Post Apocalyptic Ponies: Revolutions Per Mile, Book 1 (9 page)

For us, after a day of hard driving, we needed a full tank. That
meant trade.

“What do we have to trade, today?” she asked as she
tilted her head down so she could look at me over her hideous
designer shades.

“Why are you looking at me, this is your car.”

“Well...sometimes they accept trade on
other
payment
plans.”

I knew she was joking because we just got done stumbling on, and
putting an end to, an underage sex traffic ring being run right under
the nose of everyone in our town.

“Ha ha. That's not how I roll.” It was true, though
I'd been propositioned almost every time I'd gone to get fuel since I
started delivering freight with the Prairie Express. It made me
uncomfortable every single time, too. “Maybe you have some
wares you'd like to show the boys?”

Oh yeah, almost all the fuel truck drivers were men. I think they
picked the craziest of the lot because they were such high value
targets for bandits.

“Tsk tsk, Perth, I'm the driver. You're the co-pilot. You
have to help
me
, not the other way around. Now get out there
and shake your moneymaker.”

She was sniggering, but it made me mad. Instead of complying, I
reached into her cargo area behind our seats to see what I could find
for trade. We came to a rough stop by the truck.

“Oh no. You're not taking my good stuff.”

I could imagine all sorts of “good stuff” back there.
I'd seen her transfer all the crap from the back of her other car to this
Death-black police Mustang, including the mysterious suitcase she'd gotten from the now-deceased professor. I know I saw bottles of
liquor. She also had the oversized sniper rifle, though I came around
to our need to keep that.

We were still arguing with varying degrees of seriousness when a
kid knocked on Jo's window. We both jumped, but with amazing speed
she pulled a pistol from somewhere on her, and pointed it at her
window. The boy held up his hands, looking truly frightened.

When the threat was identified as harmless, Jo put the weapon back
into a holster she'd had hidden inside the waistband of her pants.
She didn't make an effort to hide it when she put it back.

“See?” I like to be prepared out here. That's lesson
1. Always be prepared.

“Like a Boy Scout,” I said. I'd learned about Boy
Scouts from my dad. He was fond of his time with that group, and
still recited their mottos, grails, or whatever. I remember nothing
of it, except “Be Prepared.” He
always
said that.

Jo opened her door.

“Sorry, we thought you were a bad guy,” she nodded to the boy. “Where's
the OO?”

“M-me. I'm the own-ner and operator.”

Jo froze while holding her door wide open. I couldn't see her face
from inside the car, but I suspected she must have a look of
surprise. The kid couldn't be a day over thirteen.

“You drive this thing?” Her tone was skeptical.

“Yes. I'm tall.”

He was tall for his age, I gave him that. But he had no business
hauling god-knows-how-many tons of explosive fuel around.

After a long hesitation, she leaned all the way back inside the
cockpit to whisper to me.

“I guess you're off the hook for a trade.” She winked
at me, then pulled out the basketball and a bottle of hooch from her
trash heap of a back seat. Unlike most of our cars, the police
cruiser still had the original seats. Probably so they could haul in
prisoners.

Jo went to talk to the curly-haired boy while I sat and waited. I
looked at the bobblehead dog sitting on the center console. The one
she thinks I talk to as if it were my dad. I knew better. My real dad
usually sat in the passenger seat, though now I was in his spot. He'd
get it back the day I got my car back out on the highway. Right now I
was Jo's co-pilot while I learned the ropes.

I tilted my head back and rested. I didn't need to look outside to
know what was going on. The boy would accept Jo's trade, then he'd
use the big red canisters to transfer fuel from his supply to Jo's
gas tank.

I woke up and we were already moving.

“How long was I out?” It was early evening.

“Not long. We have a new mission. You excited?”

“Does a chicken lay eggs?” I thought. I was hella excited, but
kept it inside.

I didn't know what to say to her so I wouldn't look like a
wide-eyed kid. I'd never been on a delivery up on the interstate.
Ahead I could see the superhighway looming as a straight line against
the backdrop of the blue sky. It ran east and west, cutting field and
stream with few turns to make it interesting. I'd been on it before,
many times, but not out here. This trip would be my first. First
times for me are typically...awkward.

“So, how does this work? Where did you pick up the job?”

She seemed to appreciate the question. “Yeah, so normally
we'd get our cargo at the depot in Hays, but today you and I are
going on a special run.”

“Special?” I admit I was hoping she'd take me to one
of the big garages—surely she belonged to one—or do a
little milk run to get me used to the procedures. But now?

“Yep, and we already had the cargo. I picked it up back at
the professor's house.”

The suitcase she'd taken wasn't floating on the mess in the back
seats. It had to be back in the trunk. I had no idea what was inside.

“So, for my training run you plan to take me out onto the
interstate as your co-pilot, with a mysterious cargo you picked up
from a woman we later killed, and we're riding in a rogue cop car we
basically stole from them after we shot them with a sniper rifle.
That about sum it up?”

She giggled. “Yeah, that sums it up perfectly.” Then,
as we started up the ramp toward the four-lane interstate she held
out her hand to shake mine. I only hesitated for a second.

“Welcome to the fastest job you'll ever have.”

I shook her hand. I also noticed the skulls and crossbones painted
in white all the way up the ramp… She was trying to distract
me.

“Now, pull out the notebook under your seat and let's get
started.”

I reached down and felt the spiral-bound notebook. It had a hard
cover. I pulled it to me; it carried the seal of the Kansas Highway
Patrol. I was excited and a little bit scared to open it up, but when
I did all the wind that had been billowing my sails started to wheeze
out.

“She told you it would be dangerous, K-Bear.”

My dad's voice was sympathetic. And, dammit, he was right.

Inside the notebook was page after page of sections of highway.
Each drawn and labeled with meticulous precision to show a menagerie
of speed traps, kill boxes, and other types of blockages ahead of us.
Instead of being a straight shot to Salina, I was looking at mile
after mile of danger.

“This is why I stole the car.” She pointed to my
notebook. “With this we can get clear across the state. It lays
it all out for us.”

I was impressed. It all made sense now. She needed the map from
the police station to provide the routes, and the KHP notebook—she
ended up stealing the whole car—to avoid the speed traps on the
way.

“Wait a second.” My gears shifted very slowly. “Across
the state? You mean we aren't turning around at Salina?” Salina
was the turnaround for the couriers. Always. The Kansas Militia
controlled the Flint Hills beyond. No one could say what was left to
the east of that...toward Kansas City.

She was silent, which could only mean—

“Wait just a damned minute. I don't want to go that far.”

“Nobody with sense does. That's why you're perfect.”
She smiled a conciliatory smile.

She picked up speed as we left the ramp; the motor was much bolder
than her previous Mustang. She had to speak louder as the RPM's
increased.

“But you don't have to worry, Perth. Seriously.”

I couldn't help but sound hurt, though I was also a little
flattered. “And why is that?”

“Because you're with the best driver currently on this
highway.”

She was in sixth gear and singing loudly before I'd had a chance
to decide if I was thrilled or terrified.

###

This ends the first sample chapter of Book 2.

E. E. Isherwood has penned two books about post-apocalyptic driving, four books about zombies,
and several short stories from both genres. He has designs for many more tales. His long-time fascination
with the end of the world blossomed decades ago after reading the
1949 classic
Earth Abides
. Zombies are just a handy vehicle
which allows him to observe how society breaks down in the face of
such withering calamity. Fast cars can also help it along.

Isherwood lives in St. Louis, Missouri with his wife and family.
He stays deep in a bunker with steepled fingers, always awaiting the
arrival of the first wave of zombies.

Find him online at www.zombiebooks.net.

E.E. Isherwood currently has four books in the
Sirens of the
Zombie Apocalypse
universe. He also has a series of high-octane
post-apocalyptic stories called the
Revolutions Per Mile
series. Visit his website at
www.zombiebooks.net
to be informed when future titles are launched.

The
Revolutions Per Mile
series

A new series of driving adventures from post-apocalyptic author
E.E. Ishwerood.

Book 1:
Post Apocalyptic Ponies

When the world ended, Perth Hopkins was one of the lucky few. She
jumped in her father's sports car and drove like a girl possessed to
escape the nuclear fires. Today, years later, she drives as a
high-speed courier between the small farming towns in the breadbasket
of a new nation. She's learning the rules of the road in the safe
interior—the pony pastures—but she craves the speed and
danger of the interstate. Those routes are run by the older girls...
When one of those girls shows up in her life, she's forced to
consider whether she really wants to see what's over the distant
horizon.

Book 2:
Post Apocalyptic Mustangs

Perth is tossed into the high-speed world of "The 70."
Interstate 70 was once a major artery across the United States, but
what's left of it in Kansas has become a dangerous route traversed by
brave couriers carrying pieces of the Old World between the surviving
towns. Perth's driver, Jo, claims she is the best of the best of the
couriers remaining on the highway and she wants to introduce Perth to
how things work by doing a simple run from Hays to Salina. But Perth
quickly suspects she's been seduced into being her co-pilot for an
entirely different destination.

Book 3:
Post Apocalyptic Chargers

***

The
Sirens of the Zombie Apocalypse
series

Since the Sirens

Siren Songs

Stop the Sirens

Last Fight of the Valkyries

Zombies vs. Polar Bears [June, 2016]

***

Book 1:
Since the Sirens
[
BUY
ON KINDLE
]

When 15-year-old Liam goes to stay with his ancient
great-grandmother for the summer, he immediately becomes bored around
the frail and elderly woman. He spends most of his time at the
library texting friends or reading dark novels. But one morning
stroll changes everything as the Zombie Apocalypse unloads itself
directly into his life. Now he and his 104-year-old guardian must
survive the journey out of the collapsing city of St. Louis while
zombies, plague, and desperate survivors swirl around them.

Book 2:
Siren Songs
[
BUY
ON KINDLE
]

Book 3:
Stop the Sirens
[
BUY
ON KINDLE
]

Book 4:
Last Fight of the Valkyries
[
BUY
ON KINDLE
]

Book 5:
Zombies vs. Polar Bears
[PRE-ORDER ON
KINDLE]

OTHER TITLES

The
My Zombie Apocalypse
series

These short stories explore characters from the
Sirens of the
Zombie Apocalypse
world.

Liam

What if Angie had gotten to Grandma Marty on Day 0? How might that
have changed Liam's life as the Zombie Apocalypse began?

Jones

As far as we know, officer Jones fell to his death during a heroic
rescue of many of his fellow citizens. But what if he survived his
crash?

###

All these books are self-published. Self-publishing runs on word
of mouth. Your review on the product page is that
word
. It's precious gasoline. It's
like fresh blood for my zombies. It keeps them going. It makes them
stronger. Please consider taking a few moments to pen a brief review
for this book. Just a few words of encouragement will help me write
many more adventures.

Review or not, you've already shown your support when you invested
your time and treasure in this tome. From the bottom of my heart I
thank you for purchasing and reading
Post Apocalyptic Ponies
.

E.E. Isherwood

Thank you for being a reader of my work. I value your support more
than I can say. I also love interacting with fans. To contact
me, yell at me, become a beta reader, or find more stories about the
end of everything, look for me online:

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https://twitter.com/eeisherwood

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