Pursuit of the Apocalypse Read Online Free Page B

high on the enemies’ target list as it was on America’s don’t-let-this-get-blown-up list. Guarded by the most advanced missile defense systems, the majority of the city’s infrastructure had managed to survive the apocalypse.
    Inside the gates, a service station was still advertising a 64-ounce drink for an even dollar as part of their Gut Busting Bucks promotion from several years prior. Jerry pulled into the station and stopped in front of the pump as if the world had never ended. West Texas oil still flowed into the town allowing Bomb City to emerge as one of the more civilized city-states of the wasteland. This fueling and trading hub could eventually become a center of power if the ruler of Alasis didn’t get its hands on it first.
    The massive city up north was spreading its influence everywhere, reaching deeper into the country for supplies and resources. Alasis would make a play for the city eventually. Bomb City’s mining and refining made it a tempting target for anyone with a desire for power. But it wasn’t the oil that made it popular.
    Jerry opened the truck door and the smell of steak broke through the storm’s settling dust and filled his mouth. Memories of filets filled his mind and he could feel the texture of the meat on the tip of his teeth. Amarillo had been born a cattle town and would be a cattle town forever. Not even the apocalypse could change that.
    No vagabond could refuse to stop in the city. No one could. Not a single vegetarian survived the apocalypse with their convictions intact. Those that had quickly found that food was less about preference and more about availability. Not once in his years of wandering had Jerry seen anyone turn down a meal because it wasn’t on their diet. He hadn’t heard the word gluten in years. The picky eater was officially extinct, and the Bomb City Steakhouse had helped kill it.
    The attendant broke into Jerry’s steak-filled fantasy with a less appetizing offer. “Diesel?”
    The Librarian nodded and dug into his pocket. He pulled out a gold coin and tossed it to the attendant, adding a little flip for effect. The air was still thick with dust but it gleamed with what little sunlight reached the coin.
    The attendant caught it against his chest and let it drop into his palms. His eyes narrowed on the coin in his hand and he looked up with a smile.
    “Fill it,” Jerry said as he cracked the window and shut the door.
    The attendant paid little attention to the instructions, focusing instead on the coin in his hand. He held it up to the sky as this somehow authenticated the gold. “This is from that place out west, isn’t it?”
    Jerry nodded.
    “Those folks are crazy.”
    Jerry shrugged. “They’re not too bad if you get to know them.”
    “A bunch of lunatics dressed up like knights? Calling each other Kings and Queens? What’s there to know?”
    “They’re a democracy now. And, their gold is still gold.”
    “True enough.” The attendant tucked the money deep in his pocket and peered through the cracked window.
    Chewy greeted him with a low growl and bared teeth. The attendant backed away.
    “Mind the dog,” Jerry said and turned his attention back to the aroma of fresh grilled meat.
    THREE
    Inside the restaurant, the smell was even more overwhelming. Richer. Closer. He thought he could hear the steaks sizzling somewhere in the back and imagined the aroma rising up like a sultry hand beckoning him closer.
    The Bomb City Steakhouse was all but empty. The storms could last for days and most people responded by shuttering their doors, opening their bottles, and sleeping in. It would be a few hours before the post-weather hangover ended and the streets filled again. Only the truly hungry had made their way to a table.
    Two men sat at a table with little else to do but cast a wary eye on the stranger in their town. It must be their meal he smelled cooking. Another man stood behind a long, dark bar shuffling glasses and tidying up.
    The