Post Apocalyptic Ponies: Revolutions Per Mile, Book 1 by E.E. Isherwood Read Free Book Online Page A

down the road.” She
sounded jittery, now that we were near the end. “I can't
believe I was right. The one time I needed to be wrong.”
    I was totally at her mercy. Being a passenger never sat well with
me, which was why I reveled in being a driver...and basically made no
friends the past couple years. But now the responsibility sat heavily
on my conscience. Wasn't a good co-pilot supposed to offer
suggestions—better, and smarter routes—and stuff?
    She turned roughly to the left on a short dirt track that led to a
nearby small stand of trees. “This is perfect. I didn't know it
would be this easy.”
    “Easy? What are we doing? Why are we stopping?”
    “It's time for you to earn your pay.” She laughed with
a touch of sarcasm.
    She exited her door, then went to the back and lifted the trunk.
Not knowing what else to do, I followed. I admit I was curious what
she had back there, so this was the perfect excuse to be nosy.
    She stood there smiling at me.
    “Are you ready to see how we do things up north?”
    “Oh, God yes!” That's what I was thinking. But I
couldn't sound like a child.
    With a passable shrug and a look of indifference I tossed out,
“Sure.”

I
thought there'd be a gate
    “ That is not what I was expecting.” I hated to
sound like an amateur, but I had to face facts. Ponies don't normally
travel with guns. It's part of the reason they call us ponies: it's
perfectly safe. Having guns in the car would more likely result in us
shooting ourselves.
    My dad, bless his heart, was screaming at me how wrong I was. I
won't share his words. You can imagine what a protective father might
say about the need for guns in the hands of vulnerable young women in
the middle of nowhere. I wasn't yet willing to admit he was close to
right.
    Anyway, Jo pulled up a hidden handle in her cargo space and the
whole thing lifted. All the crap she'd kept on top—all the
misplaced and mismatched junk—was a diversion for what she kept
underneath. I don't even know what to call it. It looked like some
kind of spaceman's gun.
    Jo only knew me for a few hours, but dammit if she didn't already
subscribe to my newsletter.
    “You're wondering what this thing is, aren't you?” She
practically danced in place in anticipation. “This is a Barrett
Model 82A1 50-cal.” She looked at me with a huge grin, then
looked at her gun like it was her baby.
    My face must haven't conveyed the proper level of awe.
    “Nothing?” The smile faded. “You don't find this
the least bit cool?”
    Out here there isn't much to do with a person's time. I fill it by
driving and when I'm not driving I'm wrenching on my car so I can
drive it again, faster. Sometimes, I sleep. Thats. About. It. The
thing I saw under her gaze might have well have been alien for all I
cared.
    That's not what I told her.
    “Yeah, it's really cool.” Then, to distract her. “Are
we going to shoot the cops?”
    “What? No. Why would I shoot cops?” She smiled with
the “you're a silly little girl” smile, then got to work
yanking the gun out of the car. She wasn't a large or strong-looking
girl, but we all need decent upper body strength to handle the wheel
at high speeds. It had some heft to it, and she grunted until it was
firmly in her hands.
    She looked like a miniature Amazon warrior princess holding that
gun. It was damn near as tall as her. I had to give it to her, she
was rockin' it.
    “The first thing I'm going to teach you about the interstate
is to trust no one. I don't trust those cops. This,” she nodded
to her heavy-barrel friend, “is how I learn who's up to no good
out here. Come on.”
    She put the gun on her shoulder and pointed inside her trunk. “Can
you grab a couple of those mags?”
    I stood with a blank look.
    “Those box-like thingies. They have the ammo in them. Ten
rounds each.” She chuckled. “Damn, we have to start in
first gear, I guess.”
    After I grabbed both of them, we ran to the treeline. Beyond, we
could see for a clear