The Scourge

by R. Tilden Smith

  “I need you to stay cool my brother. We out here to make us some money so we gotta stay focused, right cuz?”

  “Ok ok, Obama, I got you man. We cool.”

  “Ok,” Ray said and shuffled back to his place behind the left rear bumper. They finally got the car rolling under its own momentum, so he and Spuds jogged along next to it while Terp guided the subcompact down the middle of the driveway. Man, it’s so quiet, he thought, no traffic, no people, not even the birds are squawking. The tires compressed the sparse dirt and gravel beneath its wheels, emitting a loud and uneven chorus of pops and crunches, a sound Ray had to convince himself wasn’t that of distant gunfire. Too quiet out here, he thought, my mind is playing tricks on me. His undershirt was already soaked through with sweat. The acrid stench of his body odor bellowed out of the collar of the military surplus field jacket he wore, stinging his eyes and nose. I’m just as nervous as Spuds. I need to take my own advice and just focus on the money.

  The car bounced down the driveway ramp and rolled smoothly onto Route 521, the main thoroughfare that ran past the depot. Ray slapped his palm on the hood of the car twice, signaling for Terp to stop the car. He ran around to the passenger side and opened the door. He pointed for Spuds to jump in the backseat, then curled his six foot frame through the Fiesta’s tiny passenger door and closed it behind him. “Ok gents, are we ready to make some money?” he said, rubbing his hands together in that maniacal way cartoon robber barons do.

  “You sure the money gonna be there like you said?” Terp asked, “I’m too old to be going on meaningless joy rides in the fucking pitch dark.”

  “Damn Terp!” Ray said, “You scared of the dark too?”

  “I ain’t scared of no goddamned dark Obama. It’s just we ain’t supposed to be out here and if your girlfriend was wrong about this shit and we get caught, then I come away empty-handed and I lose my job. I ain’t interested in losing my job.”

  “Me neither homie,” Spuds chimed in.

  “Both y’all shut the hell up. My girl Shelly said the old guy that owns the Subway only cleans out the safe once a week. This time, we gonna clean it out for him.”

  “Yeah,” Spuds said, “but you didn’t tell us how we gonna get in the safe.”

  “Yeah I did Spuds,” Ray said, “you just don’t remember ‘cause you drink too damn much, all those cervezas is messing with your memory.”

  “Fuck you Obama. I remembered enough to get you the keys to this rice burner didn’t I?”

  Ray chuckled, “Yeah, yeah you did.”

  “You could’ve stole the keys to something a little more roomy,” Terp said, “I feel like I’m in the frigging teacup ride at Disney World.”

  “Fuck you too Terp. They only give me the keys to the cars that come in for maintenance. I’m a mechanic esé, not Thrifty Car Rental. Besides homie, I thought you would be happy to get the chance to drive a car that doesn’t have one of those breath analyzers attached to the starter.”

  “If I were you, I would shut the hell up while I still could talk.”

  “What’s wrong Terp, you can dish it out but can’t take it? Hey Obama, you should have picked somebody more stable than the town drunk to be in our posse.”

  “Who the hell you calling a drunk asshole?” Terp said, twisting in his seat to face the rear, “Keep talking shit and I’ll come back there and blacken your other eye.”

  Spuds lunged forward, rocking the small car violently as he threw himself into the small gap between the two front seats. He grabbed Terp by the collar, forcing their faces inches apart.

  “Fuck you Terp! You know this ain’t no black eye asshole! I got this ink in prison, esé. One teardrop for each guero like you that I shanked for messing with me.”

  “Oh, Is that right?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. You best check yourself before I check you.”

  Terp shifted in his seat, his left hand disappearing into his waistband at the small of his back. It emerged holding .38 revolver, which he cocked and stabbed into Spuds right temple.

  “I’m gonna assume that the gueros you dealt with in prison didn’t have one of these pointed at your skull?”

  “Whoa whoa Terp!” Ray said, “Calm down bro! Spuds was just joking. Ain’t that right Spuds?”

  Spuds slowly removed his hands from Terp’s collar. “Uh, yeah man ok,” he said, “I was just playing homie. Ease up, alright? We cool.”

  Terp hesitated for a moment and then slowly lifted the gun barrel off the side of Spuds’ head and returned it to its hiding place in his waistband. “I don’t think we’re gonna be friends.”

  “Hmph,“ was the only sound Spuds could manage before quickly leaning back and sliding behind the passenger seat.

  “Come on man, start the car and let’s go get this money,” Ray said to Terp, playfully slapping him on the shoulder.

  Terp grunted and mumbled some incoherent expletives in Spud’s general direction then faced forward and started the car. The headlights automatically came on and switched to high beam mode, giving them about three hundred feet of visibility. What Terp saw spread before him across both lanes of route 521 made his heart skip a beat. “How am I supposed to drive through this shit?” he said to no one in particular.

  The road was choked with abandoned cars and debris. Cars were strewn across the road, their doors thrown open, as if the occupants were in a hurry to escape. Loose clothing, luggage, and what looked to be packaged food items littered the street.

  “What the hell happened out here?” Spuds asked.

  “Hell if I know, Ray said, “looks like a fight broke out.”

  “Yeah, but where did everybody go?” Terp asked.

  “Hell if I know,” Ray said again, “but we ain’t got time to think about it. Come on Terp, drive around this shit. The joint is only a few miles up the road, on the corner of 521 and Holcombe.” He glanced at his phone. “It’s almost five o’clock. When Shelly use to work there she told me that the safe had a timer that only let her use her combination to open the safe between five and five fifteen in the morning. After five fifteen she was locked out.”

  “So you got the combination to the safe homie?” Spuds asked.

  “You bet your Latino ass I got it. I’ve been carrying it around in my wallet for at least a year, waiting for the right time to make some easy cash.”

  “That’s crazy homes! I knew some dudes who yanked a ATM outta a Stop-n-Go. Man, it took them a week to break that shit open.”

  “Bet they got paid once they got it open though, right?” Ray said.

  “Nah, those pendejos didn’t know the ATM had a GPS tracker on it. La chota scooped them up before they could spend a dime.”

  Terp was driving carefully, weaving through the maze of vehicles at no more than fifteen miles an hour, “You have the combination,” he said, ”but how you gonna get in the place? It’s bound to be locked up.”

  “We ain’t gotta worry about that,” Ray said, “I gotta a plan.”

  As if on cue, the two-way radio beeped. “This is Rose O’Donnell,” Rose announced, “third shift dispatcher for Tex-Can Energy. Good evening to the best power grid maintenance crews the state of Texas.”

  Terp shot a quick glance at Ray, “Is she part of your plan Obama? Rose is a good lady, I hope you ain’t got her mixed up in this shit.”

  “Yeah,” Spuds said, “she’s a good lady, plus I don’t wanna share our take more than three ways.”

  “Don’t worry fellas,” Ray said, “She doesn’t know what’s going on, she’s our alibi.”

  The radio beeped again. Rose’s voice filled the cramped compartment. “Truck two-seven, come back,” she said, “Jack, if you’re out there, please answer. Jack honey, if you can hear my voice, hang in there. We’re coming to get you.”

  “What the hell is she talking about Obama?” Terp asked, “Did you tell her that we were coming out here to find Skip?”

  “Yeah,” Spuds said, “and now she’s telling the whole freaking world
that we out here esé!”

  “Shut the hell up, both of you!” Ray said, “Ok yeah, I told her that we would look for Skip, but that’s only after I found out that she asked D.B. to call the cops and ask them to send a patrol to look for him.”

  “How does that help us?” Terp asked, “Seems to me that guarantees the cops will be on our side of town just in time to catch us doing our thing. Not smart Obama.”

  “Yeah, thanks Obama,” Spuds said, “thanks for nothing.”

  “Damn, both of y’all are so damn stupid!” Ray said, “I’m almost sorry I asked y’all to help me with this shit. Listen carefully idiots. The cops aren’t going to send anybody out here looking for one old ass Tex-Can employee when they got frigging Armageddon to deal with. But Skip was last seen only about a mile from where we’re headed. Rose has been sweet on Skip ever since his wife died, so I thought she would swallow the bullshit I was shoveling if she thought we were out here trying to save her sweetheart. And I was right, she fell for that shit.”

  “But we ain’t supposed to be out here at all,” Terp said, “so her babbling all over the radio that we’re out here looking for Skip is just painting a big ass bullseye on our back.”

  “But nobody knows she’s talking to us Terp,” Ray said, “she knows that D.B. put the call in to the cops, so as far as D.B. or anybody else knows, they think she’s referring to the police who are supposedly on their way. She thinks we’re going to Terp’s apartment to get supplies. Plus, check this out, I told homegirl that if we needed to talk to her we would pretend to be the cops sent to look for Skip.”

  “That’s stupid,” Spuds said, “why would we ever give ourselves away by saying some shit on the radio?”

  “That’s just it Spuds, we ain’t gonna call her. But she ate that shit hook, line, and sinker. Now, if we get busted, we just tell the cops we was looking for our boy Skip and sweet little old lady Rose will vouch for us.”

  “You hope she vouches for us,” Terp said.

  “She will, I laid it on her pretty thick.”

  “Well, if she doesn’t, I plan on doing the patriotic thing and blaming the entire deal it on the black guy,” Terp said, a big grin spreading across his face.

  Ray shrugged and returned Terp’s grin with one of his own. “You lucky I like you Terp.”

  A small building of seven or eight connected storefronts came into view. As they got closer, the remnants of a neon Subway sign resolved out of the murk.

  “There it is!” Spuds said.

  “Yeah,” Terp said, driving into the building’s parking lot and stopping the car just short of a line of broken glass that littered the pavement.

  Ray could feel his armpits getting sticky with sweat. “Pull the car closer to the entrance Terp, I don’t want to have to run to far if some shit goes down.”

  “No can do Obama. I ain’t gonna risk driving over that glass, getting a flat, and then have to walk back to the depot. I’m too old for that shit.”

  The high beams flooded the area directly in front of them, revealing a ruined landscape of crumpled aluminum window frames, slashed curtains, and skewed venetian blinds.

  “Damn,” Spuds said, “The windows in every store is busted out. How the hell did that happen?”

  “Probably the shock wave from the explosion,” Ray said, “I seen that shit happen in Afghanistan. Our convoy got ambushed by some rebels. Before we could take them out they got off a few mortar rounds. Blew the windows out of half the trucks.”

  “I don’t think the explosion did this,” Terp said, “look at the glass. It’s all out here in the parking lot. Wouldn’t the explosion have blown the glass inside the building?”

  “Probably looters then,” Ray said.

  Spuds pointed to the suite to the left of the Subway. It was an empty concrete shell. No interior walls existed. “Why would looters bust out the windows to that place? It’s empty.”

  “Hell if I know,” Ray said.

  He took the phone out of his pocket and turned on its flash to use as a flashlight. “Come on guys, it’s five o’clock straight up. We got fifteen minutes to find the safe and use the combination. Spuds, you stay here. Me and Terp will go in and get the money.”

  “Why I gotta stay in the car?” Spuds said, “I think we should stick together.”

  “Nah man, somebody’s got to keep an eye out.”

  “Terp got the piece. Let him stay in the car.”

  “That’s why I need Terp with me. I need somebody to watch my back. Just lock the doors, you’ll be alright.” Terp and Ray exited the vehicle and stepped into the path of the headlights. Spuds climbed out of the back seat and sniffed the air.

  “If you ain’t back out here in fifteen minutes I’m leaving both of your sorry asses.“

  “This ain’t gonna take but a minute,“ Ray said. “Get behind the wheel. After we get inside kill the headlights so we don’t attract any attention. If you see anything suspicious, tap the horn once and we’ll come running.”

  “Or maybe you could knock them out with one of your prison shank moves,” Terp said, flashing Spuds a sarcastic grin.

  “Fuck you Terp,” Spuds said, “bet you wouldn’t be talking shit if you didn’t have that piece.”

  “Yeah,” he said, softly tapping the bulge under his clothes where the gun rested, “but I do have it.”

  “Come on Terp, let’s go,“ Ray said, “stop messing with Spuds.”

  Ray and Terp headed for the restaurant entrance while Spuds walked around to the open driver’s side door. “Remember chochas,” he said, “fifteen minutes and then I’m gone.” He sat down in the driver’s seat and watched them until they crossed the threshold of the restaurant’s destroyed frontage, then he turned off the headlights. The darkness unfolded around him like a thick, black blanket. This dark ain’t no joke, he thought as he closed and locked the car doors.

  Ray, walking ahead of Terp, had just reached the leading edge of the restaurant’s serving counter when Spuds extinguished the car’s lights. He stopped short and waited as the residual image of the restaurant’s layout on his retinas quickly faded to black. He retrieved the phone from his pocket and tapped the screen to activate its small LED flashlight. “Terp?” he said.

  “Right behind you Obama.”

  Ray swung his flashlight in the direction of Terp’s voice. Terp used his left arm to shield his eyes from the bright light. Ray noticed the gun in Terp’s right hand. “Little soon to be holding your piece, ain’t it?”

  “Never can be too careful. I wanna be ready.”

  Yeah, ready to shoot me in the back of the head, Ray thought. Why did I think a West Texas good ‘ole boy would make a good wingman? This crazy white boy will probably shoot me in the back of the head as soon as I open the safe.

  He opened the small saloon door that gave them access to the space behind the counter. As they passed the serving stations, Ray felt a cool draft coming from the doorway that led to the back portion of the restaurant. The air had an odor to it. “You smell that?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” Terp said, “smells like rotten fish.”

  “They probably ran outta here in a hurry and somebody left the freezer open.”

  “Yeah, except Subway don’t sell fish.”

  Ray heard the .38’s hammer lock into place. “Whoa Terp! Will you please stop cocking that damn gun! Motherfucker, last I checked Subway sold tuna. That smell probably ain’t nothing but some spoiled food.”

  “You brought me along to watch your back Obama, that’s what I’m doing.”

  “I brought you along to watch my back, not put a bullet in it.”

  “Stop your whining and find the safe so we can get outta here. This place don’t feel right.”

  Ray said nothing but he had to admit, he knew how Terp felt. Something wasn’t right. The hair on his forearms was standing at attention and he was dripping with sweat. Shit, I gotta stay calm, he thought, now is not the time to flip out. He took slow steps toward the darkened doorway, be
ing careful to shine his flashlight into every crevice big enough to serve as a hiding place. They crossed the doorway threshold and found themselves in the prep area. To Ray’s left, along the back wall, was a variety of mops, brooms, and other cleaning implements affixed to the wall in a neat row. To the left of that was another door that Ray could tell led to the outside. It was open.

  He turned and nodded to Terp, “That’s where the breeze is coming from,” he said.

  “Smell too,” Terp said.

  Ray sniffed. The fishy smell was still faint but getting stronger. That is definitely not tuna, he thought. At their far left, the wall that ran perpendicular to the back wall was composed almost entirely of the walk-in freezer. Its door was closed. “Smell must be coming from the Brays Bayou,” he said, “It’s only about five hundred feet from this building.”

  Houston’s bayous, man-made rivers that carried rainwater to the Gulf of Mexico, were home to a variety of fish, mostly bottom feeders. It wasn’t unusual to see schools of dead fish rotting in the slow-moving water.

  “The explosion probably blew some toxic shit into the water,” Ray said.

  “Yeah, maybe,” Terp said, still sounding uneasy.

  Ray swung his light to the right, illuminating what obviously was the main work area. It contained a small office alcove carved into the right wall, nestled between the back wall and a stainless steel countertop. The countertop contained a large double sink which was piled high with trays, knives, and metal serving containers. The alcove was bisected by a sturdy looking wooden table. A computer sat atop the table, anchored by an antiquated CRT monitor. The monitor was bracketed by large black binders stuffed full of yellowed paper. A wooden board had been placed on top of the binders to create a makeshift shelf on top of which a few more binders and various other unidentifiable knick-knacks had been arranged.

  Ray glanced at the time displayed on his phone. Only a few more minutes before the safe locks me out, he thought, Damn it! Where is it? He swept the perimeter again, looking for that telltale cube shape, and froze when the light washed over the gray knotted cloth of the mop heads. His hands began to shake. Suddenly, the smell of fish got much worse, then suddenly changed, filling his nostrils with the stench of rotting human flesh. His light was still trained on the mop heads and, as he stared, the cloth morphed into a bubble of mottled and bloated skin, which then split open, releasing a black slurry of blood, entrails, and bits of bone which fell to the floor in big dollops. Maggots teemed within the thick, syrupy mass as it flowed toward him as if it were alive, threatening to drown him—