Taking on the Dead

by Annie Walls

  “Drunks,” he mumbles as the door closes and stays shut behind us. I hide a grin at Mr. Fix-It.

  Rudy takes me to an entirely different building next door from The Clap Trap. We’re inside the huge fence surrounding the community, made for traveling building to building in safety, instead of the way Glinda took me, on the outside. What she said about not using that door makes sense now. Rudy and I walk through a courtyard filled with people doing what they do every day. I say courtyard, but it’s an old street. Grass and weeds grow up through the cracks and potholes. It’s sunny and warm as an aroma drifts to my nose. I spot the source of smoke from a rusted smoker where someone cooks meat.

  The chef stops us and offers some. The first thing Rudy asks is, what kind of meat? The guy purses his lips, “Let’s just say dark meat.” The cook’s short with a balding head, and his overly large teeth stick out unattractively. Most people would call it bucktooth. “Aww, come on. Your lady looks hungry. You gonna let her starve?”

  Amused, Rudy says, “Does Kansas look like she’s starving?” The guy scans me like he’s undressing me with his eyes and a slow lazy smile creeps across his face. Feeling a blush, I elbow Rudy, and he grunts like it hurt. He laughs, grabbing my arm, and steers me away before the guy can come up with a response. I can’t wait for another chance to tease a blush out of him.

  “I don’t eat meat.” I mutter but he already knows this tidbit, and by the look of the meat, I’m suddenly glad I don’t.

  We come to a huge loading dock, with large doors. Walking up some steps, we go through the one that sits propped open. It’s an old distribution warehouse, just like the Clap Trap, with lots of space and huge rafters. This building lacks any office space, but what it does have utterly fascinates me.

  Many booths line up in rows, much like a flea market. Everyone has something they want to sell. Different music comes from all directions, giving the place a more diverse feeling.

  A small, frail woman sells what looks like handmade clothing. Her own clothes stream around her like tangled snakes. The fabric flutters with lightness with an assortment of color and patterns. Bangles tinkle up to her elbow. Walking past her, she drapes a pink scarf around my neck.

  I chuckle as she says, “A scarf for you. Look at that. It brings out your lovely eyes.” I know she’s trying to sell now, but I like her bullshit sales tactics.

  “Maybe later?” I say. I’ve heard this question dozens of times right here in Nashville. A nice way of saying, “Thanks, but no thanks.” In the old life. A pang comes to my heart as I recall that life, but there’s nothing I can do. I’m a different person now. I feel Rudy’s glance, but don’t look at him.

  Many of the booths sell weapons. Passing guns, ammo, bats, knives, and even a sword or two, Rudy stops by a booth loaded down with arrows.

  “Hey Rudy. How’s the ribs?” The guy at the booth asks when he spots Rudy. Rudy just shrugs, picking up an arrow to study. I automatically recognized him. It was Curly! The guy that saw me punch Grope Fingers last night.

  “Just made that one this week,” the guy says to Rudy, but looks at me. I perk with interest.

  “You made these?” I ask, fascinated. Excluding the different bows, he has hundreds of arrows, all different and unique in their own way with various fletching styles and shaft sizes. They all sport dangerous looking arrow heads that even I couldn’t dream up. The shafts are made of different types of wood and steel. All the fletchings are of various colors and sizes.

  Rudy peeks down at me with a gleam in his eye. I know you can make your own arrow, I even studied a little, but it takes skill to make your own perfect shaft. I also notice they are lined up neatly in an obsessive type way. Impressed, I grin at the guy, “Sweet.”

  He notices my own crossbow. “I don’t have any for your pistol crossbow, but I could make some, or you could just start using a bow.”

  “Uh, well… I don’t have a steady hand for a bow. The crossbow almost does the work for me,” I explain.

  “Practice makes perfect, as they say. I’m Mac.” He reaches his hand out to shake mine, and I oblige as it hits me that this is Rudy’s friend.

  “Kan.” I say by way of introduction. “You’re the one that checked out his ribs.” I point my thumb to Rudy.

  He nods, “I know who you are.” I study him a little better. “Everyone knows everyone here,” he says quickly. A few inches taller than me, short for a man, he looks to be in his mid to late twenties. Sandy blonde, curly hair sticks out all over and falls onto his forehead in an adorable way. The stubble lining his jaw matches his hair, and his eyes, the blue of cloudless skies, are almost turquoise, similar to a clear ocean. He wears another pristine white T-shirt that hugs him nicely, and his build suggests body resistance training and running. “I was going to come to your rescue last night, but you handled it.” I flinch. Why did he have to mention last night? He smiles, as though he enjoyed watching it.

  Rudy peers at me sharply. Mac explains, “Dumb fuck with happy hands.” He looks back to me. “She knocked him a good one.” I fidget as he flashes another smile, like the night before.

  I just shrug it off. “I can take care of myself.”

  Glancing at me, Rudy lays the arrow down. Mac immediately picks it up and straightens it out to line up with the others. I hold back a snort, realizing he does it out of habit. No wonder everything’s organized so neat and tidy.

  Mac doesn’t notice my amusement. “I guess I’ll be helping you two in your suicide mission.” The harsh tone implies a dumb idea.

  Rudy smirks. “Your opinion has been noted. Repeatedly.” He picks up another arrow to scrutinize. “What made you change your mind?” Curiosity mingles with surprise in his voice. I’m assuming he’s asked for Mac’s help before. They exchange a glance, and Rudy startles, even more surprised.

  “Well, now you have a whole group of people willing to die for Julie,” Mac snaps.

  I glare at him for being rude. “It was my idea.” I snap back.

  Mac looks down straightening the already aligned arrows. His curls obscure the view of his face. “I know,” he says in a softer tone.

  I look at Rudy questioningly. “I told him everything last night,” he explains. I nod my affirmation. Rudy places the arrow back in its exact spot this time.

  Mac looks back to Rudy, then to the arrow he replaced. “You going to buy one?”

  Rudy scoffs, “You’re gearing up with us. I probably don’t need to.”

  Mac nods, “You’re still my best costumer.” His lips twitch, fighting a smile.

  “I’m your only customer.” Rudy laughs, their earlier camaraderie returning with ease. “We’ll see you tonight?” Rudy asks him.

  Mac beams. “Wouldn’t miss Mago. He’s good people.”

  I wave bye to Mac, and flash him a smile before turning to Rudy. “What’s this Mago all about?” I ask in a low voice.

  Rudy clenches his jaw, “Well, have you ever been to the circus?”

  “Yeah… I,” I forget what I’m going to say when I spot a booth with, I swear, fruits and vegetables.

  Rudy follows my line of sight and laughs, “I knew it,” he beams with pleasure. I roll my eyes at him and make toward it.

  The booth has a tabletop stair-like display. The bins hold strawberries, peaches, pumpkin, corn, green onions, bell peppers, and apples! I feel as if I’ve been transferred in a Delorean straight to a produce section at a grocery store in the old life.

  “How?” I finally stammer. Rudy keeps laughing at my bemused expression, but my mouth waters.

  “Linnie has a greenhouse. First thing she did when she got here, so I’m told,” he informs me.

  “She has trees in her greenhouse?”

  “Yep. I’ve seen them with my own eyes. I helped her replace some glass panels that shattered from a strong storm,” Rudy tells me with pride. Well, isn’t he just a regular handy man? Makes sense with his carpentry background.

  My gaze lands on a bucket. Full of weed. “What the he
ll? She grows marijuana too?” I glance at him as he nods.

  “Wouldn’t you?”

  Not answering, I reach out to pick up a strawberry. A big hand closes tightly around my wrist. Following the arm up to a huge ugly man with a crooked nose, I swallow past the pain of his grip, and drop the strawberry. Dark eyes glare at me through black hair so greasy, it could be used to cook French fries.

  “You pay?” His deep voice from the depths of his massive chest scares me.

  Rudy swats his hand away. “She didn’t know.” He stands up taller crossing his arms, deciding on an intense stare down with the man.

  “Bruno, sit down and quit intimidating the customers!” A little old lady pops out of nowhere. I assume this is Linnie, her voice hoarse from years of smoking. A pointy nose takes up most of her face. Missing teeth makes her ‘s’ sounds sound like ‘th’. Big gray, but yellowed eyes peer out from thick glasses. Sun spots cover her tanned face and arms. The sleeveless blouse she wears is worn to bare threads. A scarf wraps around her head, like a cancer patient might wear.

  She smiles a greeting to Rudy before looking at me. “Don’t touch tha fruit unless yew pay.” She wags a small, crooked finger at me. “Yew want strawberries? They up tha libido, if yew know wut I mean?” She chuckles.

  I swallow, being around Rudy shows me my libido isn’t a problem. “They look great, especially for this season.”

  She scoffs and puts her fist on her hip, “In my greenhouse, it’s all season!” She waves her other arm in the air and the skin flaps like she getting ready to take flight. I look at Rudy. Time to bargain, I’ve never experienced this so I don’t know what to expect.

  He clears his throat, “How much for the strawberries?”

  “Six dollars,” she says without hesitation. What? Six dollars? There’s barely a pint.

  “How about a trade? Kansas, what do you have?” he asks. This is where I’m probably going to fail. I didn’t bring anything I could trade – just things to survive. I’m not giving up anything I need for a pint of strawberries. The only reason I have DVD’s are because Rhonda the Honda had a player. I also have my iPod, but that seems a little overboard. No way she gets the laptop, but I’m going to mention that.

  Turns out, when I dump it out on the table, she doesn’t want any of it. “I don want this shite. How am I goin’ use that?” Linnie fusses. I can’t blame her, I wouldn’t take it either. It doesn’t make me any less mad. I stuff it all back in my pack. I don’t need any damn strawberries. She can shove them up her ass. Maybe up her sex drive and give Bruno some – he looks in need of it. I turn to go, and Rudy stops me, looking concerned.

  “I’ll get the strawberries,” he says.

  I shake my head. “I don’t need them. I have food, Rudy. It’s something I can live without. I have for four years. You don’t have to do anything stupid to get money, and I don’t either.” I shrug it off, but then come up with another idea. I turn to Linnie. “I’ll work for them. Do you need help in your greenhouse?”

  She eyes me, contemplating. “Day after tomorrow. Come work, and get strawberries.” She dismisses me with a wave of her flappy arms.

  I glance at Rudy and he smiles at me. We walk around looking, not saying much else. Booths of looted material people might need are scattered around the place. Batteries, toiletries, cookware, tents, sleeping bags, and other stuff people can sell and trade, hang everywhere. There’s even a booth of handmade and looted toys for children. Even though I haven’t seen any children, I smile. When I ask Rudy about it, he says they put the people with kids in a different building, and they mostly keep to themselves.

  “They will probably be out to see Mago, though.” I take this in, and remember our earlier conversation.

  Another booth with jars full of clear liquid catches my attention, and my question is forgotten. As we pass, an elderly man smiles at me. “Yew want some moonshine, pretty lady. Git yew liquored up just right.” Another guy walks off with two jars of it, beaming.

  I laugh, “No thanks.” I’ve never tried it, and now would not be a good time. I keep the jars in my mind. We might need them. He looks to Rudy in question.

  Rudy shakes his head, “Not right now.”

  A booth beside a dock door has a guy blowing glass. He carefully winds what looks like something the consistency of caramel on some kind of pipe. It seems he blows all sorts of different things. Many cups, plates, bowls, vases and sculptures sit on display. Different types of paraphernalia that I don’t want to look at too closely lay across a small tabletop. Everything explodes with color, and sets a cheery mood. The guy is talented, as everyone here is, and using what he knows to make money. The woman tending the cashbox smiles and waves. We stand and watch him blow into a tube, gather more liquid glass, and do it again. Fantastic. I beam at him.

  Another booth has a couple of jars of something white, and when I get a better look, I see it’s milk. Eggs are layered in a milk crate on the floor. My mouth waters yet again. Fried eggs with milk, something I never imagined myself having again. Rudy catches me looking and gives me a knowing look. I shrug as my stomach growls.

  The man tending the booth waves Rudy over. “I’m requesting your help, if you have time, again, soon. Hay,” he explains. I have no idea what he speaks of, but judging from the eggs and milk, he takes care of livestock.

  Rudy smiles and answers, “No problem, Stanley.” Rudy seems to be thinking. “The day after tomorrow?” he asks. I realize this will be my time in the greenhouse with Linnie, and possibly scary-ass Bruno.

  An average guy, Stanley looks to be a few years older than Rudy. His dark hair hangs ear length, and is pushed back from his head to part in the middle. A farmer’s tan stripes his forehead as if he wears a hat in the sun. The rest of his skin shows an evenly bronzed color from the sun.

  “I have enough for a week, so day after tomorrow is perfect.” Stanley says, “Thanks. When you help it always goes faster.”

  “This is Kan,” Rudy says.

  I shake Stanley’s rough hand. “Good to meet ya.”

  “Likewise.” I smile, trying not to look longingly in the direction of milk and eggs. Rudy waves as we keep on walking.

  Out in the courtyard, I open up to Rudy, “This reminds me of when I sold my paintings on the street Downtown. I liked to paint landscapes, buildings, and things like that.”

  Rudy’s face lights up, beaming teeth and dimples, “Really?”

  “Yeah, the best selling ones were perspective paintings. The corner of Second Avenue and Broadway, painted differently each time. You could see up Second with all the trees and parked cars, but you could also see up Broadway with all the lighted signs, and open sky. Daytime, nighttime, spring, winter, summer, and fall. They sold the best. I even had a couple of people buy all the season ones to hang like a collage.”

  They really were great. I painted snow and slush, with people walking bundled up in their winter gear. For spring, I’d add birds, and touches of green to the trees, and flowers. One time, I even painted it raining. Summer had people walking around in shorts with ice cream cones, while the sun burned down, and the trees would be in full bloom, green. For fall, the trees turned different colors to match the fall fashions of people strolling the crowds. I only wished I had some to show him now.

  I peek at him and he’s lost in thought. I don’t think he’s listening until he says, “I bet they were exceptional. I would have bought them. I thought you didn’t have a steady hand?” he asks slyly.

  “Well, it’s all about the technique really. My favorite to paint was old barns. Tennessee is littered with them. I would see one, take a picture, draw it, then paint it. I had an album of them.” I think about Kale looking through it back at my bunker. It’s one of the things I left behind, probably nothing but ash now.

  Rudy seems to enjoy my reminiscing, “Yeah, I could see you doing that, you must miss it. Wish I could have seen them.”

  I do miss it. “If I thought I could make money here doing that, that�
��s what I would do.” I sigh, letting it go. That was my old life.

  I look around the courtyard. The community is made up of five buildings total inside the fence. Rudy points them out. Of course there’s the Clap Trap with the Marketplace next door, and the building next door to the Marketplace houses all the families with children and a few single women. Across the street from the marketplace and family building stands another one story brick building housing bachelors. It’s next door to where we’re staying, which is where the “working” girls live. The community structure resembles a circle.

  Rudy tells me the greenhouse is behind the family building, but not fenced in. Another warehouse close by, holds the few livestock with a small patch of land for grazing. It has its own fence and security completely separate from the community. He helps Stanley load hay bales from surrounding areas to feed the livestock. Stanley cuts it and turns it into hay bales for the cows, but the hardest part is loading and unloading it.

  A parking lot on the other side of the bachelor building has an entry gate. On another patch of land near the greenhouse, Rudy told me Mac has set up archery targets, but the targets aren’t visible from the courtyard. The whole layout is simple, organized, and fits with the lifestyle of these people. It works, and I’m happy about the life structure they make in a world with famished.

  Rudy thinks Guido chose this location for its proximity to hydropower, the patches of land, and the useful living space, even though it’s in the middle of an industrial park.

  Back at the room, we eat some canned fruit, and it reminds me we need get the rest of the stuff from the truck. I have jars of oats, flour, cornmeal, and a few spices. When I mention this, Rudy says, “Makes sense. We’ll be here awhile. I want to get the blankets too.”

  “And clean up in here. It stinks,” I scrunch my nose for emphasis. The blankets will be good. Being fairly warm in here, it still doesn’t have heat, even with electricity. Rudy says they save it for the coldest days of winter. These people are strange, but they’ve built a life here with what they’ve got. It’s brilliant.