Post Apocalyptic Ponies: Revolutions Per Mile, Book 1 by E.E. Isherwood Page A
Authors: E.E. Isherwood
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like that Mustang. It had a roar that
screamed “freedom!” and I seriously thought about turning
down any of the side roads and just forgetting what was up the
blacktop in front of me.
I was hesitant on the gears, as if sticking them too hard was
going to damage the fragile thing. I knew it was ridiculous, but I
couldn't help feel I was riding in the most precious piece of
pre-apocalypse technology on the road. A known falsehood, since two
newer and faster Mustangs plied the asphalt in front of me.
That got me going. Jo put her trust in me to take her car, her
gun, and hold her life in my hands. While part of my brain wanted to
feel overwhelmed and go find a rock to crawl under, another part came
alive at the understanding someone was counting on me.
Yes, the life of a courier is all about people counting on you to
be where you said you were going to be. But delivering hydraulic
fittings to a sprinkler system is a far cry from trying to save a
friend from power-mad ex-police thugs.
I was in sixth gear and moving along, but I had to slow down for
traffic inside Coldwater. Another courier—I recognized his
older Mustang GT because he painted the thing sky blue—pulled
out in front of me was still taking up both lanes of traffic just
outside of town. It wasn't uncommon, especially with newer drivers,
to be more or less oblivious of what's behind them while driving; at
90 he probably figured no one was going to pass him.
I downshifted and the engine howled, then I mashed the gas pedal
as I came up behind him. I took the opposite lane and passed him with
a foot to spare like he was stopped. His old Mustang was fast, but it
had no hope of catching me, even if he wanted to.
I opened it up and threw off all my personal safeties. I kept the
pedal on the floor and didn't let up as it the speedometer ran out of
numbers.
“K-Bear, what if there's rocks or debris on the road?”
“Then I die.”
“What if there's an animal or person in the road?”
“Then we both die.”
Dad was back in the passenger seat. He wore one of his goofy
racing t-shirts. I leaned over because of my terminal curiosity. As I
suspected, his shirt showed a pickup truck with a donkey or something
in the back and a long-legged woman standing next to it with the
saying “Haul Ass” plastered on it.
“You could have just asked.”
“No, Dad, some things you just have to see for yourself.”
I laughed despite myself.
The speedometer was hovering just off the numbers. They stopped at
160. I literally had no idea how fast I was going. The engine
screamed at me with high RPM's but it was less stressed than I was.
I saw the cars ahead of me. Jo had slowed down, or the other
Mustang was faster. Either way, the pair were very close to each
other. I remembered my own run-in this morning—and guessed
they'd be less hesitant to use their nudge maneuver on a vehicle from
their own stable.
She wasn't able to bob and weave, not at such speeds, but she was
tapping her brakes to get the other car to back off. I was less than
a quarter mile behind.
And closing.
I felt the pull of the front end. The weight of the car itself. I
felt that dangerous flutter in my tummy as I careened toward the
trailing police car. I could just run into it and end the whole
pursuit. End it all.
“Koala? You in there?”
I ignored him.
I had closed half the distance. Still I was overtaking them at
speed.
“I'm so proud of you. What you've become out here. After all
that we've been through.”
With a glance—it was all I could spare—I replied in
haste. “That's it? You aren't going to try to stop me?”
He laughed. “You always did what you wanted. I loved that
about you as much as your mom hated it.”
That did it. I downshifted and stood on the brakes. I bled off
enough kinetic energy that when I hit the back of their car it was
only a love tap. Enough to get their attention—and mine—but
not enough to send us both to our deaths.
Now, with enemies in front
screamed “freedom!” and I seriously thought about turning
down any of the side roads and just forgetting what was up the
blacktop in front of me.
I was hesitant on the gears, as if sticking them too hard was
going to damage the fragile thing. I knew it was ridiculous, but I
couldn't help feel I was riding in the most precious piece of
pre-apocalypse technology on the road. A known falsehood, since two
newer and faster Mustangs plied the asphalt in front of me.
That got me going. Jo put her trust in me to take her car, her
gun, and hold her life in my hands. While part of my brain wanted to
feel overwhelmed and go find a rock to crawl under, another part came
alive at the understanding someone was counting on me.
Yes, the life of a courier is all about people counting on you to
be where you said you were going to be. But delivering hydraulic
fittings to a sprinkler system is a far cry from trying to save a
friend from power-mad ex-police thugs.
I was in sixth gear and moving along, but I had to slow down for
traffic inside Coldwater. Another courier—I recognized his
older Mustang GT because he painted the thing sky blue—pulled
out in front of me was still taking up both lanes of traffic just
outside of town. It wasn't uncommon, especially with newer drivers,
to be more or less oblivious of what's behind them while driving; at
90 he probably figured no one was going to pass him.
I downshifted and the engine howled, then I mashed the gas pedal
as I came up behind him. I took the opposite lane and passed him with
a foot to spare like he was stopped. His old Mustang was fast, but it
had no hope of catching me, even if he wanted to.
I opened it up and threw off all my personal safeties. I kept the
pedal on the floor and didn't let up as it the speedometer ran out of
numbers.
“K-Bear, what if there's rocks or debris on the road?”
“Then I die.”
“What if there's an animal or person in the road?”
“Then we both die.”
Dad was back in the passenger seat. He wore one of his goofy
racing t-shirts. I leaned over because of my terminal curiosity. As I
suspected, his shirt showed a pickup truck with a donkey or something
in the back and a long-legged woman standing next to it with the
saying “Haul Ass” plastered on it.
“You could have just asked.”
“No, Dad, some things you just have to see for yourself.”
I laughed despite myself.
The speedometer was hovering just off the numbers. They stopped at
160. I literally had no idea how fast I was going. The engine
screamed at me with high RPM's but it was less stressed than I was.
I saw the cars ahead of me. Jo had slowed down, or the other
Mustang was faster. Either way, the pair were very close to each
other. I remembered my own run-in this morning—and guessed
they'd be less hesitant to use their nudge maneuver on a vehicle from
their own stable.
She wasn't able to bob and weave, not at such speeds, but she was
tapping her brakes to get the other car to back off. I was less than
a quarter mile behind.
And closing.
I felt the pull of the front end. The weight of the car itself. I
felt that dangerous flutter in my tummy as I careened toward the
trailing police car. I could just run into it and end the whole
pursuit. End it all.
“Koala? You in there?”
I ignored him.
I had closed half the distance. Still I was overtaking them at
speed.
“I'm so proud of you. What you've become out here. After all
that we've been through.”
With a glance—it was all I could spare—I replied in
haste. “That's it? You aren't going to try to stop me?”
He laughed. “You always did what you wanted. I loved that
about you as much as your mom hated it.”
That did it. I downshifted and stood on the brakes. I bled off
enough kinetic energy that when I hit the back of their car it was
only a love tap. Enough to get their attention—and mine—but
not enough to send us both to our deaths.
Now, with enemies in front
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