by Jason Frost
"What kind of an animal?" Tracy began.
Eric shook his head. "No animal. The hand was severed clean here. The leg and arm on the other guy were hacked and twisted free."
"Christ, Eric. You're talking about goddamn cannibals."
"Uh-huh."
They gripped their weapons tighter and glanced around.
5.
Col. Dirk Fallows laughed.
Timmy kept the Walther P.38 thrust toward Fallows's chest and squeezed the trigger again. The hammer snapped, metal striking metal. No explosion. No bullet. Just the big, craggy face of Fallows laughing at him. He kept pulling the trigger, eight or ten times. Click, click, click…
Dobbs took a deep breath, not even realizing he'd stopped breathing the moment Fallows had given the kid the gun. His throat was dry from not swallowing. There were little crescents of blood on his palm from where his fingernails had dug in when he'd clenched his fist. He stared at his open hand. Shit, when had he done that? He wiped the blood on his pants. He could sure use a cigarette.
"Well, well," Fallows said, still chuckling as he stepped toward Timmy.
Timmy winced. He lifted the gun by the barrel as if it were a hammer, but Fallows snatched it away from him.
"Hell, I'm not going to punish you, Tim. It took guts to do what you just did. The kind of guts we need around here. I'm proud of you."
Then Fallows did something that shocked Dobbs. He grabbed the kid by the shoulder and hugged him close, patting his back like an old buddy. Like a son. Christ, Dobbs thought, now I've seen everything.
Timmy didn't resist. He just stood there, zombielike, tears leaking from both eyes, feeling not good for anything. He hadn't been able to protect his sister when they'd killed her. He hadn't been able to protect his mother when they'd killed her. Now he hadn't even been able to kill the man responsible for his father's death. What good was he?
"You're going to make a first-rate soldier yet, Tim. I guarantee it. When I'm done with you, well, you'll be able to take care of yourself. And anybody you care about."
Timmy looked up. Take care of people he cared about. Yeah, wouldn't that be something.
Fallows watched Timmy's eyes and continued. "The biggest obstacle to getting to the top is fighting your way through the crowd at the bottom. Remember that, kid. And that once you get to the top, all those clowns jerking around down there are going to try to take away what's yours. You've got to know how to control them. Use them. Or, if you have to, destroy them."
"That doesn't sound… right," Timmy said.
"Doesn't it? Why? Because your dad said so? Well, he didn't bother teaching you kids even part of what he knew about surviving. Look where it got you. If he was so damn right, how come you're here? How come your mother and sister aren't? What'd he do about it? Huh, what?"
Timmy shook his head furiously. "You killed them, not him. It was you!"
"I did what was necessary to protect myself and my people. If your father had listened to me, your mother and sister would still be alive. Think about that."
Dobbs pulled a pack of Winstons out of his pocket, shook one loose, and clamped his lips on the filter. He didn't understand Fallows's game, but whatever it was, this kid was starting to crumble. Dobbs grinned as he touched the match flame to the cigarette. Shit, that Fallows could sure mess up your mind.
"Just think about it, Tim," he said, hugging Timmy's shoulder again. "And while you're at it, think about that bitch he's been traveling with, humping every night."
"No," Timmy said, "Tracy's a friend. Mom's friend, too."
"Yeah, well, she's an even better friend to your dad. Your mom was hardly even cold before he started screwing her brains out. I wouldn't be surprised if they'd had something going even before your mom died-"
"No!"
"Maybe even before the quakes. Maybe ole Eric wasn't in all that much of a hurry to find you and your mom after all. Maybe he liked the way things worked out. Him free to take up with that Tracy woman."
Timmy fought the tears, standing stiff and upright as if he were at attention. But his shoulders shook, the tears tumbling down his cheeks like tiny boulders.
"The thing is, kid, you've got to be flexible in this world. Make new alliances." He released the empty clip from the Walther and tossed it on the ground. Then he took a full clip from his pocket and palmed it into the gun. "First thing you've got to do is trust no one. No one. Check everything yourself." He snapped a round into the chamber and thumbed off the safety. "Like I said, check everything yourself. Now you know this gun is loaded, because you saw the bullets in the clip."
Dobbs took a drag on the Winston, let the smoke curl out of his nose just for a change. What the fuck's he doing with that gun? Whatever it was, Dobbs didn't like it. "Maybe I should go check out the food supply, Colonel?"
"Yeah, OK. Only wait a second. I want you to see this."
Dobbs shrugged, puffed out a couple smoky hoops.
"What I mean, Tim, is that you have to know who can do you any good. Can get you what you want. Think about that for a moment. What is it you want right now? Don't have to tell ine, just think about it. Then ask yourself this: Who is most likely going to be able to help me get it? See what I mean?"
Timmy didn't say anything, but Fallows watched the eyes, knew the kid was thinking.
"Take me, for instance. I have to trust people all the time. I send them out on a job, and I have to trust them to do it. And do it right. Well, like Dobbs here."
Dobbs straightened a little at the mention of his name. He didn't want to be involved in Fallows's weird shit.
"I send my man Dobbs out after your dad and he brings me back a fucking gun. I ask for him alive or at least the head and what do I get? A goddamn gun with some smeared blood. Could be anybody's blood, even Dobbs's for all I know."
Dobbs shifted uncomfortably, coughing a little when the smoke went down the wrong tube. He didn't like the way this was going. Something kinky here.
"Maybe your dad is dead. But maybe he's only wounded. Maybe he's looking at us right now, that big, ugly crossbow of his aimed at Dobbs's head."
Dobbs knew Fallows was playing with his mind now, but he couldn't help but look over his shoulder, take a sweep of the woods. Didn't see anything. "Christ, Colonel…"
Fallows ignored him. "My point, Tim, is that when you ask for something and it isn't done, then that person has not only risked your life, but the lives of everyone you're responsible for. I'm responsible for a lot of lives here. All these men you see count on me. I take that seriously. Just like I take protecting you seriously. Nothing's happened to you since you've been with me, has it?"
Timmy shrugged, rubbing his bruised and burned arm.
"That doesn't count, kid. That's lessons. I'm talking about your life. Survival. Your dad protected his family and look what happened to them. That won't happen with my little family. I won't let it." He offered the gun butt to Timmy. "But a family needs to be able to trust each other. And when that trust is broken, they need to be punished. You follow me?"
"I-I don't know." Timmy stared at the gun without taking it. Fallows spoke so quickly, and Timmy was so exhausted, it was hard to follow what was being said. It sounded right, but…
"Take it, Tim. Take the gun."
Dobbs flicked the cigarette into the dirt. "C'mon, Colonel, this is getting weird."
"Just bear with me a minute, Dobbs. You'll see what I'm getting at." Fallows winked at him when Timmy couldn't see.
Dobbs nodded and grinned to show he understood. He felt a little better now.
"Go on, take it." Fallows smiled, his arm still resting on Timmy's shoulder.
Slowly, Timmy reached for the gun. He hefted it, looked it over, as if checking to see if it was the same gun with the bullets. Or had Fallows made a switch?
"There's the safety. Check it first. That's right. Now it's off. Guess all we need now's a target." He looked around, his hand still firmly gripping Timmy's shoulder. "Well, I guess we'll just have t
o use ole Dobbs there." He chuckled.
Dobbs chuckled too, but it came out more like a choke. And his skin had paled considerably.
"Go on, Tim." Fallows's voice began to take on a lulling rhythm, yet with a harsh edge, a commanding tone. "There's the man who may have killed your father. Who at least tried to. Look at the blood on the handle. That could be your daddy's blood. Pumping out of a hole in his chest while he was dying. Go ahead, pull the trigger."
Dobbs looked confused, but didn't move. He stood there frozen like a cat caught in a car's headlights.
Fallows continued, squeezing Timmy's shoulder as he kneeled beside the boy. "But I say he probably didn't kill your daddy. That Eric Ravensmith is probably alive right now, out there with some woman who surely is not your mother. And if he is alive, then Dobbs here has put the rest of us in jeopardy. He has risked all our lives by not doing his job properly. You and I, Tim, we have a responsibility to protect these men, just like your daddy should have protected you and your mother and sister. We won't fail like he did, will we? Will we?"
Timmy shook his head. "No."
"Then shoot. Shoot the bastard."
Timmy lifted the gun.
"Fuck, Colonel," Dobbs said. "He's gonna do it."
"Shoot, Tim. Squeeze that trigger. We have to protect our family. Squeeze the goddamned trigger!"
Timmy pointed the gun at Dobbs's chest, his hand quivering as his finger hooked around the trigger.
"Shoot!" Fallows screamed. But when Timmy didn't, Fallows reached over and clamped his huge hand around Timmy's, his finger pressing Timmy's small finger against the trigger until the explosion.
The gun jerked back at the same time Dobbs jerked back, the front of his chest opening like a red orchid suddenly in bloom. He flopped to the ground, his right foot kicking a pattern in the dirt while his leg spasmed. But he was already dead.
Fallows unpeeled Timmy's cold fingers from the gun and patted him on the back. "Congratulations, son." He grinned. "You just killed a man for not killing your father."
6.
Tracy looked out through the broken window of Bob's Big Boy and watched him running across the street. She laid her.357 back on her lap, folded her book face-down on the Formica table, and smiled. "Well now, what do we have here? A wandering minstrel?"
"Nobody here but us rock 'n' rollers," Eric said, standing outside the window. He held up the battered Martin guitar by the neck.
"You play that thing?"
"A little. Long time ago."
"I didn't know that. All this time and I didn't know you played the guitar."
He shifted the crossbow out of the way and strummed a C chord. "Everyone at the party laughed when I sat down to play." He strummed a D chord. "But thanks to Jiffy guitar lessons, now I'm asked to play at all the parties. Amaze your friends and confound your enemies." He strummed a few chord combinations that sounded like Elvis Presley's "Heartbreak Hotel."
Tracy applauded, laughing. "Where'd you find it?"
"The Exxon station down the road. In the John. I think someone was sitting in there when the quake hit and ran off without it. Funny thing is, someone had gone in there afterward and broken open the toilet paper dispenser. Took all the toilet paper, but left this guitar."
"Priorities change."
"Yeah, I know. Still…" He shrugged.
She held up her tattered paperback novel. "Found this under one of the tables back there. Along with a used diaper, a pair of high heels, a bill for chicken snack and a strawberry milk shake, and a Bob's menu."
"Lucky you. Finally something new to read."
"I read the menu three times all the way through, kind of forcing myself to hold off on the book."
"What about the religious bookstore next door?"
"C'mon, Eric, you know me. I don't want to read about someone worse off then we are. I want escape. Christ, it's like a romantic thing, almost sexual, not wanting to rush right in and read it. Prolonging it. Right away I told myself I was only going to read five pages a day, make it last. I'm already fifty pages into it." She adjusted her bandaged leg, wincing. "Thing about all this survival stuff is, it gets pretty boring."
Eric laughed. "You didn't think that a few hours ago when we were being chased or even an hour ago when we discovered what Bob's Big Boy's been serving lately."
"Yeah, well, you know what I mean. OK, we spend a lot of time just trying to stay alive, find water and food and keep from being turned into a blue-plate special. But after a while, your mind kind of adjusts to danger and accepts that as normal. Almost routine. You know?"
"I know. Like in the army. Even in combat there were times we'd rather have faced enemy bullets than sit around and wait another minute. That is, until the bullets actually started flying." He looked at the book cover and smiled. Missionary Stew by Ross Thomas. "Unfortunate title, considering."
"That's one thing that isn't so boring. Those men chewed down to the bone." She shuddered. "What do you think that means, Eric?"
Eric climbed through the gaping window and slid into the booth across the table from Tracy. She had her leg propped up on a chair, the bandages made from some E. T. sheets he'd found in one of the homes. The wood splints were cut from pine panelling he'd ripped from the walls of someone's den. He'd done a pretty good job, considering their resources, and was thinking that maybe the leg wasn't as bad as he'd first thought. At least Tracy didn't seem to be in as much pain.
"Not a lot of things it could mean. Somebody's hungry and eating the bodies. Not all that unusual when you think about it. In a way, it even makes sense."
"Jesus, Eric."
"I mean it. We've got a definite food shortage considering how many people are not prepared to hunt or grow their own. It would figure they'd turn to cannibalism. Kind of natural, in a way."
"Look, you've known me long enough to know I'm not that squeamish anymore. I've seen about every atrocity possible since the quakes. But this." She shook her head. "This is too much, I don't care how natural. It's damn spooky."
"Well, cannibalism usually takes longer to occur unless there are unusual circumstances."
"You don't call being shaken free of the rest of the continent by an earthquake unusual? Orjbeing enclosed by a dome of gas formed from biological and chemical weapons a teeny bit unusual?"
"Not for California. Come to think of it, that arm of yours is looking pretty tasty. Hmmmm."
She reached across the table and swatted him with her book. "As I recall, you've had a taste or two before."
He grinned. "You must be doing something right. I keep coming back for more."
She leaned over, her breasts pressed against the edge of the Formica table. "That's as far as I can move, pal."
Eric stood and leaned over, their lips meeting over the table that a few hours ago had been piled with human bones. They kissed slowly and warmly, tongues polishing each other.
When they finished, Tracy sat back and sighed. "Doesn't it seem to you like we're getting more than our share of physical abuse? Me breaking the same damn leg that was shot last month. It's like we belong to Wound of the Month Club or something."
"Beats dead."
"It sure helps to have a deep thinker like you around."
He laid the crossbow on the table, fit the guitar on his lap, strummed a few quiet chords.
"You think they're still out there?" Tracy asked.
"Who? Fallows?"
"No, the guys with the bad munchies. You think they're still hanging around?"
"Probably. It's only been a couple of hours since they dined on those two guys."
"I got this picture of a gang of them watching us right now, one of them with a pad and pencil taking orders. I'll take a thigh. Save the wishbone for me. Do humans have wishbones?"
"Do chickens have funny bones?"
"Christ, Eric. Give me a break. I'm talking about being turned into a boxed lunch and you're sitting there acting like early Bob Dylan."
"Relax. The fact that they did
n't totally consume the bodies means that we probably scared them off. So, chances are they're not very heavily armed."
Tracy hefted her S amp;W.357 Combat Magnum. "First one to show me a sharp tooth is going to be swallowing lead."
"Swallowing lead?"
She shrugged. "I've been saving that phrase all my life."
Eric's fingers began plucking a soft melody on the guitar. He stopped, tuned it, plucked, tuned it again. When he played again, Tracy noticed his face growing pale, his mouth pulled into a tight grimace. He stared at the strings as he played, but not at the strings exactly, rather, at the dark hole in the middle of the sounding board. It was as if he saw something inside that hole, a portal to some time past. She sat and watched him, knowing he probably wasn't even aware that he was humming along.
She studied his face, the skin tanner now, more wrinkles around the eyes than his age would call for. They had been recent additions, the result of living outdoors. Facing the sun and rain daily. She knew what all this nature had done to her face, so she only looked in her compact mirror once in the morning when she was combing her hair. That was enough. The toughening of the skin into some human leather, the hands and feet thick with calluses, their bodies hard with taut muscles seemed to reflect an inner process too. A hardening of their emotions, callousing of their humanity. Yet somehow each acted as some kind of lotion for each other, soothing, moistening each other's heart. At least it had worked so far.
"That Paul Simon?" she asked.
Eric smiled. " 'St. Judy's Comet.' I used to sing it to Timmy and Jennifer. Like a lullaby. They used to pretend to fall asleep just to make me feel good, like they felt sorry for the old guy sitting there with his guitar and corny song. The moment I left the room they'd start throwing pillows at each other. You know, it meant more to me that they tried to fake it than if I'd really put them to sleep. Understand?"
Tracy nodded. Talking about Annie or the kids was unusual for them. Kind of an understood no man's land. Eric had done his best to bury these memories, as if some inner earthquake had destroyed them. It was the only way he could live with what had happened. And with his mission to rescue Timmy from Dirk Fallows.
