I thought for a minute. “You think you can find your way back to your cousin’s house?”
“I think so…I don’t know. Why? G’oh boy!”
I waited. “I have a compass and I’m heading that way, too. You’re welcome to tag along if you like.”
“Well, I don’t know. If you don’t mind, I suppose I could.”
We began walking. I wondered what had come over me. I must be getting soft. Normally I do not pick up strangers in survival situations. Not unless they happen to be young, female, and attractive. Otis was 0-3 on that score. Was I feeling lonely? I’d seen nothing but dead bodies for the past 24 hours, so perhaps. Otis just seemed so helpless. We couldn’t be more than a day or two from the Westside. He wouldn’t go through much of my supplies in that amount of time. And he was wearing a backpack. I had to assume he had something in there.
I asked, “Otis, how long have you had Tourette’s syndrome?”
“All my life.” He paused for a moment. “It’s a damned curse.”
“I can imagine. Can’t the doctors do anything for it?”
“Man, I’ve been to doctors, witch doctors, shrinks, preachers, faith healers, exorcists…you name it.”
“Wow.”
“Can’t do nothing.”
“That’s too bad. Does it come and go all the time?”
“What?”
“Are there certain things that trigger it?”
“Yeah, when I’m feeling stressed or bored.”
“Uh-huh.”
As if on cue, he took a deep breath then exclaimed, “Vagina boob!”
I studied him for a moment. “So, how do you feel right now? Stressed or bored?”
“Well, I guess when I saw you sitting there at first I was a little surprised, so I guess I’d say I was stressed. You looking all Rambo and shit. But now that I’m talking to you, I guess I’m feeling a little…. Well, never mind, it don’t matter.”
“Bored?”
“No! Well, maybe a little. It don’t matter. You guys got your way of talking and I got mine. You are white, aren’t you? I mean, all I can see is your eyes.”
“Yes, I’m white. And you’re right, we do have our own way of talking. I’ve always wondered about that. Why do you suppose that is?”
“What’s that?”
“I wonder why most white people talk a certain way and most black people talk a certain way?”
“I don’t know, I ain’t no expert or nothing. I guess maybe the black man don’t want to be like no white man. You know what I’m saying? We don’t want to hang with all your rules and shit – act like you and talk like you – because if we do, then it’s like we are trying to be white.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“If we turn our back on our culture, who are we? It’s like this, man: what if somebody made you move to Africa and you had to talk their language and dress like they do and act like they do. You probably wouldn’t like it, would you?”
“Probably not.”
“Well, there you go. It’s the same with us. We never asked to be here, but we’re here. That don’t mean we like it. That don’t mean we gonna become all white and shit. You know what I’m saying?”
“Yes, I see your point.”
“Hey, hey…see? It ain’t no thang. I get along with everybody. Otis go along to get along. Get along to go along. Know what I’m saying?”
“Yes I do.” I paused for a minute. “So what do you do anyway?”
“I just try to treat people the way I like to be treated.”
“No, I mean for a living. What do you do for a living?”
“Oh. Well, I’m kind of in between jobs right now. I was working as a janitor at a high school for a while.” His face hardened. “But they fired me. Said my behavior was ‘inappropriate.’”
“I could see how working around children might be difficult for you.”
“Man, working around anyone is difficult for me. Fuck me! G’oh boy! Whoop!”
“You alright?”
“Whoop! Yeah. Whoop! I’m alright. Shit comes and goes.” He shook his head. “I’m alright.”
We walked for a while without talking. Then I asked, “Have you lived downtown long?”
“Oh yeah, for years I guess.”
“Do you have any family besides your cousin?”
“Naw, I never been married. My folks are gone. What about you?”
“I’m divorced. I had a girlfriend a while back, but we split up.”
“Oh man, that’s too bad. You find somebody to love you got to make that shit last.”
I nodded. “Yes.”
Otis said, “So what’s with all this Rambo shit? You look like you robbed the Army or something.” He laughed.
“I’m a survivalist. I’m prepared to survive any manmade or natural disaster.”
“No shit?” He studied me. “For what? You gonna restart the human race?” He laughed again. “Is that it? Man, you better get that girlfriend back. You can’t do it by yourself. Whoop! Jerk off! Whoop! Masturbate!”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “Otis, you have quite an imagination. So how does that work? Are you thinking about something and then you can’t help saying it? Or do words just come out at random?”
“I don’t know, man. A little bit of both, I guess. Yeah, sometimes it’s just random shit, whatever. Other times if something pops in my head I just say it. That’s how I lost my job at the school.”
“Yeah, I figured it might have been something like that.”
“There was this girl there. Mmm-mmm. She was fine, you know? She had big old titties, out to here, man.” He pantomimed large breasts. “I seen her one day walking down the hall by herself in a tight shirt…I say something to her. I don’t even remember what it was, but I said something to her. Principal said it was ‘inappropriate.’ She said they’d be lucky if the school don’t get sued.”
“That’s too bad.”
“Yeah, I don’t know. It’s the way it goes, I guess. It probably worked out for the best, though. I got disability now.”
“Social Security?”
“Yeah, it ain’t too bad.”
Something caught my eye up ahead in the distance. Someone was coming our way.
Chapter 8
I pointed. “Otis, you see that? Does that look like a person to you?”
He shaded his eyes and squinted. “Yeah, I think so. Look like it to me.”
I pulled up my rifle and looked through the scope.
Otis exclaimed, “God damn! Whoop! Don’t shoot him! G’oh boy! Butt fuck!”
I put down the rifle and looked at Otis. “I’m not going to shoot him. I just want to see what’s going on. This is a scope.” I pointed. “It magnifies the image.”
“Dick licker! Whoop! I know what it is. G’oh boy! Fuck you! Fuck me! Fuck everybody!”
I laughed. “Otis, settle down. Damn, you get excited easily.”
“Shit too. Whoop! You go shoot somebody.”
I looked through the scope again and saw an old man looking rather unsteady on his feet. I said, “He doesn’t look like much of a threat to me.”
“What do you see?”
I told him and we resumed walking. When we got to within 50 yards, the man appeared to take notice. He stopped and stared at us. I kept my finger on the trigger just in case.
Otis said, “Look like he having a bad day.”
The man moved like a baby taking its first steps.
I said, “He’s probably got radiation sickness. He’s lost all his hair.”
“Well God damn, let’s go the other way then. I don’t want to catch that shit.”
“You can’t catch radiation sickness. Not from another person, anyway.”
“Easy for you to say. You got all that shit on. You look like, fucking, R2-D2 or something. I’m all out here in the open.” He waved his arms around.
“Radiation sickness is not contagious.
”
“Well, whatever man. I don’t want nothing to do with him. He looks fucked up to me.”
The old man was dressed in filthy dark clothing. As we got closer I could see bloodstains around his mouth.
The man reached out to us. “Help me. Help me, please.” His voice was raspy and weak.
I whispered to Otis, “He’s in the advanced stages of radiation poisoning. There’s nothing we can do for him.”
The man repeated, “Help me. Help me.”
Otis exclaimed, “G’oh boy! Cunt monkey!”
The old man vomited, then he collapsed.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get out of here.”
A moment later Otis shot a glance over his shoulder. “That was cold, man, leaving that old dude to die back there.”
“Once a person gets to the point where they’ve lost all their hair and they start vomiting and bleeding, it’s pretty much over. He was exposed to the fallout, that’s it, game over.”
We walked for a while longer, then I suggested we break for lunch. I took a seat on a twisted pile of rubble that had once been a car and removed my mask. Otis looked at me but didn’t say anything. I rummaged through my bag and pulled out a couple of MREs. I showed them to Otis. He selected one and told me all he had was water.
Otis had beef stroganoff and I had chicken parmesan. We got about halfway through our lunch when a shot rang out.
I scrambled around to the other side of the car and hissed, “Otis! Get down!”
He was frozen in fear. I reached out and pulled his arm. “Get back here!”
Another shot.
Otis said, “Somebody’s…Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!”
“Shhhhh!”
We crouched behind the car and waited.
I said, “I’m going to see if I can tell where it’s coming from.”
Otis was in shock.
I poked my head up and took a good look around. Whoever was shooting at us was no marksman. We’d been sitting right out in the open. “Stay down,” I said. I fired a couple of rounds with the pistol.
Otis stuck his fingers in his ears and shouted, “Whoop! Whoop! Whoop!”
I spotted the shooter. A thin figure about 60 yards out, dashing from one hunk of debris to another. He looked like a teenager. Dark jeans and dark shirt. I tried to move slowly, saw him look out at me. I put the 9mm away and pulled up the rifle.
Otis muttered, “Butt, butt, butt…butt licker! G’oh boy! Clitoris!”
The kid stuck his head out again and I put the crosshairs directly on him. I pulled the trigger twice in quick succession and watched as the skinny figure crumpled to the ground.
I got to my feet and motioned for Otis to follow. As we got closer I saw the kid was sprawled out on his back with a gaping bullet wound to the face. A small revolver lay by his side.
Otis said, “G’oh boy! He’s just a kid.”
“Yeah, it’s too bad. But a kid who was shooting at us. He’d still be alive if he hadn’t done that. Probably wanted the packs and the guns.” I picked up his revolver and offered it to Otis. “You want it?”
“Whoop!” He nodded. “Hell yeah.” He examined it for a minute then placed it in his bag.
I scooped ammunition out of the kid’s pockets. .38 Caliber. I gave that to Otis, too. I said, “Let’s keep moving. And keep an eye out for others like him. You have to watch your back out here.”
As Otis and I resumed walking, I noticed our surroundings were gradually improving. More buildings left intact, the roads were in better shape, and I spotted a few cars that looked like they might be roadworthy. I had definitely begun my journey near ground zero. By this time we had put maybe ten miles behind us and we were seeing the occasional person out on the street. Some were not in much better shape than the old man we’d passed, but others seemed to be doing okay.
I asked, “Otis, how far is it to your cousin’s house?”
“Oh, I guess maybe a couple miles,” he replied.
I looked at him. “Do you even know where we’re at?”
“Yeah, I know where we’re at. Do you?”
“I’ve got a pretty good idea. But I don’t come to this side of town very often.”
“Uh-huh. Where do you live?”
“Southside.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.”
I sighed. I had hoped to stay on his good side at least long enough to spend the night at his cousin’s house. I wanted to avoid another night sleeping out on the streets. I decided to change the subject. “So, what’s your cousin like? Is he older than you? Younger?”
“How old you think I am?” Otis asked.
I looked at him. “I figure around 45.”
“61.”
“No shit? You don’t look anywhere near that.”
“Be 62 this December.”
“Damn, that’s amazing. I had no idea. You look good for your age.”
“Thank you. Yeah, I get that a lot. Good genes, I guess.”
“You must be living right.”
“Lucky mostly. That’s all.”
I shouted, “Look out!”
Otis nearly stepped on a snake.
He jumped back and exclaimed, “Bitch slapped! Homo licker!”
I laughed as I kept an eye on the snake. “Damn, Otis. Where do you come up with this shit?
“Whoop! That scared me. Fucking snake, damn near bit me.”
The snake was all black, either a racer or a water moccasin. Wouldn’t that be ironic? To survive a nuclear bomb only to get bitten by a snake and die. We carefully walked around it and kept moving.
When the threat had passed, I asked, “Otis, don’t take this the wrong way or anything, but are you some kind of pervert?”
“What? No! I ain’t no pervert. Why you say that?”
“Well, I’ve noticed that when your Tourette’s syndrome kicks in you say some pretty colorful stuff. It’s mostly something to do with sex or body parts.”
“No. Whoop! I ain’t no pervert. Whoop! It just happens, that’s all. I don’t have no control over it.”
“Okay, okay. Don’t take it personal. I was just asking. I mean, if you’re a pervert, that’s none of my business anyway. It makes no difference to me.”
“I ain’t no pervert,” he muttered.
“Okay, good. I’m glad we settled it.”
We trudged another couple of miles in search of Otis’s cousin’s house. The last part of the journey had us going down back roads.
As we started up a gravel drive, Otis announced, “This is it.”
“Thank God. I’m beat.”
“Me, too.”
“I meant to ask you, does your cousin live alone?”
“No, he gotta wife. Loretta. They got kids, too, but they all grown.”
I removed my gas mask as we approached the house. No sense giving them a heart attack. The house had to be 100 years old. It was white clapboard construction badly in need of paint. The shutters leaned at various angles and there were some pieces of siding missing above the porch. I followed Otis up the stairs.
Otis pounded on the screen door. “Grover? Loretta?”
“Hold on,” a woman’s voice called.
Otis shuddered and then he got that look again. Just as a woman approached Otis shouted, “Enjoy my scrotum!”
She laughed, “Otis, you and that nonsense!” Then she saw me and said, “What in the world?”
Otis said, “He’s…Whoop! This…G’oh boy! Whoop! Whoop!”
I said, “Ma’am, my name is Steen O’Mannon. I ran into Otis this morning downtown.”
Her eyes grew wide and she said, “Is he in some kind of trouble?”
I said, “No, ma’am.”
She studied me for a minute. “I’m Loretta Johnson. Are you the police?” She called over her shoulder, “Grover?”
Otis continued. “Whoop!
Whoop! Whoop! Sack muncher!”
Loretta said, “Otis, you just calm yourself down.”
He shook violently and shouted, “Female ejaculation!”
She shook her head and chuckled. “Oh my, the things you come up with.”
I said, “Ma’am, I’m not with the police. And Otis is not in any trouble. I’m dressed this way because of the nuclear attack.”
Otis finally regained his composure. He said, “Lor-Lor-Loretta? He-he-he’s okay. He gave me lu-lu-lunch…then we walked all day.”
She said, “Alright, well come on in, Otis.” To me: “Would you like to come in?”
Chapter 9
I followed Otis down a narrow hallway to a family room which overlooked the backyard. The small room was furnished with a television, a couch, and two recliners. One of the recliners was in full recline where a man lay fast asleep.
“Grover!” Loretta scolded.
“Huh? What?” The man’s eyes fought to focus, then they came to rest on me. “What the fu—?”
Loretta interrupted, “Grover, Otis is back and he brought his friend. This is…um—”
“Steen O’Mannon.” I nodded to Grover.
Grover said, “Okay. Pleased to meet you.”
Loretta gestured to the couch and said, “Please, sit down. I’ll get you something to drink. You must be thirsty after walking all day.”
I removed my helmet, backpack, gloves, vest and guns and set them along the wall.
Grover eyed me suspiciously. He was about the same size as Otis but a little heavier. He wore glasses and was mostly gray on top with a thick mustache. He was dressed in a plaid short sleeved shirt with dark brown trousers. His feet were ensconced in a pair of comfortable-looking red slippers.
Nightfall was approaching and a cool breeze blew through the windows. Otis busied himself untying his shoes. Loretta returned with two glasses of lemonade. I thanked her and she sat in the recliner. Her hair was in the midst of changing from gray to white and it made her look older than her husband. She was even heavier than Grover. She wore a simple pink house dress and her feet were bare. She looked at the pile of survival gear and said to Grover, “Mr. O’Mannon here wears all that stuff to protect him from the bomb.”
I said, “Please, Mrs. Johnson, call me Steen.”
How to Survive a Nuclear War Page 4
