At the End - a post-apocalyptic novel (The Road to Extinction, Book 1) by John Hennessy Page A

two days before, I certainly did then.
    Félix hopped into the passenger’s seat. I
helped Jacob into the back and he scooted over so that I could get
in faster. As I slammed the door shut, I yelled: “Go! Go! Go!”
    Maggy had the car fired up, and she slid it
into reverse, peeling out of the driveway. The police motor
accelerated on par with the Trackster, and she wheeled us down a
wide neighborhood street.
    “Everyone all right?” Maggy asked. She
didn’t get much in the way of answers, mostly groans, and some nods
out of her sight range.
    I cleared my throat. “What the—”
    BAM.
    An alion smashed into my door. It was trying
to run us off the road like in a high-speed chase in the movies.
After its impact, it maintained a gallop alongside us, by my
window.
    “Faster!” I cried.
    It bumped us again. The car wobbled.
    The well armed take advantage , I
repeated in my head.
    Jacob tapped me on the shoulder. “Here.” He
handed me an OMP2. “Better than the shotgun.”
    I rolled down the window and just held down
on the trigger. The recoil went into my wrist, less than the bite
of hammering a nail into a wall, impossibly smooth. I didn’t know
how many bullets filled that beast, but it didn’t last long.
    Maggy drove on.
    I hit the button that rolled up the window,
exhaling the biggest, longest breath I ever had in my life.
    We drove for hours without saying a word to
each other. The only noise came from the newcomers in the back:
they wept until the sun rose. In the morning sunlight, we zoomed
along a lifeless road that connected to Tacoma.
    Maggy drove so fast that she didn’t notice
the road spikes across the lanes until it was too late. She slammed
on the brakes. POP—the front tires. POP—the back tires. Air rushed
out, but they were cop tires, extra resistant. Maggy turned the
wheel left, then right, then back again, out of control.
    Even with my blood pumping wildly, I still
heard her yell: “Hold on! We’re gonna crash!”
    I braced myself for the end.

 

4
What’s Out There?
    Maggy
     
    I lost control of
the SUV and we rammed right into the tail of a pickup truck. The
airbags deployed, smashing my face.
    I didn’t know how long we sat there, but we
just sat there, in the silence of the world. I pushed my face away
from the soft pillow. It was so hot. I thought I was on vacation
near the equator. Once my eyes focused on the steering column, I
realized the truth, the situation of my environment. It wasn’t a
vacation.
    I turned my neck toward Tortilla, and it
popped several times, each one a moment of relief, followed by a
dull pain. Luckily, Tortilla had braced his body well enough, using
the door handle and the armrest. He had still hit the airbag.
    He looked over at me, his face red and
pulsing, and his glasses slightly bent. “Are you okay?”
    I nodded. I stared at him, blinked, then
opened my mouth to talk, but it was too dry as my words scraped
against my throat. I found the water bottle that had rested in the
cup holder, now by my feet. I took a drink. My eyes shifted between
fuzzy and focused. “I’m having a hard time seeing.”
    He blinked. “Yeah, me too.”
    I peered out the windshield: three men
stood, statues in the shadow of the street. “Hell.”
    Tortilla looked forward. “You thinking bad
news?”
    “I sure am.” The pistol was still in the
compartment under the main console. I snatched it up.
    The three men walked out of the shadow, into
clear view, boasting assault rifles over their shoulders.
    “Bad, bad news,” I said. They looked dirty,
sweat-stained, and full of malevolence. In other words: dangerous.
I turned the key. Nothing happened, not even a sweet sound that a
possibility existed for the motor to fire up.
    “Get out, princess. You too, spic,” the
middle one said. His lanky body looked strung out and aged, his
back slightly humped. A huge, bushy beard hung under his chin, down
to his chest; it was a frizzy clump of grayness.
    “What do we do?”