caught a glimpse of the bottle at his feet.
Without thinking, he reached for it and stuffed the end in his mouth, biting down on the plastic cap, trying to wrench it from the neck. After several attempts he finally he realized he was chewing on a screw cap.
He twisted the bottle while holding the end clamped tightly between his teeth and spat the cap onto the dashboard, spilling more than he’d have liked as he tried to take a drink.
The truck scraped unmercifully along a small tree, removing his side mirror and buckling the thin metal that made up the skin. It was only then that he remembered he was supposed to be driving.
He grabbed the wheel and felt his arm ache where he’d been bitten. He sighed and poured more alcohol onto the wound. To his surprise, it didn’t hurt. Nor did the liquid burn his throat as it typically did when he took long swallows of it.
He held the bottle up and stared at the label. He was pretty sure it was vodka. Or maybe gin. His eyes kept crossing and the midget that sat on his frontal lobe pounding its fists on his grey matter was really starting to piss him off. He tilted the bottle back again then dropped it to the floor.
Simon had no idea where he was going…partly because of the billowing steam rising from the grille and covering his windshield. He could taste something sweet in his mouth and it almost gagged him.
He began to slap at the different lights and buttons, inadvertently turning on the wipers and the turn signal at the same time. He could feel the truck bounce over things, but it continued to move forward.
Until it didn’t.
The steam still poured from the front and he cursed to himself as he pounded on the steering wheel, hoping to threaten the truck into continuing the journey.
He had no idea how long he had sat behind the wheel, but he knew it was too long. He pressed his hand to his forehead, praying he could kill the midget, Maybe squeeze him out like a giant pimple.
Eventually he worked the door open and fell to the ground beside the truck. He sighed heavily and rested the back of his head on the door sill, forcing his body to continue sucking air.
After another long rest, he pulled himself up and stared at the interior. The steam had vanished and everything had a slick wetness to it. He lifted his hand to his nose and sniffed; the sweet smell was familiar, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.
He shook his head to clear the cobwebs and quickly wished he hadn’t. He staggered to the rear of the truck and pulled the door open. His hand wrapped around a familiar shape and he lifted it. He stared at the automatic shotgun; he knew what it was, he just couldn’t think of the word.
He chuckled to himself without understanding why. Boomstick.
He was still smiling as he went back to the front of the cab and grabbed the last bottle of brown liquor. Whatever was about to happen to him, he knew he’d need what was in that bottle, and sooner rather than later.
Chapter 3
Hatcher glanced at his watch then turned to the eastern horizon. “It shouldn’t be much longer. The sun should be up soon.”
An explosion ruffled the tree tops and echoed off of the stucco covered walls. Most of the men guarding the perimeter winced or covered their ears after the fact.
“What the hell?” A sentry swung his weapon to the rising dust cloud to their west.
“One of them tripped an IED,” Will Stanton stated dryly. He turned to Hatcher. “With their mental condition, I doubt it will slow them much.”
Hatcher crossed his arms and stared at the dust cloud dissipating in the early morning sky. “It only needs to deter them a little longer. The sun will chase them off.”
“If they haven’t grown past that already.” Will raised a brow at him. “They evolved to a sensitive state nearly overnight; what’s to say they don’t evolve right past it?”
“Don’t speak it into existence, Doc,” Hatcher muttered. “We have enough on our plates already.”
“They definitely know where we are now.” Will sighed and mimicked his crossed arms. “What’s to stop them from making this a regular occurrence?”
Hatcher shook his head. “Eventually they’ll run out of bodies to throw at us.” He blew his breath out hard and glanced to the east again. “I hope.”
Wally slid in next to the pair. “We’ve spotted some making their way around to our other flank. East wall.”
Hatcher groaned and pointed to two of the sentries reloading magazines. “Go with him. Cover the eastern side and make sure those things don’t get close to the RV. I don’t know if Trevor has sufficient ammo to repel an attack.”
Hank Willis nodded to Hatcher. “He took the kid inside earlier. The RV is empty.”
Hatcher groaned and rubbed at his chin. “I should have remembered that.” He glanced to Hank and Wally. “I fear I have too many irons in the fire.”
“It’s almost over, Hatch.” Hank grinned and pointed to the horizon. “I see daylight.”
The men all turned and faced the east. The first red and orange licks of light cast radiant tendrils across the deep navy sky. “It’s about damned time.” Hatcher turned to the sentry in the tower. “Make a call on the radio when you see them running.”
The man gave a thumbs up then turned the binoculars to the border walls. “The rear lines are breaking away. Those closest to us are still too engaged
