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

mile to the south. The trunk line kept going
south, but the police had stopped at the intersection of another
dual-lane highway.
    Jo set up her toy, and told me what I was looking at.
    “That cross road is the southern limit of your precious
pastures.”
    “I don't see a gate. I thought there'd be a gate.”
    With a few grunts and curses she both continued placing her gun
and responding to my dumb questions. I sensed that she was prepared
for a slew of them.
    “Nope, no gate on the high plains. Always a way to go around
them out here, huh? It just makes a convenient way to describe this
place.”
    She settled in and began to look through the huge scope on top of
the huge tan gun. Without the scope I could still see both cop cars
sitting in the middle of the intersection. They appeared to be
waiting. I was looking into the proverbial middle of nowhere. I
couldn't see anything of interest in any direction but low, dry grass
and the odd clump of trees. Just us, our trees, and those two cars.
    Minutes ticked by. I was once again struck by how quiet the world
had become. Not just because I'd gotten out of my car, but the world
in general. The beeps of technology had gone the way of the Old
World. No more television. No internet. No game systems.
    I should clarify. They probably have most of that somewhere. Maybe
in Hays. They still have electricity. But I avoid all that junk. It
rots the brain.
    “You did listen, K-Bear.”
    “Yeah, dad. Sometimes you're right about something,” I
thought.
    “Movement. What the hell?” She re-adjusted herself on
the ground. Her eye was glued to the end of the scope.
    On the road coming up from the south I saw a huge truck. A big
rig. Out here, in well, nowhere, it looked out of place. It was
running totally alone. Something didn't add up.
    “One fuel hauler, way out here? Alone and vulnerable?”
    She pulled back to look at me. “How did the monkey's know it
would be here?”
    I gave her my look of ignorance.
    She winked at me, then peered back into the glass.
    “The cops have stopped it. Hmm. You better hand me one of
those magazines, after all.”
    I'd been holding them, so I dropped one down to her. She got to
work banging in into the frame of the gun, then she pulled back on a
handle, getting it loaded I assumed.
    “They're just talking. Our two cruisers, and the fueler.
They're all standing around like it's a party, or something.”
    She didn't say anything for a long time. I couldn't see much
detail from a quarter mile away. I saw two black blobs parked in
front of a larger blob. I could barely make out the men in the
middle.
    “Oh shit!” She tensed up. “Oh shit.”
    “What?” I still didn't see anything, but I heard the
pop of gunfire.
    “They're shooting. What the? The tanker had guys hiding or
something. They're all over.”
    “Are you going to shoot them?”
    It was a strange question, I'd be happy shooting—or at least
seriously hurting—the crooked cops, but they were still our cops. Whoever was killing them would likely want to kill me.
    “OK. This is it.” Jo spoke, but she wasn't talking to
me.
    “Rook, I need you to do something for me. Don't ask any
questions, got it?”
    “Why can't—”
    “No questions! That's my rule. Got it?”
    “Yes.”
    “I need you take this gun and go put it back in my car.
Here, take these keys.” She tossed her keys to me.
    I wanted to ask the question.
    She smiled at me. Then answered what she knew was on the tip of my
tongue.
    “I'm going to get us a cop car.”

Breathe,
K-Bear
    I love the police. I always have. My dad instilled the proper
respect from a young age. He told me—many times—about
getting pulled over in his sports cars growing up and how he was always polite to the man or woman behind the badge. More than
a few times his goodwill and charm enabled him to get into
discussions with the officers about his cars, their cars, and a
shared passion for high performance driving. A few times he got out
of the