Still A Survivor

Tony’s head lolled to the left. He could feel bruises already starting to form on his right cheek. A familiar coppery taste started in his mouth. He hated the taste of his own blood; however, at this exact moment he was glad to taste it. It meant that he was still conscious, despite the best efforts of his captors. He wanted to raise his head to look at his attacker but the receptors in his neck muscles weren’t answering the calls to perform that function. He fidgeted a little, testing just how trapped he was by the ropes. Tony was a lot of things, but right now he needed to be a survivor.

Tony knew he was; his ability to survive was part of the reason why he was in his current predicament. People like him had become few and far between as the days went on. It felt like a lifetime since humanity found out “the way the world ends” was actually with a bloody cough and an “Amen”. A nasty little bug had picked up where the Spanish Flu left off, as it worked its way through every city on Earth, quicker than anyone could have predicted. The Bug couldn’t take all of the credit though. Sure, it was a pretty “catchy tune” most people couldn’t resist, but it also had help from all those people who maintained it was phony. Tony’s personal favorite was the belief “insert-higher-power-of-choice-here” had said this would happen and through their faith they’d be spared. Nope. Turns out they hacked their lungs out and died just like the non-believers.

Eventually The Bug got tired of turning people’s insides into liquid and slowly faded away, but not before taking a career-best 98% of the world population with it. The remaining 150 million or so were left to pick up the pieces and continue the Earth business. Now the law of the land was he who has the most people with the most guns and the most bullets could pretty much do what they wanted. That was how the Sons of Madison operated. Even before the last few victims of The Bug had expired, the Sons were using their firearms to put themselves in power. It also didn’t help that, thanks to the fever-induced rantings of the former conservative Pres. Burke about their immunity being a gift from God many survivors viewed the Sons as those Chosen to lead the world into the new era: A God and Guns era. Praise the Lord and pass the potted meat indeed.

It was one of these Sons of Madison who was currently trying his damnedest to intimidate Tony. This rather large, sandy haired cowboy nursed the red welts that had appeared on his knuckles, courtesy of Tony’s jawbone.

“Now boy. Feel like talkin’?” he asked in a voice that had some Alabama in it. Tony spat a large glut of the blood pooled in his mouth, and finally managed to raise his head to look at this guy.

“Sorry guy, but if I’m still tied up like this how can I use the crayons it’ll take to talk to you?” he replied, already knowing the chuckle which ended the sentence would earn another blow to the jaw. It was an acceptable price. He was, after all, a survivor.

“Listen here, smartass. I’m a very busy man who has places to go and other jackoffs like you to kill. So let’s just get this over with, because we both know you’re going to tell me what I want to know. Now, you can go ahead and save what’s left of your “purty-widdle” face and tell me where the Bunker is or me and the boys here will see which of your bones are the hardest to break.”

“Sorry chief. I’m kinda shy when I meet new people,” Tony said to the man. He had expected a hit after the first insult which never came. If he got past this one without bloodshed, he might just believe in guardian angels. The sigh which came from the shape in front of him told him his luck finally ran out.

The hit that came this time wasn’t on the jaw but aimed directly at his face, creating a torrent of blood from his nostrils and sending him tipping over backwards on a collision course with the hardwood floor of the shack. He tried his best to keep his head up, but gravity did it’s thing and made sure he smashed the back of his skull on the floor. His sight dimmed a little bit but, somehow, he willed himself to stay awake. He needed to stay awake. She needed him to stay awake.

“Alright…that’s it. Enough of your bullshit!” Tony felt a sweaty paw grab his shirt and pull him up to an unshaven face.

“You have exactly five seconds to tell me where I can find the Bunker before I put a bullet in your fucking skull.” The Son produced a large handgun from under his vest and pointed it at the ceiling.

“One…” He pulled the hammer back with a click.

“Two…” He lowered the gun down towards Tony. Tony lifted his head to look at him.

“Three…” He leaned over Tony’s body and placed the barrel of the revolver on his forehead. Tony hated to admit it but the cold steel felt pretty damn good. Being the punching bag of a gang seemed to give him a headache. The barrel pushed itself into his skin.

“FOUR!” he said much louder, his words tinged heavily with frustration. Tony considered how much he was going to enjoy it when this guy was out of his life. Then he heard the shot.

Tony stared into the face of his former captor as the last few moments of the Cowboy’s brain activity registered what had happened. Sunshine shone through the new hole in the wall behind him, putting an almost angelic halo of light around the guy’s large form. A new line of blood made it’s way down the front of the Son’s head as all of his muscles gave way and he crumpled to the floor. Two more shots sounded and within a few seconds the Cowboy was joined on the floor by his buddies, their bodies surrounded by the same rays of light. Tony looked straight ahead when he heard the crash of the front door being demolished. Now the entirety of the room was bathed in sunlight. Tony squinted as quickly as he could. He thought it was going to be very ironic if he survived a run-in with the Sons only to die from a splitting headache.

“Tony! Are you alright?” a commanding voice called to the room.

“Depends on who you ask,” he responded from his spot on the floor.

“Yeah, he’s fine,” another voice offered up. The first uniformed hand reached out to start untying him. Tony let out a deep exhale when the ropes ceased their squeezing of his lungs. He placed the palms of his hands on the floor and started to push himself up to his feet. The hands that had freed him helped him with the little bit of added balance his muscles couldn’t muster. He was not looking forward to how he was going to feel the next day. If the dull roar in his muscles was a preview, it was going to be a very long tomorrow.

“You know Tony…one of these days you’re going to get into a situation that snark of yours isn’t going to save you from.” The man who helped him up from the floor gestured to the large rectangle where the front door used to live. The room was soon filled with more uniformed people, all examining each nook and cranny of the room. Tony looked around as they went about their work. He put his hand on his savior’s shoulder.

“You might be right Walter, especially with your fantastic concept of timing. If Mr. Good-Old-Boy here hadn’t had to stop and think about what comes after four you would have had a lot more paperwork ahead of you.” Tony said with a smirk. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a silver cylinder. He rolled it around in his hand before handing it to Walter.

“I always deliver though, right?”

Walter took the cylinder from Tony and handed it to another team member. He smiled at Tony and shook his hand. Tony headed out of the shack towards the waiting caravan of MPVs which had brought the troops here. He climbed into the last one with a grunt and closed the door. He looked out of the windshield.

“I know what you’re going to say,” he said into the cab.

“Do you? Do you really Tony?” a female voice said from the adjacent seat.

“You’re going to ask me if I’m okay, and of course I’m okay because that’s what I do. Then you will become so overwhelmed with love for me and relief that I’m okay you will find yourself unable to hold back any longer as you pull me to you and start to inundate me with kisses and…” he stopped talking when he felt the playful yet firm punch in his left arm.

“Your ability to go from ‘smartest guy in the room’ to ‘dumbest thing on the planet’ in the matter of a few words will never cease to amaze me,” the voice said. Tony turned to look in the direction of the very audible sense of irritation.

“So what I’m hearing is I’m amazing?” he asked, summoning up the same smirk he used on Walter. The owner of the voice moved into the light. He stared at the brunette next to him and couldn’t help but smile. He had to use what resolve he could muster to keep from breaking down like a small boy who had lost his best friend only to be reunited an hour later. These missions were getting harder and harder. This was the first that came so down to the wire he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to return. He reached behind his head to unclasp the chain around his neck. At the end of the chain hung a silver heart-shaped locket. The brunette opened her hand and he laid it in her palm.

“I told you I’d always make sure both of us came back,” he said as he closed her hand around the locket. She reopened her hands and slowly opened the locket. Inside was a black and white photo of her grandmother; all she had left of her. She had cherished it since she was young, but insisted he take it on every mission. For luck, she said. Who was he to argue with that? Tony spent a good portion of his daily life leaning on luck. She kissed the picture and closed it.

“You scare me like that again and you’ll be better off with the Sons,” she said, unable to fight the smile that he always managed from her. He was her weakness sometimes, too.

“I’ll make you a deal. I promise try and not do that anymore if you promise not to hit me like that anymore? I think I’m going to get a bruise now,” he said as he took her hands into his. Before she could respond he pulled her close and kissed her lips. This is why he needed to stay awake. He needed her.