Post Apocalyptic Ponies: Revolutions Per Mile, Book 1 Read Online Free PDF Page A

I'd need those no matter
what I was driving.
    In the few minutes it took for me to ransack my own ride, Jo had
pulled hers around so it faced the road. She revved the engine and
puffs of dust rose from the dirty driveway from her dual exhaust
wash.
    I read her engine noise as if she were speaking.
    “Hurry, girl. We gotta scoot,” it said.
    I popped my lift gate one last time, thinking I may have left
something back there. In fact there was one last paper bag fluttering
in the corner. I grabbed it and carried it with me to her Mustang.
When I hopped in I tossed the bag in the floorboard of her back seat,
along with my radio.
    “So, where we going? Hays?” It would be the most
logical place, I thought. Find the authorities, tell them what
happened and all.
    “No, I have another stop to make.”
    “What? You're running freight, still?”
    Jo had moved the car to the edge of the pavement. I felt the call
of the yellow line even as a passenger. My hands got sweaty in my
driving gloves, as they always did. But Jo was a tease. She stopped
so she could look over at me. “Listen...” She rubbed her
face, clearing her own sweat. “I can't go back yet. I just
can't. When you drive on the highways.” She looked both ways on
the road. The remote farm had visibility for miles in every
direction. “The stakes are higher. I was supposed to pick up
something from Evans. It's either phenomenally bad timing, or
something else is going on.”
    Her demeanor turned serious. “What was that back there. Are
you all right? You said your dad was in your car. I was watching you
as we drove. You were talking to someone, weren't you?”
    I felt the accusation, but I couldn't very well go on blathering
about how I sometimes talked to my dad, and sometimes when I went
dangerously fast he showed up to slow me down. Whether she saw him or
not, I knew he was there for me. I desperately wanted to explain all
of it to Jo, but I could sense that wasn't going to fly. Not here,
with a burning homestead off our rear quarter panel. She was looking
for a co-pilot, someone she could trust to help her get her freight
delivered, no matter what else was going on.
    “I know it looked like I was talking to someone, and yes I
did mention my dad. But that's just my way of keeping it together out
here by myself. I don't have a co-pilot, and I hardly see people. I
just like to stay social, that's all.”
    It sounded good, and mostly it was true.
    I could tell she bought it. Maybe she had no choice, given the
circumstances. However, it was much easier to believe my story than
to think I was really seeing my dead dad in my passenger seat.
    She turned left with caution, then worked through the gears with
great skill until we were tilting the speedometer past the 100.
Buckled in to the surging animal as I was, I could almost forget the
sadness I'd felt when I thought my dad was struck by the debris after
the explosion.
    Searching my feelings, I knew deep down he was dead. But he was
also with me, out here in the wastelands of Kansas. He'd steered me
right, many times. Of course, an equal number of times I ignored him
and did what I wanted. Maybe it made him mad when I didn't listen,
but sometimes I thought I saw a smile on his face, like he was proud
he had a daughter who didn't always follow his rules.
    Jo downshifted and the car lurched forward as we decelerated at
the edge of a town. Beyond, another thin rope of smoke rose into the
air, then bent over like a whip antenna on the wind.
    Something serious was going on, and it wasn't just at the Evans'
farm.
    In the rearview mirror I caught motion behind me, inside the car.
Jo had ripped her backseats out as most couriers did, but I know I
saw someone sitting back where the seats should have been.
    I pretended to look back at the fire. But when I searched the rear
of her car, my dad was gone.

Save
the car
    “What town is this? It looks like Greensburg. I can't
remember. Been too long.”
    One of the fortified towns.