Grants Pass

by Cherie Priest

  There he was, though, casting a long shadow across the aisle, down before the altar. He was praying right out loud, praying forgiveness for the folks of Miles City, for Montana, and all of America for bringing down the wrath of God. Sarge gave me a look, and I gave it to Bo, but Bo just stood there and listened until Preacher stopped. Then he gave a cough, and walked forward a piece.

  “Excuse me, preacher. We didn’t want to disturb your prayers, but I was wondering if we could rest here the night. Been walking all day and it’d be a favor to us all.”

  Preacher turned around, and that’s when I first saw that swollen, puffed-out chest rising and falling. First saw those cracked glasses. I didn’t like anything I saw, and I sure as hell didn’t like the look he was giving Bo.

  “There’s nothing here worth having,” he said, real nervous.

  “Not looking to take anything but a piece of sleep.”

  “You’re carrying guns.”

  Bo nodded. “Like I say, we’ve been walking. It’s a bad time to be wandering without them if you’re a stranger in a town. Boys, set the guns down. We’re not in any trouble here, and I don’t care to make any for the Preacher.” He turned back to the Preacher then. “Let me tell you our story.”

  And he told him. Flat out, no hedging. Told him about our ganging up in Minneapolis, how he heard about Grants Pass and the girl’s crazy dream. About bringing all these random folks together to this little valley town for the common good. About the importance of having someone around to be a leader.

  “Now, I know we’re not the types she was looking for when she spouted off on the Internet,” he said. “But we’re the types she’s gonna need. Folks who used to spend their whole day behind a computer don’t know how to set up a house, or straighten a roof. They don’t know how to fix pipes or set up a water system. They might get a couple engineers, but you can’t tell me there’ll be a lot of guys who want to do the grunt work there. That’s where we come in. We’re just looking for honest work, and we’re working hard to get there.”

  The Preacher had holstered his fish-eye now, and he was looking Bo up and down, real steady. Then he took another rattling breath and said, “Why walk, when there are plenty of cars to be taken?”

  “You want me to tell you I wouldn’t take them?” Bo shook his head. “I’d be a liar. We did manage to hotwire one back when we started, and I’ve thought on it plenty since, but the roads aren’t real safe. Saw enough B-movies before the collapse to know that much. We’ve been sticking close to Route Twelve for a long piece now, but far enough away to hear anyone coming and get down in a ditch. We’re not angels, Preacher, but we’re not looking for trouble, either. We just want honest work.”

  That got him a nod. “All right…but why go so far? Oregon’s a long way from Minnesota. I’m sure there are other towns that would be happy to take on a few strong backs. For that matter, some of the locals here could probably manage with a few more men.”

  “Are you a real preacher?” Bo asked bluntly. The question put Preacher off, but he nodded. “All right then. I figure you know a little something about waiting for a reward, and working toward it.

  “I don’t know if they’ll let me in when we get to Grants Pass. I don’t even know if anyone actually made it there. But if they do, they’re going to have a lot of different folks from a lot of different places. I might not have gone to school much, but I can respect the folks who did. I figure they’re like to have a doctor, or at least someone who studied some. They’re like to have a couple business folks, who might be good to have around for trading in case anyone wanders through with goods to sell. They’re like to have just about every kind of person you can find on the internet, but like I said, there are two kinds that don’t spend much time there: folks who are used to just working, and folks who know the word of God.”

  Preacher looked at Bo while I looked at Sarge. I didn’t mind preachers as a rule. I went through Sunday school just fine and showed up at Ascension Lutheran for the holidays. We were barely making twelve miles a day as it was, though, what with staying off the roads and needing time to find food. Adding someone soft to the group was just going to cause more delay, and I could see what was going to happen if we got caught in a Montana winter. Figured by my count it was early October already, and that was just asking for trouble.

  “Hey, Bo…” I didn’t get to finish.

  “Hold up, Dave. I want to hear what the Preacher thinks about working hard to get to an uncertain reward.”

  That was the only time I saw much life in Preacher. He could tell he was being sparked, and he gave this kind of wet and wheezy laugh. “You’re not going to get a rise out of me that easily.”

  “Maybe not. But what kind of rise are you gonna get from the good folks here in Miles City when winter comes?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Bo shrugged. “Have you been helping them plant? Help them bring the crops in?”

  “A little.”

  “A little. Then, Preacher, you’re like to be entitled to a ‘little’ food. What are you living on now? Canned stuff, I bet, out of the local Super Value or whatever grocery chains you had up here. Now, come December, you might still be getting fed. It’ll be the first Christmas since things collapsed, and folks are probably gonna want to stay in good with the Preacher. But you and I both know that it’s not gonna be easy getting any fresh food before April.

  “How well do you think you’re going to fare in February, or in March? When the canned stuff’s run out and your neighbors are running out of wheat? Are they gonna remember that you were praying for their souls all through the harvest? Or will they just remember that you stayed inside the whole time, letting them break their backs in the fields?”

  Preacher looked a little doubtful, but Bo kept on. “Maybe I’ve got them wrong. Maybe they’ll be persuaded by Easter coming up, or maybe they’re just more religious here than I’m used to. Maybe they’ll bring you fresh bread every morning until the day you meet Saint Peter. But it’s nothing I’d bet money on. You might know God, but me? I know people.”

  That was it, I could tell. There’d be a little more back and forth, but Bo had put the fear of man into the raspy little loafer. There was more I wanted to say, a lot more, but Sarge motioned me to come outside before I had a chance to spill. We weren’t like to be missed, so I followed him. Those crazy blond curls nearly spilled into his eyes now, and as skinny as we’d been getting on canned beans and fresh rabbit, he looked more like a washed-up rock star than ever before.

  He stayed real quiet, just staring across the street, so I finally spoke up. “What do you think?”

  “Bo knows guys,” he said. “He knows how they think, and he knows how to talk to them.”

  “Yeah, but we hardly got enough food for the three of us. And winter’s on its way. This preacher doesn’t look like he could walk a mile without stopping to rest. He’s gonna slow us down.”

  Sarge looked out across the darkening town. “Yeah, I bet he will. But Bo knows what he’s doing. Always has before. I don’t see him screwing up this time.”

  “I’m not saying he’s screwing up,” I said, a little frustrated. Sarge wasn’t the sharpest knife in the drawer. “I’m saying he hasn’t thought of everything, that’s all. Adding another guy’s a great idea if he’s in good shape, but this guy?”

  Sarge shrugged again. “Hell if I know, but Bo’s got his reasons.” And that was the best I could get out of him before Bo called us back in to introduce us to Preacher. We shared some hard bread and canned beans, bunked down in the pews, and that was the end of it. It was over three weeks ago, and I’d been right — we were moving slower since Bo talked Preacher into coming along.

  “Hey, Bo,” called Sarge from the roadside, “sign says we’re only twelve miles from a campsite. Might be able to make it before night if we push it.”

  Bo just shook his head. “Might as well come on in, Sarge. We’re not like to make that kind of pace. Map says we’ll reach R
yegate first, let’s plan on hitting that. Like to be another ghost town, we can pick up some real beds there.”

  “That’s not the reason,” I said to him, quiet, looking back at Preacher. “You know he can’t make it that far, that’s all. Won’t be any beds left in this Ryegate place, any more than there ever are.” Bo’s look was mild compared to the one he could’ve given me, but I was getting sore. “Campsite ain’t a whole lot better, but even a couple miles a day can make a big difference, Bo. You know I’m following you, but…”

  “Then follow my lead,” he said, flat as the autumn plains. “We keep spending our time arguing, there’s going to be some kind of trouble, Davey. Now I don’t want that, but I’m telling you there’s a good reason to put up with Preacher. So stop acting like a spoiled kid in the back seat of the car and start walking. I want to get to Ryegate before nightfall.”

  I had a thick skin. I never minded getting cussed out or hollered down. But being called a kid…well, that did it. That’s when I figured what had to be done. It was going to be for his own good — for Sarge’s, and mine too. Preacher was the kid here! Tagging along like some kind of half-wit brother who’s got no more right to be there than a queer in a convent. Without him, we’d have been nearly to Idaho. We might’ve been able to get across the mountains before the snow came, and spend the winter in Grants Pass, where they’d have stoves set up and canned goods set by. Hell, I dreamed they might even have coffee and beer, and you couldn’t get those no matter how hard you tried along the Musselshell River.

  It was only Preacher standing in the way.

  If there was anyone still living in Ryegate, we didn’t see them. A few towns we’d come up to had guards posted along the roads, men — some women, too — who would turn strangers away. I figure Ryegate wasn’t big enough to make any kind of colony. Even the church was a tiny, little place.

  “Guess I was wrong,” I said to Bo, putting a little grudge in my voice. “Ought to be plenty of beds around here.”

  He nodded. “All right, usual drill. Spread out and holler when you find one.” It wasn’t difficult in such a small town. Bigger houses had always already been looted, and folks would slash open mattresses looking for hidden cash. So you avoided those, even though they looked better. Smaller houses, that was the trick; finding a place that wouldn’t attract so much attention. I didn’t figure many folks would be wandering through Ryegate, but you never knew who else was on the roads.

  The third house we tried was a ranch-style with the door shut but unlocked. There was a pullout sofa and two beds inside, one a queen-size; the other a single in what must have been a kid’s room. Some stuff was missing — looked like the pictures had all been taken off the walls, probably someone looking for safes — but at least they hadn’t messed up the beds, and that was all we cared about.

  “All right,” said Bo, “I’ll take the floor, I had a bed last time we were under a roof. Preacher, you take the kid’s room. Close the door so we don’t have to listen to your snoring all night.”

  Sarge glanced at me. “Rock, paper, scissors for the big bed?” I took a rock and won the bed, and given what I’d planned, it took some doing to look happy about it. On top of that, there was an old-fashioned grill in the garage, and some coals left in a bag. I thought of all the nights I’ve spent wishing for hot food, and cursed a wish come true.

  The sun had been down about an hour when we finished eating and turned in. The sheets were long since gone, but I could just feel that nice, big mattress under my shoulders before I even closed the door.

  Now, I knew myself. If I lay down in a real bed after a hot meal I’d be gone to the world until someone shook me, so I put myself to walking in place. Once you get used to walking the way we’d done these past two months, you could pull it off without even thinking. I figured everyone else would need half an hour, tops, to get themselves off to deep dreaming. I could put off sleeping that long. I knew I could. I had to.

  I did. Preacher’s snoring was the first thing I heard, that sick rattling that made you think of an engine gone bad. It stoked the fire in me again, forced me to shake off sleep and march in place to the sound of that lousy drone. With every minute that passed, all I could think of was the past three weeks. The way he’d slowed us down, held us back. The disease I knew he was carrying around in his lungs. The way Bo was protecting him, shrugging off Sarge and me like so many afterthoughts, even when we’d walked so far across the country with him.

  The porcelain lid to the toilet tank was good and solid, heavy in my hands. It came off with hardly a sound when I lifted it. The trick was going to be opening Preacher’s door quietly enough to avoid waking Bo or Sarge. Then I could bring the damned thing down, and my problems would be over. I wouldn’t have to share anything with that mouth-breathing son of a bitch a moment longer. Bo would be pissed, sure. Might even throw down with our fists for a bit. But he’d know I was right, afterward. He’d see I knew what was best.

  I thought that until the minute I turned around and saw him in the moonlight, Sarge’s shotgun held steady at his hips, aimed right at my crotch.

  “Lay it down, Dave. Quietly,” said Bo, and I did.

  “Put your hands at chest level and step out here.” He walked me to the back door of the house. “Open it.”

  I never scared easily. I’d never had a shotgun at my back before, either. I’d trusted Bo, sure, but he’d trusted me — and see what that nearly got him. I opened the door.

  Once we were outside, away from the roof, the big night sky made me feel almost naked. We’d been away from roofs for so long that you’d think it would have comforted me, but I just stood there under a waning moon, waiting to hear a click and a roar from the man I’d betrayed.

  “You ever killed a man, Dave?”

  “No. Never have.”

  “It’s not as easy as the movies make it look,” he said, still behind me. “It’s not something a normal man does. Might have been, once. Hasn’t been for a long time.” He got quiet for a minute. “Turn around.”

  I turned. He’d pointed the barrel at the ground.

  “I want you to listen, now. I saw it in your eyes back when I passed on the campsite. I’ve seen it building in you ever since we picked up Preacher. You’re getting worse every day, so I’m going to tell it to you straight. If you don’t like it, well, that’s something we’ll have to deal with.

  “You’re right about Preacher, Davey. He’s sick, and he’s sick bad. But it isn’t killing him and it isn’t touching us. He’s what they call a carrier.”

  My hands came down slow, but Bo didn’t seem to mind. “Carrier?”

  “He’s got the flu but he isn’t dying. At least, that’s the way I figure it.”

  “So why aren’t we sick yet? Why aren’t we dead?”

  “We’re not sick because we’re not getting sick.” It sounded simple, the way he said it, with a quiet shrug of his shoulders. “You were around your folks when they caught it. I was the only one in my family that didn’t die of it, same goes for Sarge. Figure we got a taste of it, near the beginning, and got lucky, like a kid that gets the measles and never sees them again.”

  It started dawning on me. “You’re bringing a carrier…into Grants Pass. You want the flu to spread there.”

  “He doesn’t even have to get in the town. Just get close enough to someone working the fields or guarding the road to breathe on them a little, and the job’s done.”

  “Hell, Bo,” I said. My throat was dry. “Why?”

  “You ever stop to think how I heard about Grants Pass? I never had much use for computers. Jenny, though…you remember her. Jenny.”

  His voice got cold when he said her name. I swear it felt like the stars got darker and the sweat came easy to my skin despite the chill in the air. “Sure. I remember.”

  Bo took a deep breath. “She said she needed one, and you know me. I do for the folks who mean something to me. We got it, and she starts shopping online all the damn time, spending money
we didn’t have. Found some places where people chat online. Made some new friends.” There was a tightness in Bo’s voice now, like words had been building up and choked back for longer than they should’ve.

  “Met that son of a bitch on the goddamned internet while I was out working to help pay for all those damn stupid dolls she loved so much. And she’s the one — before the bastard, you know — who told me all about this crazy girl in Oregon and her little pipe dream for after the fall.

  “Made me promise we’d go. I told her she was nuts, the world wasn’t going to end, but at the end of the day she was dead set on it. All right, I told her. The world goes down the toilet, I’ll bring you safe to this Grants Pass place.”

  He took a deep breath, and shifted his hands on the shotgun. “I’m going to meet her there now, if she survived. And I’m bringing Hell with me.”

  “Bo,” I said, real quiet. “Bo, listen. That’s crazy. You’re talking about damning a town full of people, just in case she’s there?”

  “That’s the short of it, Davey.”

  “They’re gonna be immune, too, Bo. You know that’s a fact — if you and Sarge and I walked away safe, it’s a safe bet the whole town did.”

  I let him chew on that a few seconds, hoping to God he’d lower the gun, agree with me, and leave Preacher in the dust come morning. I could leave him in turn, then, once we got closer to a town that might take me in — leave him and his obsession behind.

  “No,” he said, and he said it flat, with a coyote look in his eyes. “There’ll be those untouched, and they won’t last long. Worst come to worst and you’re right — well, all that means is Preacher doesn’t do his job. I’ll still do mine.” He ran his hand along the barrel of the shotgun. “I’d love to see the whole damn place fall apart, and let her know her whoring caused it. If it comes to just me and her and a minute alone, though…well, that’s all I need.”

  “That’s crazy,” I said again.

  “You’ve never had so much reason to hate.”

  I couldn’t think of much else to say, so I stayed quiet and still, just watching him. He lifted the shotgun, casual, and said, “So now you know, and Sarge isn’t asking. What’s it going to be, Davey? You going to help me?”