An hour later Dave and Dan had spotted two homes that appeared empty and the grasses in the yards were long and uncut. They'd also seen one truck stuck in a ditch and the driver was dead. Dan showed Dave the victims neck and said, “She must have broken her neck with the truck struck the ditch. There is a .38 snub-nose pistol on the seat beside her. Take the gun and see what is in the paper bag.”
Dave moved to the passengers side and opened the door. He reached in and took both the gun and the brown bag. Pulling the paper bag open he whistled and said, “Boxes of .38 shells.”
“Good, we need the ammo more than the gun, but slip it in your coat pocket and now you have two.”
“We gonna bury her?”
“No, son, but I am going to take her purse. There may come a day where we can turn over her ID and inform the cops when and where she died. If she has more than a drivers license, I'll leave an ID on her and take one with me.”
“That's a good id—”
“What's wrong?”
“Look to the west. See that smoke?” Dave asked.
Dan turned, saw the black smoke, and said, “Yep something big is burning and it has either rubber or is feeding a lot of oil to the flames. Smoke that dark could be the tires on a car or a plane crash. Let's move over that way and take a look.”
About twenty minutes later, Dan stopped overlooking a hard packed barn yard and saw a man setting a car on fire. He had a big five gallon gas can in his hand and he was dousing gas on the vehicles. He then struck a match on his boot and then tossed it into an open car window. In seconds the car was in flames.
Another man exited the house, laughed and said, “Burn 'em up, Jones!”
“Is the house safe?”
“Safe?” Freeman asked and when he stopped laughing he said, “Everyone of them is dead, so it's as safe as it gets. We'll take the truck into town and then once we drop the beef off at our place, we'll ditch the truck in town.”
Dan whispered, “Something about this doesn't look right to me. Why would anyone burn their cars, except to keep others from taking or using them? I don't think either of these men are the owners.”
“The taller one just said everyone inside was dead. I think they are thieves, Dad. What do we do now?”
“We wait. Once they leave, we'll check those inside the house.”
Ten minutes later, the back of the truck filled with beef, the two murdering homeless men drove away toward town.
After they'd been gone a while, Dan stood and said, “We need to check for survivors inside the house. Now, they may all be dead, so be prepared to see blood and guts.”
Dave didn't like the idea, but he did nod. He then pulled his pistol and put a round in his pistols cylinder. Once they'd checked those inside, he'd remove the extra round. He kept his hammer resting on an empty chamber most of the time.
They moved from the trees and brush moving slowly and both were sweeping the area closely. Dave expected men, but Dan was checking for mines, traps or anything that might harm them. At the entrance to the house, Dan went in and Dave followed him. A woman was laying on the carpet, her dress pulled up and her panties were missing. Out of respect to the woman, Dan moved to her and pulled her dress down to cover her nakedness. As he covered her, he saw a bullet hole in her chest, right between her breasts.
They checked the inside of the downstairs but saw no one else. Moving to the stairs, they started up. At the top, in the hallway, was an old man pushing 70 or so laying on his back. He looked dead at first glance because he was covered in so much blood.
Dan felt for a pulse and said, “He's still alive. Let's finish checking the upstairs before working on him.”
Most of the rooms were empty but in the master bed room an attractive older woman was on the bed and she was naked. Dan turned and said, “Son, this is the last room, so go and use first aid on the man in the hall. I'll be there in a few minutes.” He moved to the woman and felt her neck. She was as dead as last years Christmas turkey. He could see the mess between her legs and smeared on the bed. She'd been used before they sliced her throat from ear to ear.
He then pulled a blanket on the bed and used it to covered her up. He said a silent prayer for her and then went to help Dave.
He stopped in the upstairs bathroom to get wet a towel and to fetch a dry one. Much of the blood on the man may have come from others. They'd clean him up and then find his injuries.
Walking to his son, Dan said, “Use this towel to clean most of the blood off of him.”
“I only see a wound to his neck, but it looks like someone tried to cut his head off but were in a hurry.”
“You may be right son, but it's his lucky day.”
“What's that noise?”
“Sounds like a truck.” Dan said and then added, “We need to meet who it is, because they may live here too.”
They finished wrapping the old man’s neck injury, wiped the blood from their hands and stood. They were half way down the stairs when two young men entered and both were packing pistols and had long guns in their hands.
“You two, stop!” The man on the left yelled. Both Dan and Dave came to a complete stop.
“What are you doing in our home?”
“We spotted smoke and when we arrived we saw two men kill a cow, load the meat in the back of a blue pickup, and drive away. One of them joked about the people in the house being dead, but we were able to give first aid to the old man. Both women were used and then killed.”
“Jonas, you check the house as I watch our guests.”
Ten minutes later, Jonas returned and said, “Mom and Aunt Faye are both dead. Faye is in the living room and Mom is on her bed and both have been raped and then murdered. Pa is in the hallway with his neck wrapped up good and he's unconscious. His throat was cut severely and he was beaten pretty hard.”
Lowering his rifle, Mike said, “Come on down, we need to talk.”
Chapter 8
Jones returned to Rolla, began bragging about how he'd never go hungry again, and people began following him. If he'd not returned with a thousand pounds of beef as proof, most would have written him off as talking trash. The beef changed the minds of everyone.
“How far did the meat go?” Freeman asked. He'd remained in their tent fighting a headache the post-hole digger had given him. He had no way of knowing the injury had almost killed him and if it had hit an inch to the left, he would have been dead. His head had a nasty cut to his skull and part of the skin was hanging loose. Once the meat was given out, he'd have Jones sew the cut closed. He was drinking whiskey as his head throbbed.
“I've not given it out yet, but they've all seen the cow in the back of the pickup truck. I'm going to start cutting it in a couple of minute, only I won't give it away. I'll trade for things we need and want.”
“Tell them if someone can get me a bottle of pain pills, codeine, they can have ten pounds of meat. I know some of these people robbed Scott's Drug Store of all the pharmacy medications. We need antibiotics too. Trade for both.”
Five minutes later folks were gathered around the stolen pickup truck and Jones said, “I need a full bottle of Codeine pain pills and the same in antibiotic pills. If you have the drugs, you'll get 15 pounds of meat, choice cut.”
“I have pills and how much more meat, if I give you twice what you are asking for?” a tall rail thin man asked from the front.
“Twice the meat for twice the pills. Thirty pounds of meat will last you a long time.”
“Place the meat aside for me and I'll return in a few minutes with the medication. I'll be right back.” the thin man said and then walked away.
Jones traded for whiskey, guns, ammo, and even gold and silver coins.
Then, an old woman asked, “How much for the head?”
“The cow head?”
“Yep and the tail.”
“What do you have?”
“Money, but in silver and gold coins.”
Jones laughed and then replied, “Regular
money has no value these days, not a penny.”
Giving a tooth gaped grin, the woman said, “Precious metals still have value. I deal with coins, not paper money.”
“Eleven dollars face value in silver or gold for the head and tail.”
“Dollars in face value of the coin?”
“Face value, because we have no idea what the fair market value of any metal is on any day. No Federal Offices are still open including the mint or stock exchange.”
She tossed him an old golden eagle and a Morgan silver dollar and then she said, “There, now hand me my meat.”
Jones placed the coin in his pocket and thought, I need to find more coins like this, because I suspect they'll go up in value given time.
The man who'd gone for the medication returned and handed Jones the medication in two big plastic bottles. Jones opened both and counted them. Satisfied his medication was all there and real, he handed the man thirty pounds of meat, weighed on a scale stolen from the local post office.
“If you need other drugs in the future, just let me know. When the government fell, I hit Scott's Drug Store and while everyone was taking TVs, foods, and clothing items, I was in the pharmacy. My cousin and I cleaned the pills out. Unfortunately, my cousin had, uh, an accident the next day, so I got all the meds.”
“What's your name?”
“I'm called Weed. So you can guess what my recreational time involves.” the man gave a loud laugh.
“Pot kills pain and can be used to help folks sleep too. How much for a small bag?”
“Smallest bag of pot that I have is what used to be called a nickel bag years back.”
“Your price?”
“Ten pounds of beef.”
“How about all the beef ribs and two pounds of lean meat?”
Weed didn't reply quickly and had to give the offer some thought. Finally he asked, “All the ribs on this thing?”
“Yep, both sides too.”
Grinning, Weed said, “Deal. I'll be back in a few minutes. I have to go get your smokes, man.”
“Fair enough, and let me get my saw and remove the ribs while you're gone.”
Twenty minutes later, the weed now in his hand, he smiled because now Freeman could sleep and not be in pain. While not much of a pot user, Jones didn't care if others smoked it or not. It had been illegal before the crash of the Federal Government, but now there were no laws, except those that a man could enforce with a gun. He smiled and placed the nickel bag in his shirt pocket.
More people, mostly strangers, were now approaching and he smiled, wondering what else he'd trade for this day. It was obvious that the word was getting passed around that food could be found near the old library.
People quickly gathered around and Jones said, “Fresh beef, and from a steer that was still alive 2 hours ago, so you can be sure this meat is not old. Make an offer and I'll tell you how much meat I will give.”
“I have two leather coats and a real gold cross.”
“Let me see the coats and your cross.”
“I have a diamond necklace that I paid $10,000 for five years ago.”
“I have no use for diamonds.” Jones replied as he looked the leather coats and cross over.
“Well?” the man with the coats asked.
“I'll give you five pounds of meat and not an ounce more.” Jones said.
“Deal.” the man said and handed the coats and cross to the trader.
“Can't you give me fifteen or twenty pounds of meat for my diamond necklace?” The man stared at the trader, with anger clearly seen in his eyes.
“I'll give you a half pound of meat for the necklace.”
“A lousy half a pound of meat for an expensive necklace like this? You are a thief, do you know that? What is really the most you'll give me?”
“No, you've heard my top offer.” Jones replied and then, slowly, he reached down to his pistol and pulled the leather thong off the hammer.
“I must have at least ten pounds, because I have a sick child.”
“You heard my top offer and the child is not my problem. I am offering you a pound of meat now, out of kindness for your child.”
“I . . . I'll take . . . it, but I don't like the way you do business.”
“I don't care if you like me or not. I'm not here to be anyone's friend. I am a trader and nothing more.” Jones said and then handed the man his meat. The scales showed it as exactly one pound.
“I hope to never use you again, because I think you cheat people.”
The crowed began to move slowly away from the truck. To call someone a thief, cheat, or murderer was now the same as slapping them in the face. With no laws enforced, killings happened everyday and there were no arrests, not even for murder.
Knowing people were watching him, Jones knew he had to act, because a man with no guts was labeled a coward and usually had a short life. Someone usually killed them and just for fun too.
“What did you call me?” Jones asked.
“I called you a cheat and a thief.”
“Apologize and do the job now.”
“I will not, especially when I have this in my hand.”
The trader looked at the man's hand and saw a butchers knife. The tip was a fine point and the end of the blade, near the handle, was about 3 inches wide from sharpened edge to the top. What got Jones' attention was the blade was about 14 inches long.
“Put your knife up and leave, or start the dance.” the trader said, his right hand resting on his pistol.
Suddenly there was a loud scream and the man lunged at Jones. Pulling his .38 pistol, Jones fired three times, each striking the man in the center of his chest. He remained standing but stopped and looked down at three holes seeping blood. His hand let go of the knife and meat, as his hands moved to his wounds.
“You've killed . . . me and over . . . a piece of meat?”
“You pulled a knife, but that'll never happen again. That's all you are is a piece of rotten meat.” Jones said and then thought, I'll bet the meat of people could be traded, if the traders for the meat didn't know. It'd look like pork. He holstered his still hot pistol and grinned.
“How about throwing his body on the back of my truck, so I can take him out and bury him this afternoon.” People were moving around and when he looked next, the meat the man dropped was gone, taken by someone in the crowd.
The man wasn't dead yet, but he would be by the time Jones would leave. He would take the man, process his body into pork and trade him away tomorrow. By not telling what it really was, folks would trade. Meat was meat, as far as he was concerned, and his traders would never know.
Two men neared and said they'd help, so cutting off a couple of pieces of beef, he tossed it to them for their assistance. Jones knew he'd not bury the body, but process it as pork. Only the head, hands and feet would be buried.
“Finally a filthy man neared and asked, “How much for a beautiful woman? I need meat more than I need another mouth to feed. I am called Stan.”
“Let me see this woman.”
The old man pulled on a rope and a woman walked through the crowd to stand before Stan. She was very pretty, but not beautiful in Jones' eyes. However, she did have a very attractive body, so the trader was interested. She stood beside the old man with her head lowered in shame.
“Tell me about this woman and why you wish to trade her.”
“Before the asteroid struck I was a wealthy man, with millions of dollars in the bank. Overnight I was reduced to a common beggar. Paper money is useless now and not worth the paper it is printed on. She was one of two of my financial assistants, but the other woman died in one of the earlier earthquakes. This woman was more than just a helper, she and the other woman were also my paid lovers. Now that the world has changed, she is just another mouth to feed. I will take fifty pounds of beef for her.”
“Twenty-five, because she's not a young woman.”
“I must have fifty, please.”
“Okay, I will giv
e you thirty pounds for her and not an ounce more.”
“All lean and no bone or gristle?” The man's frustration and disappointment was clearly seen.
“All lean with no fat, bone or gristle. But, that is my highest offer for her.”
Silence as the old man gave thought to the offer.
After a few long minutes the man spoke, “I will take your offer. I can no longer care for those who are not my family.”
“Good, now let me cut and weigh your meat. Please take the woman up by my passengers door and secure her to my front bumper. I have little time to look her over right now. Make sure her hands are secured behind her back.”
The old man pulled her to the truck and tied her to the bumper. He quickly checked her hands and tied her feet together. He then picked up his meat and left, not saying another word to anyone.
Jones continued trading until a young man of about twenty neared and said in almost a whisper, “Need any guns?”
“Yes, I do need them. What kind and how many do you have?” Jones was excited now, because guns would give them power, and power he craved. He still had about half of the steer, minus head, tail and ribs.
“I have two .45 pistols, a case of ammo and one military M-16. The rifle is old, but still very functional. I want what is left of the meat, all of it.”
“Okay, if you have ammo for the M-16.”
“I have one case of ammo for each of the two pistols and one case for the rifle. All three are stolen, but there aren't any police anymore. Deal?”
“Deal. Where are the guns?”
“I have them hidden near here. I will go and get them. All three are new and never fired. When the government shut down, I got them from a Sergeant who was assigned to Fort Leonard Wood. They must have given the weapons to the troops there or he stole them from the armory. Most of the sidearms in the army are 9 mm, so I wonder where the .38 pistols came from.”
“Who cares, fetch the guns and ammo, then take your meat.”
Chapter 9
When the two were at the bottom of the stairs, Mike slipped his weapon on safety and said, “Let's go in the kitchen to talk. The blood and smell out here is too much for me.”
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