The Glory Bus

by Richard Laymon

  ‘Oh? See anyone trying to stop me?’

  ‘No,’ said Lauren. ‘You mustn’t.’

  Pamela joined in. ‘You can see it’s not safe. The timbers are rotted.’

  ‘Looks sound.’

  ‘Too much weight could bring the whole house down on top of us.’ Pamela nodded at the walls. ‘See the state it’s in.’

  ‘Just looks like peeling wallpaper to me.’

  ‘They’re shitting you, Duke,’ Boots told him. ‘Slap the bitches up. Teach ’em respect.’

  Duke raised his eyebrows. ‘I just might do that. If they give me just cause.’ He stood back and raised the gun. ‘After you, ladies.’

  Lauren repeated, ‘It’s really not safe up there.’

  A slow smile spread across Duke’s face. ‘Now you’ve really got my curiosity in gear.’

  In the near-dark of the old house they climbed the stairs. Norman glanced at the three women. Both Nicki and Lauren looked wired with anxiety. Pamela seemed puzzled.

  She genuinely doesn’t know why the two women are so nervous about us going upstairs.

  But there must be something up there.

  Any minute now we’re going to find out what it is.

  Chapter Forty-five

  They reached the landing. Light filtered through a corn-flour sack that had been nailed over the landing window. Little needle-sharp rays scattered points of radiance on the floor.

  Clean floor, Norman noted.

  Someone’s maintaining the property upstairs.

  Six doors led off the landing. All but one had been boarded up. The single functional door lay at the end of the passageway in near-darkness.

  ‘Okay, Normy,’ Duke said in a low voice. ‘Go ahead and check the status of the room.’

  ‘Status?’

  ‘Yeah, check whether there’s anyone in there. Of course, if you’re too much of a wuss . . .’

  ‘No. I’ll check.’ Norman smiled to show that he wasn’t afraid. ‘Probably only old Hank in the bathtub or something.’

  ‘Or Hank and Wes in bed playing bury the salami.’

  ‘Boots,’ Duke said disapprovingly, ‘guys don’t do that to other guys. They do it to girls.’

  Norman noticed that Pamela shot a glance at Lauren as if to ask, ‘Is this guy for real?’

  Oh, Duke’s for real all right. Something tells me you’re gonna get to know all his little quirks real well.

  ‘What’re you waiting for, Norm?’

  ‘It’s cool, Duke. I’m going. I was, uh, just checking that the safety was off.’

  Norman advanced slowly along the passageway. He held the Glock automatic out at arm’s length. Its gold plating was the brightest thing here. He licked his lips. They were dry. Dusty. He didn’t like the look of the sealed doors. They made him think of the entrances to tombs.

  God alone knew what lay behind them.

  Open one of those doors, Norman, you’re gonna die screaming.

  ‘Shut up.’ Norman addressed this to his rebel imagination that was forever skimming troubling scenarios across his mind.

  ‘You say anything, Norman?’

  ‘No, nothing, Duke. Just clearing my throat.’

  ‘You don’t want to take all afternoon opening a bitchin’ door. We’ve work to do.’

  Norman reached the door, keeping the gun at arm’s length and pointing it at the woodwork.

  Just in case Wes steamed out brandishing a knife.

  He reached out his other hand. Found the doorknob in the gloom. Turned it.

  Creak.

  The mechanism was old.

  Hinges were old, too. The door opened with a wailing squeal.

  Inside.

  Dark. Very dark.

  Holy moly. Smelt funny, too. Like they’d kept a sick dog in here.

  Kind of an animal smell . . . a shitty smell.

  Norman advanced through the open doorway. He couldn’t even see his arm in the near-dark but the gun glittered in what light filtered through heavily draped windows.

  What’s that sound? Norman asked himself.

  The sound of scratching? It brought to mind an image of a sick dog pawing the bars of a cage.

  Or is it the sound of breathing?

  Breathing!

  No sooner had Norman thought the word than a wet something folded around the hand that carried the gun.

  ‘Jesus,’ he gasped. The gasp became a yell.

  Pain flashed through his hand. He cried out again.

  Duke dashed through the door. In the gloom Norman saw only his silhouette. The man raced to the window. Grabbed the drapes in his two hands. Dragged them down.

  Sunlight blasted in. Its brilliance made Norman close his eyes even though some monster was chewing on his hand.

  Hell – must be an alligator, or a puma, or a wolf, or—

  He opened his eyes.

  Or a man! Norman stood blinking in the bright light and watched as an old coot in a wheelchair gnawed at the back of his hand.

  ‘Get him fucking offa me!’ Norman yelled.

  Suddenly everyone seemed to be in the room.

  Nicki cried, ‘Please don’t hurt him!’

  Pamela gaped. ‘Who the hell is that?’

  Duke aimed the gun.

  The old guy in the wheelchair looked around ninety. He had no hair on the top of his skull, but he had plenty round the bottom of his head and around his jaw so that it formed a snowy-white collar. The eyes were glistening slits surrounded by red skin. Arching over them were fuzzy eyebrows of white hair.

  ‘He’s biting my fucking hand!’ Norman wailed.

  ‘Stand back,’ Duke told him. ‘I’ll blow his face off.’

  ‘No way, Duke! My hand’s in his mouth!’

  Nicki and Lauren pleaded with them not to hurt the guy.

  ‘He’s breaking skin, he’s breaking skin!’ Norman wailed louder.

  Boots angled her gun to shoot the guy in the stomach.

  ‘Don’t you dare, you’ll wind up hitting me,’ Norman warned. Then he said ‘Here!’ and handed her his gun.

  Now, with his hand free, he could do something about the biter. He jammed his thumb into one of the slitty eyes. Warm, soft. Norman pushed harder. At last, with a yell, the old guy quit biting.

  Duke scolded Nicki. ‘Hey, you got a grandpa, you gotta feed him now and again.’

  Nicki rushed forward to the old man. ‘You better not have hurt him!’

  ‘What about me?’ Norman asked, pained. ‘The bastard drew blood. Look!’

  He showed her his hand with puncture wounds in the skin. Wincing, he clamped his handkerchief to it. ‘And see his teeth? The old coot’s got fangs.’

  ‘Hey, Norm’s right,’ Duke said, impressed. ‘Just look at those pointy teeth.’

  Pamela stared, too. ‘They’ve been filed down to points.’ She glanced at Lauren. ‘Did he do this to his own teeth?’

  Norman was maybe the only one not impressed by the old guy’s mouthful of canine-looking teeth. Despite the oldster being a physical wreck his teeth were perfectly white and healthy. Perfectly sharp, too. Red splotches soaked through Norman’s handkerchief.

  ‘I should get a tetanus shot,’ Norman told them. ‘And one for rabies.’

  Duke nodded at Lauren. ‘So who’s Father Time?’

  ‘They call him Priest.’

  ‘Priest. Hey, Priest, meet Duke.’ Duke held out his hand.

  Priest looked at it with interest through his slit eyes. They seeped a syrupy stickiness. Especially the one to which Norman had delivered a damn good thumbing. Then the old dude spoke.

  A dry, cracking voice. Like desert brush being disturbed. ‘You want me to eat all of them? Now?’

  ‘No, Priest,’ Nicki soothed. She stroked the old guy’s forearm while crouching beside the wheelchair.

  Priest didn’t seem to hear her. ‘Ya know you gotta kill ’em and cook ’em before I eat ’em. That’s why I wrote out all those recipes for ya.’

  ‘This is Priest?’ Pamela
said in disbelief. ‘I thought you said he was dead!’

  ‘Not dead. I didn’t say that,’ Lauren explained. ‘I meant no longer in charge.’

  ‘Ya can fry these guys’ balls,’ Priest was saying. ‘Grind fresh pepper on ’em, then serve ’em on a bed of lettuce.’

  Duke said to Lauren, ‘Mebbe you need to do some explaining. Who’s the old guy?’

  ‘Like I said. His name is Priest.’ Lauren made a gesture that seemed to encompass the town. ‘He rediscovered Pits more than forty years ago. He brought it back to life.’

  ‘But what’s this about eating us?’

  ‘He’s old, Duke. He’s getting confused.’

  ‘Confused, hell!’ Priest protested. ‘Got the appetite of a young man, I have. See the girl there?’ He pointed a wrinkled finger at Boots. ‘I’d wager I could down four pounds of her flesh in ten minutes and still have room for her tongue.’ He smacked his lips. ‘Stir-fried with garlic.’

  ‘Hey . . .’ Boots was unhappy at the man discussing her culinary possibilities. ‘No one’s eating any of me.’

  Duke chuckled. ‘You weren’t complainin’ when old Normy-boy here was munchin’ on yer glory hole.’

  Boots turned all sullen. If anything, her brown eyes looked even more dead now. There wasn’t even a spark of anger there.

  To Norman that seemed more dangerous somehow.

  Norman took the opportunity during the conversation to look over the room. This one was furnished. Heavy velvet drapes had covered the windows. There was a bed in the corner of the room. Neatly made. Nicki, he guessed, had been doing the housekeeping. There was also a table, a wind-up gramophone. Cases of old books.

  Cookbooks stuffed with recipes.

  Then Norman took a gander at the man who’d taken a snap at his hand.

  The white whiskers and strip of hair round the back of his head formed a hairy collar. The top of the head was bald and pretty much ruinous-looking with cracked skin, pimples and scabs that resembled about fifty Rice Krispies stuck to his bare scalp.

  He wore a dark pullover and dark pants. He might have been confined to the wheelchair for many reasons but a very obvious one was that he had only one leg.

  The vacant leg of his pants had been doubled over so that the turnup could be pinned to where the knee should have been. On his remaining foot he wore a white sock. Oddly, it was a dazzling white.

  But then, he never walked on it.

  Figures.

  ‘You’re not going to hurt Priest, are you?’ Nicki asked. She was so anxious that Norman wanted to take her in his arms.

  Comfort her.

  Take her mind off the here and now.

  He remembered Duke’s promise. His groin began to ache.

  ‘What do you take us for?’ Duke appeared mildly shocked by the implication. ‘Course we’re not going to hurt him.’

  ‘You already have,’ Priest said with feeling. He gripped the chair’s wheels with his hands to spin it round. ‘College boy there tried to poke out my frickin’ eye with his thumb.’

  ‘You were biting me.’

  ‘I thought you were lunch.’

  ‘Lunch!’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ Priest said, wrinkling his nose. ‘Don’t care for rare meat anyway. I’d have sent you back.’

  ‘Old-timer’s certainly got a thing about eating folk,’ Duke observed.

  ‘He’s confused,’ Lauren said.

  ‘Stop saying that,’ Priest snapped. ‘My mind’s gin-clear. Why, I remember—’

  ‘Priest. Shush now, please.’ Lauren looked uncomfortable.

  ‘I remember when we all sat down round the table. You and Sharpe and Wes and Hank. Course, you weren’t there, Nicki.’ He smiled fondly as he remembered.

  ‘Please don’t say anything, Priest. These people are from out of town.’

  ‘And we all sat at that table at Thanksgiving,’ Priest said proudly. ‘And—’ He slapped the leg stump in his pants. ‘And you ate a whole quarter of me.’

  Lauren groaned, realizing that she couldn’t stop the flow of words.

  ‘Foot, calf muscles, thigh. We ate the damn lot. Been simmering for a whole day in red wine and herbs.’ A smile illuminated his face. ‘Man meat. Once tasted, never forgotten. Food of the gods.’ He made a gesture that could be described as priestly. Priest-like. ‘My gift to my friends. My people of Pits. I gave them a piece of me.’

  Norman glanced across at Pamela. She was surprised. But there was an expression of understanding, too. As if what the old man was telling them filled in gaps in her knowledge of Pits.

  Boots said, ‘No offense. But I think the guy might be loopy.’

  Duke was impressed. ‘Helluva story.’

  Priest held up his finger again, his stare fixed on Duke’s face. ‘A true story, young man.’

  Norman began to make sense of random clues. ‘All those abandoned cars outside the cafe . . .’

  ‘Manna from heaven,’ Priest said. ‘You know, there’s an almighty prejudice against eating our fellow human beings.’

  ‘Oh shit.’ Lauren shook her head.

  The cat’s out of the bag?

  Priest continued pontificating. ‘Our ancestors knew it made good sense to eat not just their enemies but their own parents – when they died of natural causes, of course. It don’t make no sense to waste valuable protein. Also, human flesh has a special, special quality. It’s like a magic potion. Once you’ve eaten it, you’ll know what I mean.’

  ‘It does what to you, exactly?’ Norman said. ‘Eating human flesh?’

  ‘Ah, young friend. I’m not going to spoil your first time. You’ll find out the effect – the extraordinary effect – for yourself.’

  Norman thought hard. Are these really the ramblings of a senile old coot? The guy seems lucid enough to me.

  But eating people? Can we really have found a community of cannibals?

  Holy shit.

  Boots wasn’t impressed. ‘We gonna stand and listen to his stories all day? We’ve gotta find Wes and Hank.’

  ‘Sure thing, babe.’ Duke motioned to Norman to follow him and Boots out of the room. ‘I’m gonna lock you folks in here. Norman’s gonna be right outside. So no shouting out the windows, do you hear?’

  ‘Who is that young feller?’ Priest asked. ‘Reminds me of my first real meal.’

  Norman followed the pair out onto the landing. Duke had plucked the key from the lock at the other side. Now he closed the door. Locked it.

  He handed Norman the key.

  ‘Keep it safe. We’ll be right back.’

  ‘Sure,’ Norman said.

  Pits, he thought. A helluva town.

  Even with all that talk of cannibalism his mind still strayed to Nicki. Slender, blonde Nicki with the soft blue eyes.

  He’d seen her naked.

  Now he leaned back against the wall with his arms folded, his eyes closed, and pictured himself doing the same kind of things Boots had done to the Nordic beauty this morning.

  Norman didn’t have a long wait. In fact, his daydream of lounging back and watching Nicki straddle him bare-assed was just starting to warm up real nice when Boots and Duke came stomping back up the stairs.

  They had Wes and Hank.

  Hank, the old-timer, wheezed. ‘I’m not used to steps. You’ll have to let me take ’em slow.’

  Boots jabbed the muzzle of her pistol in his spine to move him on.

  ‘Ya can shoot me, miss,’ Hank panted. ‘But it ain’t gonna make me move any faster.’

  Wes said, ‘All you had to do was want to stay. We’d have been happy to invite you folks in.’

  Norman heard Duke say, ‘We’re stayin’, all right, but from here on in we’ll be in charge.’

  They reached the top of the stairs. Norman unlocked the door, opened it. Then stood back to allow the two new captives through.

  ‘Once we’ve got Sharpe we’ve got everybody,’ Boots said.

  Old Hank went through the door first. Then Wes.

 
Boots followed.

  When they were all in the room Duke demanded, ‘So, where will we find Sharpe?’

  Lauren shrugged. ‘He’s out on the road.’

  ‘Saving people,’ Nicki added.

  ‘He’s sure got a thing about that, ain’t he?’ Duke rubbed his jaw, thinking.

  Lauren said, ‘We don’t know how long he’ll be gone.’

  ‘Well, how I see it, if he brings back more people that’s a good thing, especially dames. Norm and me have keen appetites in the whoopee department, don’t we, Norm?’

  Norman felt uncomfortable answering the question in front of Pamela who even now was shooting him an accusing stare. Instead, he changed the subject a little. ‘What is it with Sharpe?’

  ‘How do you mean?’ Lauren asked.

  ‘Why the mannequins? Why does he drive round with a bus full of them like they’re real passengers?’

  ‘They’re kinda souvenirs,’ Lauren said. ‘They represent all the people he’s saved out on the road.’

  ‘Then you ate their asses.’ Boots grinned.

  ‘No, we did not eat those people.’ Nicki sounded insulted. ‘Sharpe rescued them. They were stranded in the desert when their vehicles broke down.’

  Hank piped up. ‘They woulda died of thirst if it weren’t for Sharpe.’

  Lauren added, ‘Sharpe made sure they got safely home.’ She took a deep breath as if explaining some quality of Sharpe’s that she didn’t fully understand. ‘But it’s important to Sharpe to keep the image of the people he saves.’

  ‘Might be easier to take a photograph,’ Duke pointed out.

  ‘Sharpe is special. His ideas are unique. When he found an abandoned truck full of store mannequins out in the hills he dressed them in the same kind of clothes as the people he saved, then put them on the bus. Of course, he gave them the names of the people he rescued as well.’

  ‘Crazy.’ Boots whistled.

  ‘Makes sense to me,’ Priest chipped in. ‘I always kept a tooth from every single person I ate. Made a mighty fine necklace, I can tell you.’

  Lauren strained to make her explanation of Sharpe’s habit logical. ‘What Sharpe does with the dummies is an art form as well as creating a remembrance.’

  ‘Art?’ Boots made a weird puffing noise to highlight her disdain. ‘Who’s gonna put a bunch of dummies in an art gallery? Sharpe’s as crazy as a—’