Empire Of Salt

by Weston Ochse

"Natasha, come on. Wake up."

  She opened her eyes. The rumbling was still there.

  "What is it?" She levered herself to a sitting position on the couch.

  "Something's going on outside." Derrick headed for the door. "Come on."

  Natasha followed, careful to close the door quietly so she wouldn't wake Aunt Lin or her father, and hurried up the steps to the rooftop patio. On one side, the moon shone down on the Salton Sea, creating quicksilver waves in the darkness. On the other was the highway, where three bull-nosed buses were pulling off and heading into town. They had no markings, and the windows were heavily tinted.

  "What do you make of that?" Derrick whispered.

  Natasha shook her head. It was a little late for a tour group, plus, those buses didn't seem to be the type to be carrying octogenarians out for a discount week of sun, fun and adventure.

  Natasha and Derrick watched from the roof as the vehicles drove into town, turned at sump pump #1 and ran the length of Fifth Street to sump pump #2. Instead of turning then, the buses went straight; the metal barrier that usually blocked access to the desalination plant had been removed. The buses followed a sandy road across the quay which was lit up like a Christmas tree.

  Her grandfather's telescope rested on a homemade wooden tripod near the far edge of the patio. She tugged on the telescope and, with Derrick's help, was able to get it free. She carried it over to the opposite rail, knelt and tried to see through it to where the buses idled at the gate to the plant.

  She saw a man dressed in a black jacket and blue jeans checking items off on a clipboard as the buses entered the gates. He waited until the last bus had come to a stop, then, after glancing back along the quay toward Bombay Beach, he closed the gate.

  It was in that moment that she recognized him. It was Sam Hopkins, the ecologist who'd come into the restaurant earlier that day.

  Gerald woke from a nightmare, sitting up with a start. In his dreams the Chinese had stormed over the hill and had infiltrated camp. This had happened only once in his memory- never to his platoon, but to a sister platoon farther along the line, nearer Inchon.

  He reached over and grabbed his left prosthetic. He always kept one on. Without his wife around, he had no one to help him into them, so each night he rotated, removing one or the other, but never both.

  He dressed as quickly as he could, then went to the living room.

  He heard the cries from his dreams again, this time from down the street.

  He grabbed his old carbine from where it sat beside the door and exited onto the porch. It was hot and muggy, little more than a breeze stirring the night. He slid into the seat of his golf cart, backed out, and headed down the road at a walking pace.

  He kept his headlights off, knowing that they'd attract attention if lit. The screams came again. He turned down Avenue F, heading for the water. Figures ran into the street and back out of it.

  He rested the carbine across his lap so he could use it if necessary. The big wooden and steel rifle was the only thing he could shoot with any accuracy. Pistols were out of the question. As were shotguns, their recoil ruining his tenuous grip.

  But the carbine had gotten him through the Korean War and had proven itself many times.

  As he crossed Third Street, he was able to make out a commotion coming from the Beachy place. He rolled a few more feet, then halted.

  A monster stumbled into the street, dragging someone.

  Gerald leaned forward. It was Mrs. Beachy. Her face had been all but bitten off and her stomach ripped open. The monster looked around, then headed towards the seawall.

  "Fucking gook bastards," Gerald murmured.

  Gerald heard the sound of a vehicle. At three in the morning, it was a wonder anyone was up. He backed into the shadow of a trailer that used to belong to Jessica Sullivan. He'd always thought she was pretty, even when she started barking like a dog and they took her away.

  Soon two vehicles turned into Avenue F. He recognized them as SUVs from the plant.

  Gerald watched silently as heavily armored men engaged the monsters, wrapped them in netting, and packed them in the back of one of the SUVs, while the other was filled with the bodies of the Beachys.

  Gerald remained in place until it was almost dawn, then he slowly drove by the scene. It looked like hell had come upon the Amish family. The home had been broken into, and belongings were scattered all across the yard.

  He continued past and waited outside the restaurant until it opened. Maude served him a cup of coffee in a Styrofoam cup which he took with him. Other than being polite to Maude, he never said anything to anyone, neither about what he saw, nor what he knew.

  They'd find out soon enough what happened to the Beachys.

  They didn't need him to tell them.

  Natasha woke with the feeling that she was being watched. The sun shone through the slats of the window blinds, golden motes of dust spinning in the dry trailer air. Derrick lay curled into a ball on the other couch, the blanket gripped in his hands like something he'd killed in his sleep. The fan rotated slowly, moving just enough to keep the air circulating in the low-ceilinged living room but not really enough to cool her.

  Natasha glanced at the television, which someone had shut off while she'd slept. She grabbed her cell phone from the coffee table out of habit. But she didn't have service in Bombay Beach so it was nothing more than an expensive clock with a few games and a calculator. She'd planned on networking with her friends. Several of them were Twitterholics, and she counted on these to keep her abreast of the latest happenings. But the cell phone was next to useless. Not only didn't it work, it wasn't even good enough to play music. It was just a clock to her. And the clock read 9:30 AM.

  She found it strange that she'd been allowed to sleep in. Auntie Lin had woken her at 5 AM. the previous morning so they could get the restaurant ready for the breakfast rush. Maybe her mom and dad had decided to keep the restaurant closed for another day.

  As Natasha rose from the couch, she noticed Auntie Lin staring at her from the doorway, a bandana covering her hair. In her hands she held a mop and a bucket.

  "Were you watching me, Auntie Lin?"

  "No, I was holding up the doorway."

  Natasha grinned. She thought about trying to get out of cleaning, but she didn't have any reason not to help. Plus, she could try and understand everything that had happened recently while she cleaned. Her father had already left. She woke Derrick and soon the three of them were scouring the inside of the trailer. Derrick found empty boxes in the shed behind the trailer, and they filled them with their grandfather's personal effects, marking them so their father could go through them if he wanted. Meanwhile, Auntie Lin and Natasha scrubbed everything in the house bar the ceiling.

  While they worked, Natasha told Auntie Lin everything they'd encountered thus far, including seeing the hand and the mysterious buses pulling into the desalination plant. Auntie Lin didn't have much to say, but that was normal. Natasha was used to the old woman being a sounding board. Sometimes just talking to Auntie Lin was enough to get her thoughts in order.

  As Natasha sorted through her grandfather's effects, she found two letters, from Gertie and Maude. She couldn't help but read them. Natasha thought she'd get a peek into her grandfather's personality, but instead the letters left her depressed.

  They finished cleaning around noon. Natasha didn't really understand her grandfather any more than she had before, but her thoughts were better organized. Plus, she and Derrick now had clean rooms to sleep in. They had once belonged to Gertie and Maude and both, much to their delight, had waterbeds. As she lay on hers Natasha thought about the gentle swells of the ocean, not the rotten sea they now lived beside.

  They headed towards the restaurant. There Derrick and Natasha found their father, Maude and a few of the other locals sitting around the big round table in the center of the room, drinking iced tea and engaged in a heated conversation.

  Natasha went right to Maude and handed her
a packet of letters, bound by a rubber band. Maude looked at her, and she apologized.

  "I'm sorry. I read these. I know I shouldn't have, but they were so..." She couldn't find the words.

  "Romantic?"

  "Yeah. That's what they were." Natasha knelt beside Maude and embraced her. After a moment's hesitation, Maude returned the embrace.

  The others were talking about the sea and the reason it was like it was. Some of the older residents - like Frank, Kim Johnson, and Kristov - thought it was because of the government, some disaster manufactured to hide their secret shenanigans. But the newer residents, such as Maude and Andy - who Derrick and Natasha were careful not to stare too closely at - felt that it was nothing more than the result of a natural disaster.

  Some of the town-folk relented and agreed that it might have been a natural disaster, but it was the government who'd exacerbated the problem, and so the argument went.

  Maude eventually went into the kitchen and made everyone turkey sandwiches, macaroni salad and iced tea, before returning to the debate, chipping in here and there.

  Natasha recognized the conversation for what it was: nothing different than from what she'd done with Auntie Lin, an exercise in frustration avoidance, allowing everyone to give voice to their ideas. So she sat and ate and watched and listened and, although the opportunity arose, never mentioned that she'd seen Andy Gudgel, the Mad Scientist, experimenting on a green monster hand in his lab.

  Just as the debate was simmering down, the front door opened and Deputy Will entered, with Sam Hopkins close behind. He strode to the counter and asked Maude for an iced tea, then took off his baseball cap and wiped his brow with a napkin.

  "What gives, deputy?" Andy asked.

  "When's the last time any of you saw Abel Beachy or a member of his family?" He eyed everyone carefully as he asked.

  "Why?" Patrick asked. "What happened?"

  "We got a situation."

  Maude brought out two iced teas and passed them to the men. When they were finished drinking, they handed the glasses back with a nod of thanks, then Deputy Will explained: "The Beachys are gone."

  "What do you mean, gone?" Andy Gudgel shouted. "Where'd they go?"

  "That we don't know. They could have left town, but by the looks of things, I don't think they did. I didn't have time to go over the scene. After I determined that no one was there, I was more interested to find out if any of you knew anything."

  "If they didn't leave, then where are they, Deputy?" Patrick asked.

  "We don't know." Will shook his head and put his cap back on. "There's evidence that something happened though."

  "Something? What something?" Kristov asked. Today, he was wearing a peach-colored tuxedo with a ruffled, open-collared shirt. On his feet he wore cloud-white loafers. No socks.

  "You'll have to see for yourself." The Deputy headed for the door. "Come on. I want you all present when I go over the scene. Consider yourselves deputized."

  That last bit made everyone exchange glances, as if they couldn't believe their ears. Natasha looked at Derrick, who seemed ready to explode with a mix of pride and excitement. She rolled her eyes. "Easy, Wyatt Earp."

  As if they were some Wild-West posse, the party marched out of the restaurant and down the street, fists clenched, curious as to what they might see. But when the group rounded a corner and saw what had become of the U-shaped trailers that comprised the Beachy compound they drew up as one and stared.

  Two of the windows were broken and the front door hung from one hinge. Clothes were scattered in the yard, as if someone had dragged them from the house to the chain link fence. A hole gaped beneath a window, looking as if a shotgun blast had blown through it. Blood stained the bottom step of the front porch.

  "Don't you think we better wait before we go in there?" Andy asked the deputy.

  "Wait for what?"

  "Evidence. We might destroy what we find."

  "Look where we are." The deputy swept the area with his arm. "Does it look like we have a forensics unit on hand? You're lucky you got me!"

  Everyone was taken aback by Will's tone. He was clearly pissed off and Frank called him on it.

  "Why you so mad, Will?"

  The deputy whirled on the lanky drunk and grabbed him by the wrist. "Because I think someone died here. I also think someone in this town did it. I don't know who it was, but I'm going to find out. This might be Bum Fuck Egypt, but I'm still the deputy sheriff and there's law here whether you-," he let go of Frank's wrist and looked around, the fire dimming in his eyes as he got himself under control, "-like it or not."

  Patrick was the first to break the uneasy silence that followed. "Hold it, Deputy. We're not the ones who were involved in this."

  Deputy Will Toddrunner raised his eyebrows. "We'll see about that when I'm done talking to everyone. In the meantime, let's see what we can see."

  "What are we looking for?" Natasha asked.

  "Anything. Everything. Whatever can shed light on what happened to the Beachys."

  "But if we're guilty, who's to stop us from messing with the evidence?" Derrick asked.

  Deputy Will answered without turning. "Because I lied earlier. I've already been over the scene and I know what's in there. If something suddenly goes missing, then I definitely will have a suspect."

  Everyone looked at each other.

  Natasha couldn't help herself. Deputized or not, she gulped.

  Abigail had spent a night and a day in her room. She'd eaten one and a half tubes of toothpaste last night, sharing a bit of it with Trudie and washing it down with water. The dog was so starved it had almost bit her as it licked the paste from her hands. Then later it had crapped in the corner something awful. Abigail had wiped it up with tissue and flushed it down the toilet, but the smell still lingered in the room.

  She'd stopped trying to be quiet, too. No longer did she tiptoe around. She walked normally. She spoke to Trudie in a normal voice. She even spoke to the creature in a normal voice, on occasion even knocking on the door to elicit a response.

  Almost always the damned thing would reply by scrabbling on the outside of the door; sometimes almost imperceptibly, sometimes grating and loud, always the sounds sent chills up her spine.

  What was it to keep her in the room like this?

  What kind of creature was it that terrorized old women?

  She'd thought about this for a long time and wondered if it wasn't a more widespread phenomenon. How many other residents of Bombay Beach had this or some creature like it attacked and killed? Was she the last surviving person in Bombay Beach, or were others holed up like her?

  If she'd have to bet, it would be that Gerald, Kristov and Frank would survive. Both Gerald and Kristov had fought in wars, each returning with their own scars, although Kristov's were a bit harder to see. Clearly he'd done and seen things he never wanted to think about, and Elvis was his protector.

  Then of course there was Frank. Good old loveable, drunken Frank. He'd tried more than once to reintroduce romance to Abigail's life, occasionally bringing her stolen flowers and offering to share what booze he had left. Abigail always declined these invitations, but couldn't help but be a little flattered that there was someone out there who wanted her in that way.

  Even if it was Frank.

  No, Frank would survive because of the old adage that God watches out for drunks and fools. Frank so perfectly fulfilled both categories, he was sure to be the last man standing on the planet.

  Abigail wished she had either the fortitude of Gerald and Kristov, or even the pure dumb luck of Frank. Anything. Anything other than starving to death or being ripped apart by the creature, but those seemed to be her current options.

  Then she remembered something.

  Roger had died the day before Valentine's Day four years ago. While going through his things, she'd found a box of chocolates with a card, her name scrawled across the envelope in his handwriting. She glanced around the room. She hadn't thought about that in more
than a year. She'd meant to keep it as a souvenir and had never been able to bring herself to actually eat the candies.

  But now... now things were completely different. Now the chocolates might just save her if she could only remember where she'd put them.

  She went to the dresser and fell on her knees, flinging open the drawers. She searched through her clothes, discovering old purses she hadn't seen in ages, and silken scarves she'd never wear again. But no chocolates.

  Then she rememebered the closet. She'd put a box of Roger's things on the shelf, things she'd never wanted to get rid of. His favorite fedora, his pipes still smelling of vanilla tobacco, and other personal things, each with their own special memory.

  She scrambled to her feet, jerked open the closet door and pushed aside a pile of blankets and several pillows to get to the box. It wasn't heavy, but she lost her balance as she pulled it off the shelf and fell into an end table, her hip screaming in pain as she fell to her knees.

  She got back to her feet and threw open the top of the box. And there it was. Right beneath the fedora, with the words Fannie Mae Candies scrawled across the top. She tore the lid off, and removed the top layer of foil, revealing twelve pieces of chocolate, only slightly graying with age. She immediately shoved two candies into her mouth - hazelnut and dark chocolate - and they tasted like heaven.

  Her dog leaped atop the bed beside her and sat wagging its tail.

  She was about to give it a piece when she remembered that dogs were allergic to chocolate. So instead she turned away from Trudie, holding the food close to her breast lest the dog see her.

  She ate another piece, this one filled with coconut.

  Trudie changed positions and moved into Abigail's lap.

  Abigail pushed the dog away and walked to the corner of the room by the closet. She stood, eating the chocolate, watching the dog out of the corner of her eye.

  Trudie growled low in her throat.

  She wanted some chocolate.

  She growled again.

  Everyone met at the restaurant when they finished examining the Beachy place. All were present with the exception of Kristov, Jose and some of the other locals. The restaurant was open for dessert and drinks only; Maude had taken off, mentioning something about Gertie, and was nowhere to be found. So Auntie Lin took orders for cake, pies and ice cream and, with Natasha's help, ensured that everyone was taken care of.