Free Post-Apocalyptic Nomadic Warriors by Benjamin Wallace

the years they had traveled together, but she had never been the first to console a crying woman.
    Erica cried long and hard. She tried to speak, but only hysterical gibberish escaped her lips. It was almost fifteen minutes before intelligible words were spoken. “What am I supposed to do now? Where do I go?”
    Jerry had been considering the situation since she started crying. Since she had gone on for so long, he had considered many options for her that covered everything from sitting there to discovering a method of time travel. But the most practical was the best solution.
    “There’s a town a day or so down the road. It seemed nice. I can take you there.”
    She didn’t say anything. She just nodded.
    He offered his hand, but she refused. She stood on her own.
    The ruins of her home surrounded her. Staying was not an option. Wind blew the ash into the air and stung at her eyes. Without a word she walked toward the red tricycle. Graceful and composed, she bent over and grabbed the handlebars. Setting the toy up on its wheels, she turned and walked silently past the two friends.
    He watched her walk away. She was strong. He admired that. She would survive. No mutant, marauder, or black truck would be able to shake this woman now. She had lost everything she had known and everyone she had loved and stood tall and immovable. She would be fine.
    “Erica. The truck is the other way.”
    She fell to her knees and began to cry.

 
    ELEVEN
     
     
    What does one say to someone that just lost their family, friends, neighbors, and town in a raid by savages only a few years after the end of the world? Hallmark never even tried to lessen the blow of post-apocalyptic genocide. Browsing the racks, one would find a large gap in sentiments between “please curb your pet” and “probably not malignant.”
    Should a card exist, Jerry pictured it featuring a cute kitten in a precarious situation with the headline, “Life isn’t prrrrfect.” He didn’t want to rule out a cute rhyme that expressed the same sentiment, but struggled to imagine a rhyme for “sister was burned alive.” If the kitten was the best Hallmark could do, he thought it was best to say nothing.
    The trio walked towards the Dairy Queen. Erica trailed behind the nomad and his dog. Only the ground was at risk of being shot by the rifle held loosely in her hands. Her pace was even, but she walked with a stiffness and malaise. Her gaze never left the road ahead. There was no life in her eyes. There was only sorrow and some ash from her burned up hometown that had settled by the bridge of her nose. Her mother, any mother, would have called it “gunk.”
    Throwing a regular glance back to the girl, Chewy would whimper and place her head under Jerry’s hand, encouraging the warrior to say something. There was no misinterpretation of the dog’s intent, but all he could do was scratch the large dog’s head.
    “She’ll be okay, girl. It’ll just take time.”
    Chewy sat down and just stared at him with a cocked head.
    “What do you want me to say? Buck up little camper? Walk it off? Rub some dirt on it?”
    The dog held his stare.
    “There wasn’t jack in my studies about this. In all the books, everyone had already lost everyone. There was no consoling. Only revenge. Only ass kicking.”
    Chewy barked.
    “You say something then.”
    Chewy barked and ran back to Erica. She tried to put her head under the girl’s hand, but there was no reaction. No petting or patting. There was just the half-dead steady gait. Chewy walked beside her and offered an apologetic whine on occasion.
    Long known as the Texas stop sign, the Dairy Queen would have been a more welcome sight if the soft serve machines were still functional. Still, as the comfort of the Silver Lining waited behind the crumbled roadside eatery, it was a relief to see the familiar red and white sign.
    Jerry longed to clean up, but he knew that a gentleman post-apocalyptic nomadic warrior would offer the