2.
 Toward bottom, the ramp disappeared into a green fucking swamp with gleaming water. “Oh man,” Sam groaned. “Don’t roll in there.”
She banged her fists into the sides of the steering wheel and yelled: “Oh yeah, I’m gonna leave this car sitting in the open to get stripped by every asshole on earth. Tell me another one.”
“How deep is that shit anyway?”
She braked and he got out. She checked the meters — radiation clean, spores minimal; oh, but the helium bottle that provided atomic energy to run the hummer was depleted. “We’re outta juice, Sam.”
“Christ, that’s all we need.” Lean and sparse, he walked back and forth at the waterfront. “Stinks down here.”
She got out, brandishing the heavy steel tommy gun she had pinched from a drug lord in L.A.. Had bullets the size of your finger, which was good; shot in all directions, which was bad; but it looked effective. “Stink is good, man. Stink means stuff lives here, even if it’s got four eyes and a hook for a dick.” The smell was of rotting vegetation, which told her it wasn’t a flowing river, but a stagnant pool. She almost dreaded wading through this crap. “Look for water snakes.”
“Don’t see any,” he said.
It was twilight in here under the bridge pylons. Overgrown with vegetation. Filled with chirping and whistling and buzzing. Loaded with life. It was midafternoon, and they’d have to start worrying about how to overnight. The car would probably be safe during the night.
“Let’s set up camp,” she told him. “We’ll figure out the rest in the morning.”
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Copyright © 2018 by Jean-Thomas Cullen, Clocktower Books. All Rights Reserved.
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