Holiday Advent Story 5

Sludge and Trundle stood on the wall watching the force arrayed against them. The mutants had surrounded the fort and cut them off from any aid. Not that aid would have been coming.

There were few precious allies these days. The mutants had pushed in through the channel tunnel and taken France and Belgium. The Frontiersmen, bunch of cannibals, pushed from through Sweden into Denmark and Germany. To the south was nothing but death and the irradiated hordes of Italy; no one used the Z word. The Regency, a band of militant cyber freaks, had taken Russia and were pushing into the center. All of them were deadly. None of them forgiving. 

There were rumors of safety to the south east. Romania had apparently gone mostly untouched. The natural mountain ranges had kept the country safe. Combine that with the Turkey being a huge water filled crater courtesy of a stray nuke slamming into the country made Romania a water surrounded fortress. Plus, their leader was pretty handy at keeping invaders at bay. There were rumors about him, but no one knew for sure. His linage was apparently connected to a previous king with a knack for lawn ornaments.

“I wish we’d kept going,” said Trundle. “If we’d skipped the fort they might not have found us.”

“Nah,” said Sludge. “They were always going to find us. They don’t give up. Without the fort we wouldn’t have a chance. They’d have just slaughtered us in the open.”

Trundle looked back into the fort at the caravan. They started with twelve people and had grown to nearly fifty when the mutants had found them. They were down to twenty-one; mostly noncombatants. Trundle and Sludge were some of a handful of people with combat experience. Sludge had the most. He wore a military jacket, though Trundle had never been able to figure out if it was his or he’d found it somewhere. Either way, Sludge never said.

“When do you think they’ll attack?” asked Trundle.

“Morning,” said Sludge. “They have horrible night vision. Can’t see in the dark. They don’t have enough spotlights. They’ll strike after dawn.”

Sludge and Trundle walked the wall in silence. Every so often Sludge would stop and borrow Trundle’s scope; it had night vision. Sludge would look off into the distance past the forces that had them surrounded.

After the third stop Trundle asked, “What you lookin’ for?”

“I don’t know,” said Sludge. “Something’s sticking in the back of my mind. I’m forgetting something. I’m hoping it’s a way through the mutants. I don’t think it is though.”

“You been here before?” asked Trundle. “Before the fall?”

“Not here,” said Sludge. “But these forts are all similar. Maybe I’m thinking of something from a different place.”

They walked in silence for a while longer.

“We’re not going to make it are we?” asked Trundle.

“Maybe,” lied Sludge.

The horizon started to lighten. A slight green color that permeated the sky since the fall. No one knew why.

“The mutants are moving,” said Sludge. “We need to wake the others.”

Trundle moved to head into the camp.

Jingle.

Sludge grabbed Trundle by the arm. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

They stood in silence listening. All they could make out was the noise of mutants rising for the morning. The clanging of metal, shouts of anger, and the occasional fight.

“I guess it was nothing...”

Jingle.

“There it was again,” said Sludge “Like a bell.”

“It’s probably just the mutants slamming hammers on engines.”

Jingle. Jingle.

Trundle stopped. “Okay, that time I heard it. What the hell is that? It sounds…is happy the right word?”

Jingle. Jingle. Vroom.

The jingling was joined by the rev of an engine. Not some patched together monstrosity from spare parts and salvaged metals. A proper engine. Handled with love and care. Trundle knew that sound, he’d been a mechanic before the fall. He knew engines. “That’s a beast.”

“What do you mean?” asked Sludge.

“Whatever that engine is attached to is wicked fast,” said Trundle. “It doesn’t move. It stalks the roads. Whoever is driving that wants to make a statement. They’re saying I’m faster than you, stronger than you, and god help you if you’re in my way.”

Sludge looked down at the mutant camp. They were moving around. Looking away from the fort. Trying to see what was out there.

Whatever it was, it was closer. Just beyond the edge of the mutant’s camp moving through the fog just out of view. It circled the camp the constant jingling noise interrupted by the occasional roar as the engine revved.

Sludge turned on trundle. “What day is it?”

“I don’t know. Tuesday, I think,” said Trundle.

“No, the date. What’s the date?”

“I haven’t know for two years,” said Trundle. “Why?”

“Because if this is the right day then help may have come and we might just live through this.”

“Should I wake the camp?”

“No,” said Sludge. “I’m pretty sure the kids need to be asleep.”

As if waiting for Sludge to realize who was there, a bright, candy apple, red Ford Fairlane burst from the trees. The car was pristine with shiny black tiers, bright head lights, and rows of small bells fastened along a luggage rack.

The Fairlane roared through the mutant camp sending its inhabitants scattering in all directions. Mutants ran forward, guns blazing away. The Fairlane was too fast. The mutants did more damage to their own people than to the car. The Fairlane circled the camp crashing through barricades, launching mutants into the air, and slamming into the mutant’s army of cars.

As the Fairlane rounded the camp the mutants panicked. Those still alive packed into cars and began driving away. Screaming off in all directions.

With the mutants gone the Fairlane pulled up to the door of the camp and sounded the horn. It played Ode to Joy.

The door the Fairlane opened. A large heavy set man stepped out. He was old with long white hair and a flowing beard that hung down to his chest. He wore furs in a mix of bright red and pure white. He had a long knife hanging from one hip and a pistol from the other. He had no sleeves on his coat, his forearms were wrapped in chains.

“What do we do?” asked Trundle.

“We open the door.” Sludge jumped down to the ground and walked to the forts gate. He undid the lock and let the door open wide.

Sludge walked to the fat man and shook his hand. “Santa.”

“Captain,” said Santa. “They won’t stay away long. I’ve bought you maybe thirty minutes at best.”

“I appreciate it,” said Sludge. He turned to Trundle. “Wake everyone up and get them in the cars. We need to be on the road ten minutes ago.”

Trundle jogged away.

Santa pulled a folded piece of paper from inside his coat. “This map will get you through the next couple of days. My elves can’t predict past that.” He handed the map to Sludge.

Santa turned to the Fairlane and popped the trunk open. “I’ve got some presents too.” He pulled a large red sack out of the trunk and tossed it to the ground. “There’s some food, water, and a couple of packages for the kids.” Santa looked past Sludge to the camp. “I wish I could do more.”

“You’ve done plenty.”

“Drive fast. Stay safe.” Santa looked past Sludge towards the camp. “They’re waking up. I can’t stay.”

Santa climbed into his car. The Fairlane roared to life. With a quick turn the car pulled away from the camp. In its wake was nothing but dust, the jingling of bells, and one loud, “HO HO HO!”

end
Christmas at Ground Zero