Post-apocalyptic Adventures of Ott & Ren: Bay of Wolves: Post-apocalyptic Adventures of Ott & Ren, #1

By Jeremiah Donaldson

They find themselves stuck on the poisoned shore of what had been the west coast of Canada with only one way forward: infiltrate a cannibal infested island and retrieve the one thing that will fix their vehicle...if it's still there.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jeremiah Donaldson
• Release date: Jul 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463432822

Jeremiah Donaldson

Jeremiah Donaldson is a science fiction/horror writer, editor, game designer, free thinker, corporate slave, and overly blunt commentator that grew up in rural Kentucky and lived in Florida for 13 years before moving back in 2008. When he's not working...whatever, he always works, let's start that over. When he's not playing his part as a cog in the machine for the specified number of hours per week, or doing housework, or planting fruit trees in preparation for the climatic meltdown we're forcing upon the planet, he strings together words for peoples' enjoyment.

Book preview

Post-apocalyptic Adventures of Ott & Ren: Bay of Wolves

Copyright 2015 by Jeremiah Donaldson

www.ephiroll.com

Cover art copyright 2019 by Jon Wells

Smashwords edition

ISBN: 9780463432822

All rights reserved. Any resemblance to persons you know is the result of fevered delusions coming to life.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 1

Gil's hand slipped off the wrench and sent his knuckles into the side of the engine block. Skin peeled back where they made contact. He put the wound to his mouth and sucked at the blood. Fluid was too precious to waste. Besides, it reminded him of his younger, reckless years when he ate whatever he could find. He licked the blood that ran down between his middle and ring fingers, trying to miss the greasy crude smeared on them from the motor. He went back to work, humming a tune of his own design. The owners had paid well for him to get the armored SUV fixed as quick as he could so they could 'Get out of this backwater shit hole'.

Maybe the thickly muscled woman had been right.

Gil stood and scanned his surroundings. The town of Bay of Wolves sat on what had once been a subdivision that overlooked Vancouver where the poisoned Pacific ocean now lapped. Metal skeletons and ruined buildings stuck from the water towards Vancouver island. Several of them reached a couple hundred meters above the surface of the water. An obstacle course of roofs showed just above and under the water closer to shore. Flotsam and floating roofs, branches, and boards moved with the gentle swell that ebbed and flowed. Twisted trees and patches of sawgrass grew between the bare foundations and the 20 dilapidated houses that constituted the town. The setting sun made the polluted sky blaze orange and the water neon green.

Yeah, whatever.

Well, maybe.

But what if not?

Why did she have to go and get him talking to himself?

Crazy, bitch.

Fucking with an old man like that. And the albino. He shuddered.

The clatter of an engine without a muffler broke him from the conversation in his head.

He turned to see a familiar sight. A smoking car puttered down the hillside road towards the town gate. A cloud of black smoke trailed from it while the noise echoed between the hills. The road had once been a major freeway used by the Old Nations. Now, it was two broken lanes with rubble along the sides that disintegrated more with each passing winter. Gil normally received a dozen customers a year. It had been a couple years since two had been in town at once. Maybe things had picked up.

The armored car approached slowly, giving him time to ease the remaining bolts out of the SUV's radiator and lift it clear of the frame. Remnants of water splashed from the crumbled bottom where it'd been damaged by some off-road traveling. They were lucky he didn't have to weld the whole truck back together. He wiped his hands on a rag just as the armored coup rolled to a stop next to his flatbed with grass grown up around the wheels and filled with spare parts. The cloud of exhaust the car dragged along took a few seconds to dissipate.

The once maroon coupe had a steel shield to protect the radiator. I-beams had been used for bumpers. All the windows had steel where glass should have been and had rectangles cut in the front to see from. A machine gun and spotlight were mounted on top so they could be operated through the metal sunroof that was closed. Holes had been punched through the body and sections of chain used to hold the doors shut. Random bullet holes showed in the rusty body. The motor smelled hot and ticked loud. Had they ran it out of water or oil?

Chains rattled for a few seconds before the doors opened with twin shrieks of metal on metal, closing with the same. Gil twirled his fingers in his ears to make them stop ringing from the din. The occupants had reached him by the time he finished.

A massive man with a mane of red hair pulled into a bun on top of his head and several days of shadow on his chin held out his hand. He wore combat fatigues, boots, and a flannel shirt with half the buttons gone. A hunting knife hung on the right side of his belt and a steel flail on the left.

Gil had to lean back to look up at the cheesy smile and twinkling eyes the same color as the man's hair. He held out his hand to shake, and his palm was engulfed like a huge muscular pillow had been wrapped around it. Several joints popped during the brief handshake.

I'm Ott. I see you have a nice garage here. He nodded towards the tools and engine parts visible inside the dim interior.

Gil smiled back. Thanks, I'm Gil. You see right. The best, er, only one in these parts. He looked at the other man who was the complete opposite of the giant redhead. He stood half Gil's height, only reaching Ott's thigh, and had huge, black mutton chops that ended in ponytails. His hair was cut close to the scalp, revealing a tribal face tattoo on his left side that extended to the crown of his head. Eyes so blue that they looked black darted about while he stood with his arms crossed. He wore a bullet proof vest, cargo pants, and boots. A pistol hung on his right hip. Gil held out his hand. And you are?

The man looked at the hand and sneered. Has this place always been such a shit hole?

Gil put his hands in his pockets. Depends on who you ask.

I doubt that.

Ott cleared his throat. That's Ren. He has his qualities.

Gil grunted. I'm sure he does. He leaned back to look Ott in the face. How can I help you folks?

I need my car checked out.

Told you we couldn't leave the last town without water, Ren said.

Gil grinned at Ren and looked back at Ott, who had a guilty look on his face.

You didn't drive it far like that, did you?

Ott indicated a little while Ren mumbled, Stupid tallie.

Gil pointed a thumb at Ren. Is he always like this?

Ott shrugged. He can be worse.

Not better?

Not much.

Gil looked around at the setting sun. I can probably figure out your problem tonight, but you aren't going anywhere before morning.

Ott nodded. Where can we hole up for the night?

Barley is the owner of the inn. Gil pointed at a three story house near the wall. Weak lights glowed in the bottom windows and through