Noah slowly jogged down the two-lane road, the scent of nature—in this case, cow farts and other unpleasantness—filling his nose. I never really liked farms, or nature. I might need to get used to it all, soon.
Up ahead, visible in the semi-darkness of the ring-lit night, a side road with a mailbox revealed itself. Noah’s eyes followed the tree-lined driveway for a couple hundred feet, and he made out a nice two-story house, off-white or perhaps beige wood paneling on top of a brick lower half. A giant 2030 Ford-150 pick-up truck, brand new with a V8 and 4x4 build, was parked out front. To the side was a large tractor, and next to the bushes on the other side of the house was a smaller, older blue Toyota Camry.
None of them old enough to work, most likely—at least not with a lot of electronics being ripped out and parts replaced.
Hoping beyond hope that there wouldn’t be problems, Noah motioned to RED, and the two of them turned onto the driveway. Noah stopped running and walked up to the house more sedately.
As he got closer, he saw an old tire swing, covered in streaks and cracked from the sun, hanging from a tree. The ground around it was grassy, and the swing appeared unused.
But the driveway terminated in a walkway surrounded by vibrant rose-bushes—currently closed for the night—with new trellises.
Noah walked up to the door and knocked three times loudly.
Before he had even drawn his hand back fully for a fourth knock, the door swung open, and Noah was staring down the barrel of a shotgun. The man behind the gun yelled, “Hands up, asshole!”
Noah was far less familiar with shotguns than pistols, but as he glanced up into the heavily wrinkled and spotted brown face and eyes behind the gun, he somehow knew that this individual was intimately familiar with violence and wouldn’t make the kind of mistake that Liam had made. Noah put his hands above his head.
A hiss told Noah that RED had drawn his plasma blade, but Noah motioned him back slowly with the hands he had in the air.
“I’m not here to cause trouble, sir,” Noah told the old man behind the shotgun. “I wanted to ask for help rescuing my girlfriend, but if you prefer, I’ll leave your land with apologies for bothering you.”
The man stared at him for a moment, then lowered his gun and took a step back. As he did, Noah noticed that a woman, nearly as old looking and wearing a thick woolen night dress, was the one that had opened the door—and was still holding it open.
“What the hell’s with the robot?” the man asked.
“I got a magical deck of cards, like the announcement said, and he was one of them.”
“Well, damn. Guess the missus and me didn’t dream up those words after all. So, what, you just pull a card and something appears?”
“Yeah, basically. I could show you if you want, it’s pretty cool. Would you mind if I put my hands down? I promise I’m harmless.”
“I doubt that,” the man said, his eyes roaming up and down Noah for a second. “But I judge you don’t seem to be aiming to do me or my missus harm, at least, so go ahead. Sorry about that. But, for Christ’s sake, son, use your noggin. If you show up banging on a man’s door at midnight, especially after those words about the apocalypse, you’re just asking for trouble. Figured you were some beast or idiot looking to loot my farm.”
“Sorry, I wouldn’t have bothered you but I’m a touch desperate.”
The man put the shotgun barrel down on the ground near his feet and stepped stiffly up, holding his freed hand out. “George Carver Washington.”
Stolen novel; please report.
“Like the peanut guy?” Noah asked, then coughed. “I’m Noah Smith.”
“Yes. To my everlasting joy Peanut was even my call sign, way back in ‘Nam. But that was George Washington Carver. My dad wanted to give me a good name, though, and his last name was Washington. This way it did double duty, the first president and a famous inventor that shared my skin tone.”
“Wait, you served in Vietnam?” Noah asked. “I served in the 82nd till last year.”
Then Noah laughed. “I mean, not in Vietnam, obviously, since that was fifty years ago. My service was pretty boring.”
George’s wrinkled face broke into a small smile, something it didn’t easily do, and he put his gun against the wall. “I understood that, youngster. I did a tour in the 199th, myself. What can I do for a fellow soldier?”
“I need to get to my pregnant girlfriend, who’s in Kansas City. I was planning on running it till RED”—Noah motioned at his companion—“pointed out how dumb that was. I was hoping to get a bicycle. Also, a backpack, maybe. I can trade for them.”
The old man stared at him for a few seconds, then started to laugh. “Yeah, I can help with that. Me and the missus can’t use it anyway.”
Noah stared at George. He looked to be in his eighties, and his wife not much younger. A healthy eighty, but still north of eighty.
“Are you sure?” he asked. Then, hesitantly, because they would slow him down terribly, “I might be able to help you, to get to safety.”
“Safety? Where would that be, son? The words said those pagan gods were aiming for population centers, so it seems to me we’re safest here. Besides, last time I checked, I’ve got five children, nineteen grandchildren, and three great-grandchildren. I served my country, married the woman I loved, and bought a giant house on my own land. I’ve lived a great life. Whether it’s a heart attack in five years or a monster in five hours that finally gets me, no one gets out of the game of life alive. But me and the missus—we had a damn fine score, son, and when I finally see Jesus in heaven, pretty sure I’ll be able to hold my head high.”
I hope I can be so sanguine about dying, someday, Noah thought. But he doubted it.
George wasn’t finished. “But, I do want you to do something for me, son. What a man my age wants is to take care of his family, and you’re a damned fine stroke of luck. Or maybe a personal miracle—I’ve been praying hard these last couple hours, that’s for sure. Follow me.”
George turned and stiffly walked into the house. Noah followed, noting the universal old person smell that seemed to permeate the homes of the aged-out set. RED also followed, his metal feet making clanking sounds on the floor. The wife—whose name Noah still didn’t know—opened her mouth as RED entered, but then closed it.
“Don’t worry, wrinkleface. I won’t kill anyone without orders,” RED said to her.
Noah rolled his eyes. “Play nice.”
They were led across nice hardwood floors to an old table in the living room, not renovated like much of the rest of the house, with a floral table cloth on it and a ton of pictures and cards. Their way was lit by burning candles—a resource that would likely soon be gone.
The sheer normalcy—but for the lack of light and RED—of the situation briefly gave Noah uncanny valley feelings. None of this is real. It’s just the façade of a life lost. The reality now is giant snakes and a ring around our world, and men turning on each other.
For a moment, Noah wanted to weep, but he got himself together. Something told him this grizzled veteran wouldn’t appreciate men who were in touch with their feminine side.
George carefully picked up one of the pictures and held it out. It showed a young black woman, maybe eighteen or nineteen, thin and gangly with youth still. It was a high school graduation picture, the ‘happy class of 2029!’ sign in the background and her blue cap and gown a dead giveaway.
“You aren’t supposed to have favorite grandchildren, but God help me, Grace is my favorite. Brilliant, kind, soft-spoken, and always respectful and caring to her crotchety old granddad. She graduated with a three eight, and got a scholarship to UMKC. So, a promise to rescue her is the price for a backpack with food, a bicycle, and whatever else you want from my house.”
Wait, it can’t be that simple. “She attends the University of Missouri at Kansas City? As a pre-med?”
“Yeah, just started a month ago, why?”
Noah gave a little laugh. “That’s where I’m headed anyway, for my girlfriend, Hope. Who’s a third year in the same pre-med program.”
George smiled. “A miracle from God indeed. So, you’ll agree to my terms, then?”
“Of course,” Noah said. He held his hand out, and George shook it solemnly, his hand feeling like old paper and twigs where Noah grasped it.
“Alright. The bike, and the backpack, are out in the garage,” George said, then smiled a smile that, for the most part, only men understood. “Along with most of my guns. Quite a collection, I might add.”
Noah caught his eyes, and knew he wore a matching smile.
“Now you speak my language,” RED said to George.
George gave the robot the side eye before turning back to Noah. “I wouldn’t want my granddaughter’s new champion to go try to rescue her without the proper loadout for the mission.”