Kyle cleaned Tommy’s multiple wounds, which totaled seven. He’d been shot more than he’d let on and had lost a lot of blood, so much, Kyle was having a hard time keeping him conscious. Seeing his old friend lying there, his breathing shallow and his skin pale, broke his heart. Out of the millions of miles he’d driven since the war, he never once came upon anyone he knew, now that he had, he was close to losing them.
Tommy shook for a second then opened his eyes to just above a slit. “Kyle. I’m thirsty.”
Kyle took a bottle of water from the table next to him and poured a little into Tommy’s mouth. “Hey buddy, do you want some meds. You know, pain stuff?” Kyle asked.
Tommy shook his head.
“You sure. Why feel the pain if you don’t have to,” Kyle said.
“Pains one of the few things that make me feel alive,” Tommy said, the tempo of his voice slower than it normally was.
“A glutton for punishment,” Kyle joked.
“That’s me,” Tommy said before coughing. “Argh, it hurts to cough, I hate that.”
“C’mon man, let me get you some pain meds,” Kyle insisted.
“No, I don’t want to die in a fog,” Tommy said.
“You’re not going to die, stop that talk,” Kyle said reassuring himself more than Tommy.
“I’ve missed you, brother. I’m sad that we didn’t run into each other years before but I’m so happy that we did when we did.”
“Me too.”
“There’s a place. Jacob found a map. They say it’s untouched. They say it’s paradise,” Tommy mumbled.
Kyle raised his brow in confusion. Was Tommy fading? Was this it?
“You should go there, live your life in peace,” Tommy continued.
“Maybe after I find Portia we all can go,” Kyle said playing along. He had no idea what Tommy was talking about.
“Portia is such a beautiful name. I never found anyone. I’m not meant for it. Was never good at it,” Tommy mused.
“Maybe when we all go to paradise you’ll find a hot blonde with huge tits,” Kyle joked.
A smile stretched across Tommy’s face, “That’s sounds nice.” He coughed and groaned in pain. “I’m so tired,” he said as he closed his eyes.
“Thanks for saving me,” Kyle said taking Tommy’s hand in his.
Tommy opened his eyes and said, “My phone, find my phone.”
“Why?”
“Jacob. He might have called,” Tommy said pointing towards the window.
Kyle went to the pack and found the satellite phone. He took it out and checked it. The screen didn’t show a missed call. “No calls.”
“Outside, go outside.”
Doing as Tommy said, Kyle went outside. As soon as he cleared the house, the phone beeped, he looked at the screen and saw he now had a signal. He stared at it hoping a notification would pop up telling him the phone had a message.
A second beep sounded. The screen read, 1 NEW MESSAGE.
Kyle hit the message button. The phone dialed a number, clicked twice and the message began.
“Tommy, Jacob here, we tracked down a truck that had come from The Collective. It made a stop in Salina and was on its way to St. George when it was hit by a tribe of Generates. We’re now tracking the Generates. They have a small settlement west of Richfield in the Fishlake National Forest. Heading there now. I’ll be in contact soon.”
Kyle ran inside, “Tommy, I think I know where she is. Jacob left a message. She was sent to the Republic.”
Tommy didn’t respond. His eyes were closed and he lay motionless.
“Tommy?” Kyle asked walking up beside the bed.
Still Tommy lay motionless.
Kyle checked his pulse but didn’t find anything. He sighed and sat on the bed next to Tommy. “Ah, shit. I’m so sorry,” he said. With Tommy dead he needed to press forward. First thing he needed to do was call Jacob and see if he had further information. Timing was everything. He left the bedside and headed back outside. Once he was in the open and the phone had a signal he dialed the last number on the phone.
The phone clicked and began to ring. He patiently waited, but no one answered. “Come on, pick up.”
With the best clues as to where Portia might be, Kyle began to load his truck with anything of value he could find from the house and Tommy’s truck. It took him a short time to get everything he needed, the last order of business was Tommy.
It had become custom to burn bodies as burying them led to Generates or other animals digging them up. Using a small amount of gasoline, he dosed the bed and surrounding area. That would be enough to ensure the entire house would burn down. When he was ready, he lit a Molotov cocktail and tossed it into the bedroom. The bottle exploded into a ball of flames catching the bed and everything around on fire. Soon the entire room was covered in flames with black smoke pouring out of the front door and windows.
Kyle got behind the wheel of his truck and watched as the flames now engulfed the small house. “Goodbye, Tommy, I’ll see you in Valhalla.” He put the truck into gear, slammed on the accelerator and sped off towards his first stop, Salina.
Portia opened her eyes from a dead sleep and bolted upright. Sweat clung to her forehead and face. She looked around to find she was in the backseat of an SUV. The last thing she remembered was fighting the urge to fall asleep. Laughter came from outside. She twirled around to look but the windows were steamed up. She wiped an area and peered through the grimy window. Not far away, she saw the ragtag group sitting around a fire, talking, eating and telling jokes. Curious and hungry, she exited the truck. When she slammed the door the group all turned their heads and stared.
She gave them a nervous wave and cautiously walked towards them.
“Don’t be shy,” Jacob said waving her over. “We don’t bite.”
“Unless you want us too,” a large man with a thick beard said. In the group he was known a Crusher, it was a name he’d been given early on after he’d crushed a man’s skull between his hands. He was a hulk of a man, standing six foot seven with hands that were oversized even for his stature.
Portia took a seat next to Crusher who gave her a wink. “Smells good,” she said looking at the open pot cooking over the fire.
“Yeah, but it tastes like shit,” Crusher joked shoveling a large amount of the stew into his mouth.
“It’s my specialty,” another man said. He went by the name, Chef, primarily because that had been his occupation before the war and due to the fact he was the team’s cook. He stirred the contents and continued, “I call it Whatever Stew.”
“Hmm, why do you call it that?” Portia asked.
“Because I make it with whatever ingredients I have available,” Chef said his thick New York accent showing through.
Portia smiled.
“Would you like some?” Chef asked.
Portia nodded.
“I introduced myself last night, but I didn’t get your name,” Jacob interjected as he stirred his bowl of stew with a spoon.
“Portia,” she answered.
“Nice to meet you, Portia, again my name is Jacob, and going around from my left, you have Leigh, who you met last night, Crusher, Chef and Gunny over their on watch.”
In earshot, Gunny turned and waved.
“Some interesting names,” Portia said taking a bowl of stew from Chef.
“They think they’re super heroes or something,” Leigh quipped.
Portia gave Crusher a cautious look and said, “I can assume you crush things.” She nodded to Chef and said, “And yours is simple, you’re a chef.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Chef said.
“And Gunny because he likes guns?” Portia asked.