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

Tortilla asked. He grabbed
his two guns, held them below the airbags, so that they couldn’t
see them from the outside.
    “Don’t know. I think they flattened our
tires.”
    “Why would they—”
    “Didn’t you hear what they called you? We
gotta get out of here,” I said, trembling.
    The others were starting to groan as they
came to, disoriented. The crash wasn’t that bad. The front looked
as if it might be crumpled, but it could have been a lot worse if
we had been going faster.
    They lowered their rifles, aimed at the car.
“Get out now!” the middle one shouted.
    The one to the left of the middle one was
tall, round, and empty-eyed, as if his mind was melted. He opened
Tortilla’s door, pointing the rifle in his face. “He said get out.
So come on already, get out.”
    Tortilla was shaking wildly. The guns
slipped from his grip. The guy yanked Tortilla out by his shirt
collar and threw him to the ground. “What do you want? What do you
want?” Tortilla screamed, his voice a few octaves higher than
usual.
    “The girl,” the middle one said.
    “What do you mean, the girl?”
    “He’s not very bright, chief. Freddy can
have him,” the big one said.
    “Like a spic is something I want,” Freddy
said, the short, bald man to the left of the middle one. “Chief, I
don’t want no spic, you hear?”
    “I never said you had to have him,” the
middle one said. “Get the other two out of the back.”
    Freddy took point in front of Tortilla,
aiming at him with steady hands. The big one went to the doorless
backseat and pulled out Jacob, who had passed out.
    “What are you doing?” Jelly said groggily,
gazing at the big man who held Jacob over his shoulder. He laid
Jacob next to Tortilla. He went around the car and wrenched Jelly
out of his seat, gripping his shirt by his chest. “Stop. What are
you doing? Stop it. Put me down.” The man dropped Jelly next to
Jacob, smiling down at them.
    “Come on, princess. I ain’t gonna wait all
day for you,” the middle one said—the one they called “chief.”
    I stared at them, terrified. My heart was
near the point of exploding. I couldn’t move.
    “None of them seem all too bright, chief,”
the big one commented.
    “Looks to be that way, go grab her,” Chief
said.
    The big one walked around the smashed
truck.
    I still held the gun, unbeknownst to them. I
steadied my nerves to pull the trigger when the door opened. I
waited as he paced around the truck, and with every step closer, my
finger twinged, like sharp needles poking and poking relentlessly.
I aimed right for where his gut would be when he was close
enough.
    “What are you eyeing?” the big one barked as
he neared.
    At the sound of his voice, the gun slipped
out of my hand as I jolted. I needed the gun; it was my lifeline,
my only hope. I reached to get it, but he knew I had something, and
he rushed to open the door.
    “What do ya got there?” He clutched my arm
and squeezed with his massive hand.
    I wiggled, trying to get free. No use.
“Stop! You’re hurting me.”
    “I can’t hurt a cute little princess like
you.” He squeezed even harder. “Oh, we’re going to have fun with
you, little princess.”
    Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shape
pop up from behind the backseat. The gun blast rang in my ear. I
stared at the man, gulping in air. Blood poured out of his throat.
He staggered back and keeled over onto the sidewalk. The other two
ducked in reaction. They couldn’t see Penelope behind the tinted
police windows. She shot through the crack in the open passenger’s
front door. The bullet blew through a window across the street.
    The two men whirled around, crouching.
“Where’s it coming from?” Chief yelled. Another window broke up the
street.
    I unbuckled my seatbelt, found the gun under
the GO pedal, and slid out of the SUV. I gingerly stepped over the
big one, then wheeled around the front of the car and fired. Blood
splattered around Freddy’s left kneecap.
    A shout