Salt Pillars

Chapter 12

The grocery-cart's wheels squeaked as Gabe came around the bend. The front wheel twisted and spun independently of the others, fighting the forward momentum of the cart, requiring the full force of Gabe's effort to complete the uphill push. Gabe hadn't anticipated the weight of the iron and steel that filled the cart to be so great on this long walk to his home, but his heart still welled with glee as he pushed on, for nothing could give him more joy in these trying times to be in possession of a cart filled with weapons of death.

He smiled openly as he imaged the sneering face of Travis chanting, "Corn hole! Corn hole!" Just before he drove the gladiator's ax into his skull, or sliced his throat open with the Katana blade to watch him fall onto his knees, gurgling blood with shock and terror in his eyes, before his head tilts slowly backward and falls cleanly severed from the stump of his neck in a gory, blood spurting fashion.

"You're not so pretty without your head, are you, you cocky fuck?" Gabe said aloud to himself.

He had missed his big chance back in the bunker when he was knocked unconscious. After he woke, his bag was gone. He searched everywhere, but there were just too many people lying around and too many bags, none of which were distinguishable in that red lighting; it was a mess. It wasn't until after everybody had cleared out that he was able to find it again with the gun still locked-and-loaded inside.

Gabe swore that he would never miss another opportunity like that again. So while everybody else returned to their homes to burry their dead loved-ones, he went directly to the sporting goods store, where he raided the weapons cache they had behind the counter. It was there that he discovered a peculiar truth — none the ammo for the guns was working. He tested the full array of calibers and nothing worked. The heat from the attack must have blown the cartridges because they were all warped and some burst open. Although this was disheartening, his spirits were lifted when he discovered collection of swords and knives that they had stocked. There was everything from ancient battle-axes to Japanese katana swords, purely for display purposes of course, but their blades were sharp just the same. He also took all the hunting knives, switchblades, and archery equipment that a grocery cart could carry. Then he wheeled it away through the middle of the abandoned main street, whistling a tune to himself as he strolled between the lines of burnt cars filled with corpses.

He finally reached the top of the hill where he rested for a moment. The world around him was silent aside from flecks of ash that fluttered in the air like snowflakes. In the distance, he heard the faint sounds of boys' voices moving toward his direction.

Hastily he decided that he needed to hide his cart full of weapons before anyone else might take it from him. The closest house had a chain-linked fence that circled the back yard, and he hurriedly pushed the cart through. He found an old rotted-out shed with a tin rooftop and a half open door hanging off the hinges, which opened with a slow creak that kicked up dust and flaking paint into a cloud that flooded his view.

After stashing the cart in the old shed, Gabe took shelter behind an oak tree in the yard and watched the boys approach. They were laughing and celebrating something as they past.

Gabe recognized the group from school, outcasts like himself, except that they had found some semblance of social relevance through their criminal endeavors. Gabe knew them by their pseudonym the 'eight-ball group,' because they were the guys that you had to ask to score cocaine or any other hard to find drugs. Gabe wasn't exactly friends with them, but he didn't have a reason to hate them either.

He knew one of them from his remedial math class; the kind of course that the school calls math, but is really just baby-sitting for the slow kids. Most days, the teacher would turn on some stock video for the students while he played on his phone throughout the class period. As long as the kids were pacified, his job was done.