The Last Gallon by William Belanger

blanket to her.
    “Look,” he said “we don’t want you to be a sex slave either and if we can figure something out we will but if you continue to be a pain in our asses then it will be our pleasure to deliver you to your new mistress, are we clear?” Cindy nodded yes and Mark continued “Kara and I will do what we can but no more fighting, no more bullshit and definitely no more biting.” Cindy agreed and looked at them through tear swollen eyes. “Why would you help me?” she asked. Kara piped up first. “Honey we are slaves just like you, we just do a different kind of job. If we can find a way we will all just get the hell out of here.”
    Mark and Kara felt like they had an understanding with Cindy but they decided to cuff her to the bed for the night. It was either that or stand guard and they all needed as much sleep as they could get.
    The sun rose early and everyone stirred awake. Mark uncuffed Cindy who was still a bit sore about being restrained. “Get over it sister, you ain’t earned your freedom yet” he reminded her. She smiled coyly and said “yes massa, I be earning my freedom” Mark shook his head and couldn’t help but smile. “Smart-ass” he said and tussled her hair a little. She rolled her eyes and cracked a little smile.
    The new and even more dysfunctional family ate a quick breakfast and prepared to hit the road. The first stop was Philly and it was rumored to be an even bigger shithole than it was before the world collapsed. Mark wasn’t sure how that could be possible but he was a firm believer in the term “never say never” when it came to the dregs of humanity.
    Everyone loaded up in the car and Mark turned to Cindy. “Do we need to restrain you?” he asked her. She pouted and tried to put on a sweet voice. “No daddy” she said sarcastically. He rolled his eyes and turned to Joey. “Son, put a bullet in her head if she so much as thinks about pulling anything” Joey nodded but had a wild eyed look. Something in his raging teenage hormones wouldn’t allow him to kill a possible lay. Mark chuckled and thought to himself “One bite will change your position on that matter son.” Kara read his mind and snickered to herself as well.
    Within the half hour the family was cruising down the god-forsaken New Jersey turnpike. Yes, it was still just as awful as before and instead of being run by government thugs, it was run by street thugs. Each toll booth was “owned and operated” by different gangs and they had an agreement to only mildly rob you at each stop so they could all profit. Luckily the company had given Mark a sack of gold coins for the trip.
    They pulled in to the first booth and four men with AKs stepped in front of the Armadillo. A guy appeared from inside the booth and tapped on Mark’s window with the barrel of his gun. Mark popped the gun port open and dropped a gold coin on the concrete. The thug was not impressed and demanded more. Mark stuck the muzzle of his 220 through the port and Joey popped up with the SAW charged and ready and the gangsters quickly changed their tune. Suddenly the payment was more than adequate. Hell, one of them even thanked Mark. Of course, being thugs they also took a pot shot at them as they sped off. Joey contemplated ripping off a few rounds in their direction but Mark told him not to bother, they would likely need every single round in the cities they were visiting.
    Thirty three toll booths later they were finally clear of the turnpike. Mark actually still had a coin left over because one of the booths made the mistake of firing a shot at them as they approached. Joey turned their crumbling hut into a crumbled hut with his armor piercing rounds.
    Philly, like Boston, used a river as one of its major borders. Luckily on this side of town there was no outer wall so entry into the city would mean safe passage until they were on their way out. Of course crossing a river means crossing a bridge and in this brave new world