Free Detour to Apocalypse: A Rot Rods Serial, Part Two by Michael Panush Page A

their path and they don’t give a damn about collateral damage. They’ll wipe you from the face of the Earth if you try to move against them.”
    “How can people like that exist?” Roscoe asked. “I thought this was America.”
    “It’s the Cold War,” the Captain muttered. “Everyone’s terrified of Soviet spies and threats that could end the world. Task Force X is one symptom of many.” He turned back to Sergeant Quarter. “So you would have us return the alien to them? Forget about it and go back to La Cruz?”
    “Yes, sir,” the sergeant said. “Because Task Force X frightens me. I squatted in snow near the Chosin Reservoir, fighting the Chinese attack. All I had was a lone sniper rifle against endless human waves. Not much has frightened me since―but Task Force X does. They are nightmares in uniform. They don’t kill people. They ensure that their victims disappear―with all records removed. They fight battles ordinary soldiers could never comprehend.” He paused. “I respect you, sir. I respect Roscoe and the other drivers.”
    “Well, thanks for that,” Roscoe muttered.
    “I don’t want you or your friends to be hurt.” Quarter continued like he hadn’t heard Roscoe’s comment at all. “Please―just this once―give in.”
    The Captain looked at Roscoe and stared back up and down the street. “I will not. That alien was tortured by my own government. I will fight to protect it. That may make me a traitor, but I’ve been accused of that before. I don’t care.”
    “It’s a losing fight―” Quarter started.
    “It’s a just fight,” the Captain said. “That’s all that matters.”
    Roscoe glared at Sergeant Quarter. “You came to get an answer and you got it. Now, what are you gonna do about it?”
    The sergeant turned to the Captain. “Sir?”
    “Answer the question, Sergeant,” the Captain replied. “I’d like to know as well.”
    “I’ll stand with you, sir. When Task Force X arrives, I’ll try and arrange a peaceful solution.”
    “And if a peaceful solution is out of the question?” the Captain asked. “Will you fight representatives of your own government?”
    The question made Sergeant Quarter pause. He lowered his eyes. “Sir… My government didn’t do much for me in New Orleans. It didn’t do much for me in Korea, either. But you did―and for that reason, I will stand with you.” Roscoe kept staring at him. “You want me to say it, I’ll say it. I will fight on your side, against Task Force X, if need be.” He glared at Roscoe, his temper finally starting to rise. “If you’ll have me, of course.”
    “I got a feeling we’ll need every gun we can get,” Roscoe said. “Even yours.”
    “Thank you for that vote of confidence.”
    “You’re real welcome, Sergeant.”
    The Captain coughed slightly and Roscoe and Quarter shut up. “That’s enough. All right. Sergeant Quarter, I’d like you to return to the cabin and come up with a rudimentary defensive plan. Angel should have returned by now, and Wooster, Betty, and Felix will help you.” He reached out and touched Quarter’s arm. “You protect them, Nathan.”
    “Yes, sir,” Quarter said softly. “What’s our next move?”
    “That’s what Roscoe and I will discuss.”
    The sergeant stared at Roscoe. For a moment, he looked like he was about to protest, but instead headed back to the cabin. Roscoe and the Captain stood alone. In the street, the performers of Ghost Gulch acted out their final mock gunfight of the night. A bearded drunk in a black hat and a teenager in a white one squared off, drew cap guns, and opened fire at each other. The cap pistols made little crackling pops, like branches being snapped. The fellow in the black hat clutched his belly and keeled over backwards. Dust rose in a cloud as he plopped down. The small audience of tourists applauded half-heartedly and snapped pictures. Roscoe and the Captain walked past them.
    “Roscoe,” the Captain said. “I’ve been