Crum nodded. “Shoot first and ask questions later. That applied to Jenkins’ gun as well as his mouth.”
The waitress arrived with enough chicken wings to permanently ground an entire migrating flock. My stomach gurgled in anticipation, but I didn’t want to be the first to reach for one.
“Help yourself,” Crum said, heaping his plate with the barbequed wings.
“Thanks.” My fork at the ready, I stabbed at the wings while I aimed my conversation at Garth. “We uh ... ran into your brother, Jimmy, today. He told us he found Jenkins’ ammo belt and boots outside by the front steps, about fifty feet from his body. Why would a prepper like Jenkins take his boots off? According to my weather app, it was nearly freezing that night.”
Garth shrugged. “Maybe they got wet and he was drying them.”
I mulled over the idea. “Why do you think he had so much ammo with him?”
Garth licked sauce from his lips. “Because Jenkins was a total doomsday prepper.”
“Isn’t every prepper?” Grayson asked.
“No,” Crum said. “Some of us are simply hoping to outlast the food and power shortages inevitable with an economic collapse.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“The reign of Retail Man is coming to an end,” Crum explained. “We can’t continue to spend our way out of dips and recessions. The national debt is like an iceberg getting ready to sink our economic boat.”
“That’ll never happen,” Grayson said.
Crum snorted. “That’s exactly what they said about the Titanic.”
“If the economy doesn’t get us, global warming will,” Garth said.
My nose crinkled. “Can’t we just outrun the tide?”
Garth shook his head. “Rising sea levels are just a minor symptom. Pandora. Global warming’s gonna change the entire weather pattern. Probably even the flow of the Gulf Stream itself. When it does, we’re talking killer tornados. Droughts. Ice storms all the way to Havana. Not to mention the ten or twenty million folks along the shorelines with nowhere to live except in a tent in our backyards.”
“Don’t forget earthquakes,” Crum said.
“Like the San Andreas?” Grayson asked. “But they’ve been saying that thing’s going to blow for the last two hundred years.”
Crum set down the bony remains of a chicken wing. “No. I’m talking about the New Madrid fault line along the Mississippi River. Lots of folks think when it blows, it’ll leave a two-hundred-mile-wide gap running north to south right down the middle of the US.”
“So much for the United States,” Garth quipped.
Grayson shook his head. “Hold on a moment. I’m trying to wrap my head around this. How was Jenkins—or any prepper for that matter—going to solve any of those issues with a bucket of freeze-dried deer meat and a loaded AK-47?”
“They’re not,” Garth said. “That’s short-term thinking. But you gotta make it through the short term to get to the long term.”
Grayson nodded, his eyes thoughtful. “Your brother Jimmy told us Jenkins shot out the window in his cabin. Then he left his gun behind and went outside carrying a fully loaded ammo belt. Have any idea why would he do that?”
Garth licked barbeque sauce from his buck teeth. “Maybe his gun jammed when he fired it. It would’ve been useless.”
“So, then what?” Grayson asked. “He was going to beat his assailant to death with his ammo belt?”
Crum laughed derisively. “Don’t discount that idea. Jenkins has had more than a few screws loose lately.”
I looked Crum in the eye. “What do you mean by lately?”
“Sorry,” Crum said. “Client-patient confidentiality. But I’ll say this. Over the past few months, he’s been acting more paranoid than usual.”
“Any idea why?” Grayson asked.
“Yeah.” Crum’s lips twisted into a wry smile. “A little condition called ‘life.’”
Grayson drummed his fingers on the table. “Could carbon monoxide make someone paranoid? We found some spent fuel canisters in the cabin.”
“What kind?” Garth asked.
Grayson deferred to me.
“ThermaFuel,” I answered.
Crum shook his head. “No. That wouldn’t do it. That stuff’s made of diethylene glycol. It’s non-toxic. Doesn’t even smoke. You can use it indoors or out without worrying about carbon monoxide poisoning.”
Grayson’s brow furrowed. “What else could’ve pushed Jenkins over the edge?”
“Besides his wife Arlene, you mean?” Garth quipped.
Grayson’s eyes narrowed, as if he’d noted Garth’s comment on some list inside his head. “The scene at Jenkins’ cabin indicated he must’ve felt an imminent threat. That whatever he was afraid of was right outside the cabin door. What would—”
“Hey guys,” a familiar voice sounded.
Engrossed in conversation, none of us had noticed Officer Jimmy Wells approach. The young cop stood beside the empty chair at the end of the booth. His expression made me think he was trying to piece together how Grayson and I’d managed to crash his private prepper party.
“Sit down,” Garth said to his brother. “Looks like Rexel is a no show. Somebody should search Google to see if Hell’s frozen over.”
Garth and Crum laughed, but Wells’ face remained stoic.
“I was afraid of that,” Wells said. “I just heard over the police radio that his truck was found abandoned by the side of SR39 this afternoon. I thought maybe one of you had heard from him.”
We all shook our heads.
Wells eyed Grayson and me suspiciously. “Weren’t you two out there earlier today?”
“Yes,” Grayson said. “But just to check out his repeater.” He locked eyes with me. “My partner has a thing for little elephants.”
Wells’ jaw tightened. “Was he acting strangely?”
Grayson shrugged. “Impatient. Paranoid. Angry at the world.”
“That’s Rexel’s normal,” Garth said.
Wells blew out a sigh. “I know.”
Chapter Sixteen
AS GRAYSON PULLED THE RV out of Blarney’s parking lot, he gave his pathetic Southern accent another try. It was almost as painful as my heartburn from the chicken wings.
“Cryin’ shame ’bout Rexel,” he said. “But it sure was mighty neighborly of Garth and Dr. Prepper to invite us to join their friendly little, Sunday-go-to-meetin’ survivalist clan.”
I shot him some side-eye. “Where’d you pick up that shtick? Hee Haw? And don’t flatter yourself, Grayson. They’re just looking for someone to take over Rexel’s job of handling their inventory.”
Grayson smirked. “Given those breeding hips of yours, darlin’, I suspected as much. So, just how good are you with ‘handling inventory’ anyway?”
“Ugh!” I squelched a grin. “Shut up!”
I whacked him one on the bicep. “And can the corn-pone accent. I’ve already warned you about it once.”
“You breeders are all the same,” Grayson muttered, shaking his head. “Well, I guess it’s your choice, ma’am. Do we turn right and head to the Walmart parking lot? Or left and go back to our lovely hotel suite?”
I sneered. “Anything but that ashtray of a motel.”
“Walmart, it is,” he said, and hung a right.
I breathed a sigh of relief, then punctuated the end of it with a rather impressive burp.
“Nice one,” Grayson said. “Practicing for the Guinness Book?”
My ears grew warm. “Excuse me. It’s just that I haven’t had that many chicken wings—or leers from creepy guys—since ... uh, let’s see ... ever.”
Grayson grinned, then his expression went introspective. We traveled along in silence for a few minutes, watching the lights from one unmemorable business after another flash by like uninspired background filler.
As he made the turn onto the Redman Parkway toward our supercenter stop for the night, Grayson finally broke the silence.
“Relat
ionships are hard.”
Crap.
The mention of the word ‘relationship’ always made me squirrely. I glanced over at Grayson, unsure where he was going with his statement. Random thoughts began ping-ponging around inside my skull like a nuclear reactor gone haywire.
Was Grayson interested in me as more than a business partner? Were my breeding hips really that alluring? Geez. Why hadn’t anyone told me earlier? Why did I waste all that money on a ThighMaster? Wait! Maybe he decided our partnership isn’t working out.
I’m too flippant.
Too naïve.
Too ... gassy!
I cringed. Is he going to fire me?
Grayson turned his head to face me. “Let me ask you something.”
I closed my eyes and braced for the worst. “Okay.”
“Jenkins and his wife obviously didn’t get along that great. What made them think they could survive the end of the world together in that rattrap of a cabin?”
Relief washed over me like a tsunami. It was quickly followed by a small wave of disappointment. Then, to my surprise, a trickle of anger.
“I don’t know,” I said, opening my eyes. “But I’ll tell you this. If I was Jenkins’ wife and he tried to drag me to that crappy cabin to ride out the apocalypse, he’d be the first casualty on my list.”
“That’s what I figured,” Grayson said, and turned his eyes back to the road. “Rather than go willingly, she’d put up a fight, right?”
“In my book, yeah.”
“But how much of a fight? Do you think Arlene would kill him?”
I shrugged. “Push comes to shove? Why not? If Jenkins was half the jerk those guys said he was, living with him would’ve already primed Arlene for the job.”
Grayson whistled. “Granted, the guy was no husband of the year. But murder?”
“You forget, Grayson. From what we’ve been told, she’s a survivalist, too.”
Grayson blew out a breath. “Right. I guess you can’t be squeamish about the whole kill-or-be-killed thing when the end of the world is breathing down your neck.”
“Yeah.” I smiled to myself, enjoying his botched metaphor.
Grayson pursed his lips. “You know, until tonight, I never really thought about how many ways it could happen.”
“Murder?”
“No. The end of the world. Nuclear power-plant meltdowns. Polar icecap meltdowns. Economic meltdowns. Societal meltdowns. I gotta say, the sheer weight of worrying about all of that doomsday stuff is insane. I wouldn’t be surprised if the stress caused Jenkins to have his own personal meltdown.”
I shrugged. “Maybe. But honestly, obsessing about the end of the world isn’t much different than watching the network news.”
Grayson eyed me, then chewed his lip. “I guess you’re right about that. The news is loaded with doom and gloom stories you can’t do anything about.”
“Exactly.” I stifled another burp. It felt like it could’ve been a record-breaker. “What else can a person do in this crazy, cruel world but stockpile a few creature comforts and hope for the best?”
Grayson smirked. “Thanks. I think I finally understand the whole twenty-four-seven Walmart thing.”
I laughed.
Grayson pulled up to a stoplight and studied me. “So let me get this straight, Drex. Am I right in believing you think these prepper folks are just sensible people preparing for a future that, at the moment, isn’t looking so bright?”
I shrugged. “I wouldn’t go that Pollyanna. But look. All I’m saying is that maybe they’re not all completely bonkers. Some of their fears are justifiable.”
“Maybe you’re right.” Grayson pulled through the intersection. “But whatever happened to enjoying the moment? Maybe I’m wrong, but it seems like these prepper folks are so busy worrying about some post-apocalyptic tomorrow that they’ve forgotten to have a good time today.”
“I dunno about that. Tonight, Garth and Dr. Prepper seemed pretty happy to me.”
Grayson smirked. “True. Beer has that kind of magical power over men.”
I laughed. “Chicken wings, too. Who could possibly be sad with a nice, big gutful of chicken wings?”
“Uh ... the chickens?”
I laughed again. “Okay. The chickens.”
Grayson pulled into the Walmart parking lot. It was surprisingly empty. As he parked the RV at the back-end of the lot, I stared at the yellow, flower-shaped icon on the store’s blue sign. Was it my new emblem for “home sweet home?”
“Home sweet home,” Grayson said, as if on cue.
I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.
“You can have the bathroom first if you want,” he said.
I shook my head. “Thanks, but I already brushed my teeth in the restaurant washroom. I’m good to go.”
Grayson smiled. “Low maintenance. I like that.”
While I pondered what to make of that remark, Grayson cut the ignition. I undid my seatbelt and started to stand, but Grayson gently put his hand over mine.
The feel of his fingers on mine was electric.
“You know, all this prepping stuff?” he said. “Say it actually worked. Say you survived whatever horrific meltdown scenario played out. Then what?”
“I dunno.”
“Me either.”
He pulled his hand away, sending my emotions colliding against each other all over again. Relief. Disappointment. Anger. I really did need to get a grip. I concentrated on his words, and let logic iron over my rumpled feelings.
“To be honest, I just don’t get prepping,” Grayson said. “Struggling every day simply to keep your belly fed and your heart beating. It just doesn’t seem like much of a life to me.”
“You forget, Grayson. For most of human history, that’s the way it’s been.”
His lips curled into a slow, thoughtful smile. “Life before Netflix. I almost forgot.”
I matched his smile. Grayson’s face grew serious again. “Call me crazy, but I think I’d rather go on to my reward—whatever that may be—than to survive and be forced to scrounge like a rat for whatever scraps remained in our decimated world. Wouldn’t you?”
I nodded. “Probably, yes. But honestly, until the crap actually hits the fan, I don’t think anyone knows whether they’d chose to live or die. I guess preppers are simply trying to keep their options open.”
“Like Garth said, short term for the long term.”
“Yeah.”
From the dim light of the streetlamp shining through the windshield, I could almost see the gears turning in Grayson’s mind. Finally, he said, “Fair enough,” and got up from the driver’s seat.
I followed him into the main cabin of the RV. He continued on to his bedroom. I stayed in the living quarters and took the cushions off the couch to access the storage bin underneath.
As I pulled a set of sheets from the bin to make up the couch, Grayson came back into the room.
“You need any help?” he asked.
The tenuous look on his face made me wonder if he was debating whether or not to kiss me.
I nearly dropped the sheets.
“Uh ... no. I’m good.”
He turned to go, then stopped and turned around again, causing my heart to beat like a jackhammer. He smiled at me wistfully.
“You know, I can’t stop thinking about Jenkins holed up in that disgusting cabin, surrounded by rotting deer meat and ammo. What kind of life is that?”
Definitely not thinking about kissing me.
“I dunno,” I said.
“And that AK-47 bugs me,” he said. “Why did he leave it in the cabin? Why would he have it in the first place? I’m thinking something in those woods must’ve been spooking him for a while. Not just this past week. Whatever it was, it had to be something he saw as a major threat to himself, and possibly even to his wife, Arlene.”
I fluffed a pillow absently, my thoughts and heartbeat slowly returning to their usual paces. “Grayson, do you think Dr. Prep—I mean Freddy Cr
um, or Garth ... or even Rexel for that matter .... Do you think any of those guys might’ve killed Lester and abducted Arlene?”
“Why?”
“You know. For ... breeding stock. None of them seemed to like him. And with her husband conveniently out of the picture ... well, it’s possible, isn’t it?”
Grayson grimaced as he thought about it. “Yes. I suppose. But I doubt it. Those guys didn’t seem like they had enough wits about them to be able to keep a woman against her will.”
A sudden chill made me shudder. What kind of wits did it take? “Maybe you’re right.”
Grayson studied me. “What about you, Drex? Are you ready for the end of the world?”
“You mean like prepper ready?”
“Like any kind of ready.”
Grayson peeled off his black T-shirt as he waited for my answer. I couldn’t help but notice his six pack, and the yellowish, almost healed bruise between his neck and shoulder. Whether he’d gotten the wound from his RV accident or a bite from the Mothman he’d been chasing would be, it seemed, forever up for debate.
“Yeah,” I said. “I guess you could say I’ve got a plan for the end of the world in the back of my mind.”
Grayson’s green eyes lit up. “Really? What is it?”
“I’m going to head straight for ground zero. My plan is to run headlong into the abyss.”
Grayson cocked his head. “Why?”
“Like you said. What’s the point of scrounging like rats in a destroyed world? When the time comes, I think I want to be the first to go.”
Grayson winked. “Right after Jenkins, you mean.”
I smirked. “Hopefully not that soon.”
Grayson laughed. He reached into a drawer and pulled out a foil pouch. He opened it and tossed Gizzard a couple of freeze-dried crickets. “Listen. I’m gonna hit the hay. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning—that is, provided we survive any random, overnight apocalypse.”
Grayson grinned, held up crossed fingers, then disappeared down the hall.
I slipped into a T-shirt and sweatpants and lay down on the couch. In the dim light, I could just make out my new shoulder-length auburn wig hanging sideways off the side of ET’s ugly, square-shaped head.
Moth Busters, Dr. Prepper, Oral Robbers: Freaky Florida Mystery Adventures 1, 2 & 3 Page 30
