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    The Last Ride
    The Last Ride
    The Last Ride
    Ebook250 pages1 hour

    The Last Ride

    By Anthony Izzo

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    About this ebook

    A killer flu has swept the world. Survival is key. In a city soon to be deserted by the military, a group of lottery winners get to take the last bus out. The armored vehicle will take them to a government shelter. The trip won't be easy. Along the way they will have to face roving gangs and warlords. 

    Among the passengers on the bus is a young woman carrying the fate of the world in her hands. People will kill to get their hands on what she's carrying. The passengers will have to band together if they're going to survive the last ride to safety.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherAnthony Izzo
    Release dateAug 24, 2019
    ISBN9781393606000
    The Last Ride
    Author

    Anthony Izzo

    Anthony Izzo is the author of 17 thrillers. He enjoys writing tales of mayhem that include anything from zombies to psycho killers to murderous shapeshifters. Anthony was a judge for the Buffalo Dreams screenplay competition. He recently had a story appear in the "SNAFU: Future Warfare" anthology. When not writing, he enjoys playing loud guitar, reading crime novels, and giving craft beers a good home. He makes his home in Western New York and features Buffalo prominently in his work.

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      Book preview

      The Last Ride - Anthony Izzo

      One

      They’d kill me if they could, Tony Wells thinks.

      He moves along the street, his large hand enfolding twelve-year-old Sam’s. The boy is a little too big to have his hand held, but it’s for safety reasons.

      In the past few months, three kids have been snatched off the street. Sold to slavers and sex traffickers for food. Now that money is worthless, human cargo is the new currency.  Plus, they’re marked for winning the lottery.

      He sees people peering out of broken windows. Five and six story apartment buildings line the street. A group of men warm their hands over a barrel fire out in the street. They look like they want to gut him alive.

      Keep moving, Tony says.

      They hate us, don’t they? Sam says.

      Pretty much.

      Because we get to leave?

      That’s about right, Tony says.

      Jake says, They had just as much chance as us to win.

      People are bitter sometimes.

      He supposes he would be, too. Those left behind in the old city are likely going to die. There are rumors that the army division guarding the city is pulling out. Their supplies are running thin, and winter is coming. That will leave a ragtag militia to protect a small city. The odds aren’t good for those left behind.

      Tony and Sam reach the end of the street, leaving behind the small apartment where they rode out the outbreak.  Tony remembers watching bodies in bags being tossed onto flatbed trucks. Flu vaccines ran out after the first six months of the epidemic.  The government was decimated. Air Force One crashed over Virginia with the president and cabinet aboard. Civil war broke out between numerous armed militias.

      Tony has a .45 semiautomatic in a holster on his hip. He traded three bags worth of groceries for the gun and two magazines in the early days of the outbreak. He hopes he doesn’t need the gun.

      They reach the end of their street. He takes a final glance at their apartment building. There’s part of him that wants to turn back, hole up, and stay safe in the confines of 7B, but he knows it’s a death sentence to stay here. They’re the lucky ones.

      The two of them pass a group of men seated on the steps of an apartment building. They have on winter coats smudged with grease and dirt. Tattered jeans. Their cheeks are hollow, as if someone has scooped out the muscle and fat underneath. He feels like a gazelle walking in front of a pack of hyenas.

      Sam is staring at them.

      Don’t linger, he says to Sam, nudging him along.

      The compound is up ahead. Concrete walls with sandbags stacked on top. Men walk on a parapet behind the sandbags. He can see their heads and shoulders. They all have rifles slung over their shoulders.

      Outside the gates sits a tank. It’s painted in camo. The tank has long since run out of gas, but the main gun still works, as does the .50 caliber machine gun mounted on the turret. It is enough to dissuade anyone dumb enough to risk a frontal assault on the compound.

      I’ll bet it’s cool riding in a tank, Sam says.

      I’ll bet it is. Also hot, dirty, and loud.

      Think they’ll let me fire the gun? Sam says.

      Keep dreaming, Tony says.

      As they approach the tank, a guy wearing a big fur hat pops his head from the hatch. Leans on the .50 caliber. ID numbers for both of you.

      Tony reads off the ID numbers everyone in town was assigned after the outbreak.

      The man in the fur hat reaches down in the tank and brings up a clipboard. From his front pocket he takes a pair of reading glasses and puts them on. He thumbs through some sheets and says: Wells, Anthony. Wells, Samuel, ages thirty-eight and twelve. Photo matches up. Looks about right. Lucky winners. All right. Head to the gate.

      The man raises his hand and makes a twirling motion. The gate cranks open. When it’s fully ajar, Tony sees a machine gun nest fortified with sandbags just inside. Three more men are hunkered around. A guy with brown stumps for teeth sees them and says, Pass us. Depot is the third building on the right. Get going so we can close the fucking gate.

      Can I say the F word? Sam says.

      No.

      Not like I haven’t heard it, Sam says.

      Still a negative, Tony says.

      As they head inside the gate, Tony hears a barely audible Fuck it escape Sam’s lips. He smiles and decides to let it go.

      Two

      Will you hurry the hell up? Gram says.

      Just have to pack a few more things Gram, Nadine Lawson says.

      Gram is parked by the apartment door. She’s been there for the past half-an-hour. If there’s one thing Nadine has learned in her twenty-four years, it’s that Genevieve Jennie Wojzak waits for no one. Gram started banging around pots and pans at dawn. That was Nadine’s signal to get her ass out of bed.

      Bus ain’t going to wait for us, Gram says.

      We’re good on time, Nadine says.

      Gram had been dressed since six o’clock this morning. She’s packing a .38 chief’s special that had belonged to Nadine’s grandfather. The gun had belonged to her grandfather, a Buffalo homicide detective for twenty-one years.

      Nadine finishes stuffing the last of her clothes in a backpack. They’ve been told they don’t need to bring food; it’ll be provided on the ride.

      I’m ready, Nadine calls. She’s in the bedroom. For insurance, she slides a switchblade knife into her front pocket.

      Wonders never cease, Gram says.

      Nadine heads to the living room. Gram has on a blue raincoat and yellow rubber boots. She’s got her jeans tucked into the boots. There’s a gaudy orange cap on her head. A canvas bag large enough to hold a German Shepherd is slung over her shoulder.

      I like your hat, Gram. At least we won’t lose sight of you.

      Hush, Gram says. Least my head will stay warm.

      Nadine hides a smile. She shoulders her backpack. It makes her feel better that they have the gun. Gram has it under her coat in a leather shoulder rig that was Grandpa’s. At night Gram oils it like a kid with a prized baseball glove. Her grandfather died in their home. The bug progressed and he drowned in his own fluids. It was a nasty way to go. They found him blue-faced in the morning after a night of gasping for air with wet breaths.

      Now it was just her and Gram. It had been her and the grandparents for as long as she could remember. Her parents had died in a hotel fire. Their bodies were found in a stack of victims who had gotten trapped in a corridor.

      That had been when she was seven. Gram dragged her to mass on Sunday mornings. They made oatmeal chocolate chip cookies together, and Gram taught her poker. In the evenings, right before the power grid went dark for good, they’d watched Jeopardy every night. Gram always referred to Alex Trebek as that smug sonofabitch.

      And here they were, winners of the lottery, their ticket out of here. They still had to make it to the depot.

      Did you bring the deck of cards? Nadine says.

      Sure enough, Gram says.

      They left the apartment for the last time.

      Three

      There’s a dead cat drawing flies behind the old school. Its belly is slashed open and something green oozes out. Erin wrinkles her nose. The dead animals are one thing she hasn’t gotten used to seeing. Most of the human corpses have been buried or burned, however, no one thought to take care of the dead dogs and cats.

      Someone shuffles out from behind a dumpster. Her visitor’s face is obscured by a hood. They’re wearing skinny jeans and red Converse All-Stars.

      Erin is supposed to be meeting someone here, but can’t be sure if this is her person. What do you want?

      The visitor takes off the hood, revealing herself to be a girl of about sixteen. Her hair is cut short and small hoops dangle from her ears. There’s a backpack slung over her shoulders.

      Tell me who you are, Erin says.

      I’m supposed to give you a series of numbers, the girl says.

      You have a name?

      Sadie, the girl says. Ready for the numbers?

      She reads off a code that Erin has committed to memory. One of the other Resistance members told it to her. Erin rattles off another set of numbers and Sadie nods her approval.

      You have something for me? Erin says.

      The girl unslings her pack. It’s canvas and somewhere between gray and green. A stuffed unicorn is clipped to the bag. It’s missing an eye. Sadie unsnaps the pack and opens the flap.

      After rustling around in the bag, she comes out with a steel case. It’s about eight by-eleven and four inches thick. She holds it out as if it smells bad and Erin takes it. Then she places it in her own backpack.

      You be careful with that, Sadie says.

      I’m aware of that.

      I’m aware of that, Sadie says, in a mocking, sing-song voice.

      Keep it up and you won’t get paid, Erin says.

      You back out of paying me, and I’ll scream, let everyone know what you’re carrying.

      Little pirate, Erin says.

      You want to pay me double?

      Erin digs some MREs out of her pack, along with a Ka-Bar knife that she traded for. Those were Sadie’s demands for delivering the package.  She hands them over to Sadie, who snatches the items.

      I should’ve charged more for delivery, Sadie says. Maybe it’s not too late.

      Blackmail isn’t part of the deal, Erin says.

      No one else could sneak that stuff like me, Sadie says.

      I’m sure you’re the best of the best.

      The girl flips Erin off, throws her hood back on, and darts around the school building.

      A breeze picks up and tosses an old fast food wrapper around. The school’s windows are dark, and Erin can’t help feel that someone’s in there watching her. She decides to get moving.

      There are plenty of people who would like to get their hands on the case. A network of thieves and spies got the package to her. It was now her job to get it to her father.

      ––––––––

      Tony spies two Greyhound busses parked near the depot, their sides spotted with rust. The rear of the busses are stained black from the exhaust. One of the busses is sagging due to a flat tire.

      Beyond the old Greyhounds is their ride. Their bus has armor plating with gun slits cut into the metal. Armor plates cover the tires as well, all of it painted a matte black.

      Cool, Sam says.

      It’s well armed, that’s for sure.

      Sixty-one runs and always makes it back, a voice says from behind them.

      Tony turns to see a woman in Aviator shades standing behind them. She’s wearing a beat-up leather jacket and camo fatigue pants tucked into combat boots. Her hair is cut short. A large revolver rests in a holster on her hip.

      Jeanine. I’m your driver. You’re a passenger on this baby’s last ride.

      Why the last? Sam asks.

      We’ve got enough fuel for one more run. Plus, it’s getting too dangerous. There are raiders and warlords out there. Getting tough to cross their territory, Jeanine says.

      A huge guy with ammo belts slung over his shoulders walks past. He looks tough enough to piss lit napalm.

      That’s Silverstein. He’s one of our gunners.

      Silverstein climbs onto the bus. Tony hears him clanking around inside.

      Will we be safe? Sam asks.

      Jeanine says, Those are fifty caliber machine guns. Anything bothers us, we’ll shred it to pieces. Hurry it up in there!

      What’s the rush? Tony asks.

      I don’t like to hang around on lottery days. People are generally pissed off they didn’t get picked to ride. And this is the last one. No one wants to be left behind.

      You expecting trouble? Tony asks.

      Be surprised if there wasn’t any, Jeanine says. You armed?

      I have a .45.

      Hopefully you won’t need it and we get you all safe and sound where we need to be.

      Two more people come along, both of them carrying ammo belts. One of them is a tall brunette. Her sleeves are rolled up, revealing brightly-colored tats. The other guy has bleach-blonde hair and piercing green eyes. He smiles at them and waves.

      That’s Hunter and Jeff. The rest of the crew. Just stay out of their way and you’ll be fine, Jeanine says.

      The other two crew members board the bus.

      How many other riders? Tony asks.

      Expecting three more. They best get here soon, Jeanine says. Wouldn’t want to be left behind.

      I feel guilty somehow. Leaving, Tony says.

      Don’t. You and your son have a shot at a future. If you’ll excuse me, I have some last minute things to check on.

      Jeanine hops onto the bus. He hears more clanging and banging from inside the vehicle. The bus reminds him of a large beetle, black and ugly. Hopefully it gets the job done and delivers them to safety.

      So, we’re going to a military base? Sam asks.

      Sort of. It’s a government shelter. They’ll be plenty of food and water. Soldiers to guard the place.

      Safer than the apartment? Sam says.

      Much safer. Things at the apartment weren’t great.

      Like the time the Raiders got in?

      Yeah, like that.

      Four

      Tony and Sam - Pre-Flu

      Tony hopes for a peaceful night. Sam is settled into bed and it’s Tony’s wish that his son doesn’t have another fitful night’s sleep. Sam talks in his sleep, plagued by nightmares.

      In one dream, Sam has told Tony he sees his mother’s rotting corpse slinking down the hallway in the apartment. The flu took Jenna. They’d seen her one last time in a hospital room. He hoped her passing was quick, but he knew better. Most flu victims died a choking, gurgling death as fluid filled their lungs.

      The power went out a few weeks ago, preceded by a series of rolling blackouts. Tony has a battery-powered lantern that he uses to light the apartment sometimes. He’s sipping one of the two remaining beers he has left. Their food supplies are good for a while.

      The sanctuary set up by Uncle Sam is a few hours away. They bring in supplies via bus every few weeks. The supplies are rationed out. He supposes there’s a few thousand people left in the small city. The rest are dead or have fled.

      He sips his beer and looks out the second-floor window. The loaded .45 is on the table next to him. At night, Raiders and other criminals prowl the streets. Last week, someone was stabbed in their bed and bled out while Raiders ransacked the place.

      There were lots of desperate people out there.

      Tony watches out the window as a black Chrysler rolls around the corner. He reaches over and turns off the lantern, hoping to make the apartment appear empty. Doesn’t like the look of the car, the way it’s doing a slow roll, like the driver is looking for something. Hunting.

      The car stops in front of their building.

      Four men climb out, all of them wearing bandannas over their faces. Like old-time train robbers. Two of them carry baseball bats. The other has a hatchet. The fourth a machete.

      They start up the sidewalk to the apartment. He wishes they were on a higher floor.

      The door leading into the building doesn’t lock. He imagined at one time you’d either need a key or have to be buzzed in. The men will be able to roam the halls.

      Tony goes to the door and listens. It’s quiet in the hallway for the moment. There are two other occupied apartments on this floor. One houses an eighty-year-old Navy veteran named Art. The other a single mom with two kids. He thinks her name is Tammy.

      After a while, he hears the men in the hallway. There’s a loud bang. A door being kicked in.

      Tony hurries into Sam’s bedroom. He shakes his son awake.

      What? Sam says, eyes half-opened.

      "There’s a raiding party on our floor. Bad guys. I might have to go out and help someone. I want you to lock the door and don’t open it. I’ll give you a code word so you

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