600 Miles: A Post-Apocalyptic Adventure by G.P. Grewal Read Free Book Online Page A
Authors: G.P. Grewal
no more fuel for it anyway, and a naked lady I now had for real thanks to Gitty. I found her nearby going through a pile of old time clothing, and though she were sad she never found her summer dress, she did find a pretty blue scarf that were in real good condition, and, with some sweet talking, was able to get it for only a couple strips of my delicious jerky.
"How do you like it?" she asked as she tied it around her neck. It were a real feminine looking garment, with some fancy white flowers switched into the hem.
"It suits you real good. Real pretty and all."
"You think so? I think it's just wonderful."
"Yeah. It even matches your eyes. What a beautiful looking gal you is— are , I mean to say."
That made Gitty smile and she told me I was the sweetest thing for saying it, because saying things like that always made her happy. Like a "special woman" was the way she said I made her feel, which was just what I would have called her too.
When it was getting dark, the men with guns started shooing out the folks who didn't live there and couldn't stay unless they was willing to pay for the special privilege of spending the night. Neither me or Gitty could come up with enough stuff to make the man who'd let us in happy though, and so off we went, passing out the junk gate and leaving the trading post, or junker castle, or whatever you might have called it, behind. There was a lot of others who left too, most of them setting up camp a short distance from the walls, some still doing a little trading with each other, and since staying there in the company of others seemed a lot safer than going off and sleeping somewhere by ourselves, we decided to camp there near the rest of them that night.
There were some real interesting folks we saw there, though some pretty shady looking ones too, though it didn't seem to me there'd be much trouble that would go down being so close to the walls. We talked to a few folks, though not trusting any of them I didn't tell them much of where we was coming from or headed, like about our cozy little spot near the creek where the hunting was good and the clean water never stopped flowing.
"To Phoenix," one said he was headed, "though not much left there, I've heard."
"Tucson," said another, "though I heard them Mexicans have been trying to take it and there's been lots of fighting day and night."
They didn't seem like nothing special, just folks drifting here and there and struggling to get by. It were one in particular who caught my attention though, a real tough-looking fella, judging from both his face and the flashy shooter resting in the black leather holster at his hip. That gun was right beautiful from what I could see of it, which to be honest weren't much more than its fancy ivory grip, though what little I saw of it said a lot. It weren't no cheap pistol, that much I could tell, though I didn't want to get too close for a better look. It weren't a good idea to get too near a stranger when you was laying cov-a-tet eyes on his weapon, as they say, not unless you wanted to get shot.
Weren't no taking my eyes off that mysterious stranger though. He sat apart from the rest, staring into the big fire people came to gab around until finally he moved off to sit by himself. Gitty had since started talking to some raggedy woman who was there with a small group who said they was from back east. Arkansas, one of them told, which was pretty impressive since few people could have made it all them miles alive. I walked off a little, though not too far that I couldn't keep a good eye on her, trying real casual-like to get closer to the man with the fancy shooter who was sitting all alone puffing on a funny-smelling cigar, the scent of it carrying a good ways. He weren't like many men I'd seen before. He looked tough but tidy, with short stubbly hair and a clean-shaven face except for them big sideburns that made for a peculiar style. He seemed to sense me as I got near without making it known,
"How do you like it?" she asked as she tied it around her neck. It were a real feminine looking garment, with some fancy white flowers switched into the hem.
"It suits you real good. Real pretty and all."
"You think so? I think it's just wonderful."
"Yeah. It even matches your eyes. What a beautiful looking gal you is— are , I mean to say."
That made Gitty smile and she told me I was the sweetest thing for saying it, because saying things like that always made her happy. Like a "special woman" was the way she said I made her feel, which was just what I would have called her too.
When it was getting dark, the men with guns started shooing out the folks who didn't live there and couldn't stay unless they was willing to pay for the special privilege of spending the night. Neither me or Gitty could come up with enough stuff to make the man who'd let us in happy though, and so off we went, passing out the junk gate and leaving the trading post, or junker castle, or whatever you might have called it, behind. There was a lot of others who left too, most of them setting up camp a short distance from the walls, some still doing a little trading with each other, and since staying there in the company of others seemed a lot safer than going off and sleeping somewhere by ourselves, we decided to camp there near the rest of them that night.
There were some real interesting folks we saw there, though some pretty shady looking ones too, though it didn't seem to me there'd be much trouble that would go down being so close to the walls. We talked to a few folks, though not trusting any of them I didn't tell them much of where we was coming from or headed, like about our cozy little spot near the creek where the hunting was good and the clean water never stopped flowing.
"To Phoenix," one said he was headed, "though not much left there, I've heard."
"Tucson," said another, "though I heard them Mexicans have been trying to take it and there's been lots of fighting day and night."
They didn't seem like nothing special, just folks drifting here and there and struggling to get by. It were one in particular who caught my attention though, a real tough-looking fella, judging from both his face and the flashy shooter resting in the black leather holster at his hip. That gun was right beautiful from what I could see of it, which to be honest weren't much more than its fancy ivory grip, though what little I saw of it said a lot. It weren't no cheap pistol, that much I could tell, though I didn't want to get too close for a better look. It weren't a good idea to get too near a stranger when you was laying cov-a-tet eyes on his weapon, as they say, not unless you wanted to get shot.
Weren't no taking my eyes off that mysterious stranger though. He sat apart from the rest, staring into the big fire people came to gab around until finally he moved off to sit by himself. Gitty had since started talking to some raggedy woman who was there with a small group who said they was from back east. Arkansas, one of them told, which was pretty impressive since few people could have made it all them miles alive. I walked off a little, though not too far that I couldn't keep a good eye on her, trying real casual-like to get closer to the man with the fancy shooter who was sitting all alone puffing on a funny-smelling cigar, the scent of it carrying a good ways. He weren't like many men I'd seen before. He looked tough but tidy, with short stubbly hair and a clean-shaven face except for them big sideburns that made for a peculiar style. He seemed to sense me as I got near without making it known,
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