Post Apocalyptic Ponies: Revolutions Per Mile, Book 1 by E.E. Isherwood
Authors: E.E. Isherwood
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tickets, but most times he took them with good cheer.
If I ever considered being inside a police car, it was because my
dad convinced me I would be hauled in for stealing candy at the
grocery store, or later, for smoking in the woods with the older
girls—and their boyfriends. Never in my dreams or imagination
did I consider going voluntarily into a police car in an effort to
steal it.
And then, in the nowhere region of Kansas, with no one else to
witness it, my new friend ran across an open field toward two police
cars in the middle of a gun fight !
I intended to put the gun away, but first I laid down so I could
watch to see if her hopeless ploy had any chance of success. The
officers were nowhere near their cars. As best I could tell, when the
shooting started the cops ran for a big pile of dirt on one side of
the street and the foreigners ran back to their big rig for cover.
I reoriented the scope and tried to find Jo. Once I found her I
watched her approach the intersection.
“My God, she might do it.”
The police had been sloppy, or overconfident. They left their
doors open as if they were coming right back. Did they trust the
other men? Were they in cahoots and had a falling out? The scope put
me in the action, but I had no context.
Jo never stopped running. She crossed the field in a couple
minutes, ran up the small embankment—slipping once—and
then in full view of everyone jumped into the open door of the
nearest car and slammed it shut.
The gunfight stopped, as if all the men agreed what they'd just
witnessed constituted a different, and greater, threat.
“K-Bear, what have you gotten yourself into here?”
I glanced upward to see my father haloed by the afternoon sun, as
he stood next to me.
“You think I intended for all this to happen, Dad? One
second I'm minding my own business, next I'm hauling some kind of
canon while my friend rips off the police.” My hackles were in
full fury. “So how's your day going?”
He was gone. I didn't think he was in the mood to argue.
I turned back and Jo's cruiser was reversing on the highway, back
toward my position. She turned the wheel, slammed the brakes, then
spun the car around so it faced me. She let the tires rip as she sped
my way.
To my great shock, she honked as she drove on by.
I nearly wet my pants, I'm not ashamed to admit it. I picked up
the big gun and ran. It was about ten times heavier than I expected
it to be, so it took me ten minutes to walk the thirty yards back to
Jo's car. Seriously, it felt like it.
During my struggle I heard the roar of the other Mustang
interceptor. They even threw on the sirens, though surely they knew
there was no one to hear them.
I stood frozen in the woods as the sirens got closer. I wasn't
exactly waving a flag but it wouldn't take much for them to see a
lime green car sitting inside a tiny copse of trees.
Closer. The motor churned as the transmission clicked through the
gears. By the time they passed they were flying in hot pursuit. If
they saw me standing there holding a huge rifle, they let it go.
I didn't bother putting the gun back into its hidey hole. I made a
best effort to push it into the hold, then I shut the lift-gate. I
jumped in the driver's seat. I pushed the start button and felt the
guttural rumble of the fastest car I'd ever been in. I felt it in my
chest. In my thighs. I felt the energy in my feet.
“Breathe, K-Bear.”
“Shut it. I know!”
I belted in, thinking for the first time since I became a driver
that I might finally need it. With deliberate care I turned around on
the gravel parking area. When the car reached the edge of the
pavement I looked back down toward the fuel truck. They, too, had
turned around and headed to the south—away from the action.
I turned right, toward it.
You
always did what you wanted
I'd imagined I'd cry if I ever got to drive such a car. I was
right: I started to cry. I can't explain the feeling of being behind
the wheel of a powerful beast
If I ever considered being inside a police car, it was because my
dad convinced me I would be hauled in for stealing candy at the
grocery store, or later, for smoking in the woods with the older
girls—and their boyfriends. Never in my dreams or imagination
did I consider going voluntarily into a police car in an effort to
steal it.
And then, in the nowhere region of Kansas, with no one else to
witness it, my new friend ran across an open field toward two police
cars in the middle of a gun fight !
I intended to put the gun away, but first I laid down so I could
watch to see if her hopeless ploy had any chance of success. The
officers were nowhere near their cars. As best I could tell, when the
shooting started the cops ran for a big pile of dirt on one side of
the street and the foreigners ran back to their big rig for cover.
I reoriented the scope and tried to find Jo. Once I found her I
watched her approach the intersection.
“My God, she might do it.”
The police had been sloppy, or overconfident. They left their
doors open as if they were coming right back. Did they trust the
other men? Were they in cahoots and had a falling out? The scope put
me in the action, but I had no context.
Jo never stopped running. She crossed the field in a couple
minutes, ran up the small embankment—slipping once—and
then in full view of everyone jumped into the open door of the
nearest car and slammed it shut.
The gunfight stopped, as if all the men agreed what they'd just
witnessed constituted a different, and greater, threat.
“K-Bear, what have you gotten yourself into here?”
I glanced upward to see my father haloed by the afternoon sun, as
he stood next to me.
“You think I intended for all this to happen, Dad? One
second I'm minding my own business, next I'm hauling some kind of
canon while my friend rips off the police.” My hackles were in
full fury. “So how's your day going?”
He was gone. I didn't think he was in the mood to argue.
I turned back and Jo's cruiser was reversing on the highway, back
toward my position. She turned the wheel, slammed the brakes, then
spun the car around so it faced me. She let the tires rip as she sped
my way.
To my great shock, she honked as she drove on by.
I nearly wet my pants, I'm not ashamed to admit it. I picked up
the big gun and ran. It was about ten times heavier than I expected
it to be, so it took me ten minutes to walk the thirty yards back to
Jo's car. Seriously, it felt like it.
During my struggle I heard the roar of the other Mustang
interceptor. They even threw on the sirens, though surely they knew
there was no one to hear them.
I stood frozen in the woods as the sirens got closer. I wasn't
exactly waving a flag but it wouldn't take much for them to see a
lime green car sitting inside a tiny copse of trees.
Closer. The motor churned as the transmission clicked through the
gears. By the time they passed they were flying in hot pursuit. If
they saw me standing there holding a huge rifle, they let it go.
I didn't bother putting the gun back into its hidey hole. I made a
best effort to push it into the hold, then I shut the lift-gate. I
jumped in the driver's seat. I pushed the start button and felt the
guttural rumble of the fastest car I'd ever been in. I felt it in my
chest. In my thighs. I felt the energy in my feet.
“Breathe, K-Bear.”
“Shut it. I know!”
I belted in, thinking for the first time since I became a driver
that I might finally need it. With deliberate care I turned around on
the gravel parking area. When the car reached the edge of the
pavement I looked back down toward the fuel truck. They, too, had
turned around and headed to the south—away from the action.
I turned right, toward it.
You
always did what you wanted
I'd imagined I'd cry if I ever got to drive such a car. I was
right: I started to cry. I can't explain the feeling of being behind
the wheel of a powerful beast