Deadlocked 5 (10 page)

"Is he crazy?" I asked Stubs.

"Let the thief no longer steal, but rather let him labor, doing honest work with his own fucking hands." The old man slammed his fist down on the hood as he cursed again. Then he took a deep breath and continued preaching, "So that he may have something to share with anyone in need." He slapped the book closed and smacked it against his forehead lightly several times as he mumbled something I couldn't hear. He put the book on the hood and then cupped his hands around the sides of his mouth to amplify his voice across the plains. "Are you in need?"

He picked the book back up and went to the passenger's side of the truck. He opened the door and tossed the book in before grabbing a backpack off the seat and bringing it with him, back to the front. The old man unzipped the bag and started pulling out what looked like tin cans that he lined up on the hood.

"I've got some beans, and some…" he rummaged through the bag and shrugged, "and some more beans, I guess. Looks like I've got a bunch of beans. Are you hungry? I'm happy to share. I doubt someone put this spike strip out here just to be a fucking asshole!" He shook again in anger and then held his head low as he tried to calm down. "Sorry. I don't mean to curse, it's just that I really, really liked this truck. Listen, I'll give you all the food I've got. Just come out and show yourself."

I stayed low, unwilling to reveal myself to the eccentric stranger.

"We're supposed to keep the road clear so the traders can go through." He kicked at his deflated tire. "Is that why you put the strip out? Because you wanted to rob the caravan?" He stood silent as he looked out over the prairie. Then he started jerking his arms around in frustration before kicking at the side of the truck, denting it several times before he finally stopped. "You mother fucking mother fuckers! I know you're out there, Devil! Just come on out and get this over with."

"This guy's got a screw loose, don't you think?" I asked the dog, which gave me pause about my own sanity. Stubs sniffed and licked his nose as he stared at me.

The old man fished through his pockets until he produced a can opener. "Fine then! You know what I'm going to do? I'm going to eat my fucking beans by my fucking self. You can go fuck yourself, you fucking fucker." He sounded cheerfully obstinate as he tore off the top of his can of beans and started scooping them out with his fingers. "Tastes good," he said as black beans dribbled down his chin. "You're missing out, you dumb bastard. They taste real good."

A dog howled in the distance and the old man jumped at the sound. He set his can of beans down on the hood and rushed back to the cab of the truck to get a weapon, licking his fingers as he went. The can slid off the hood and clanked on the pavement, spilling black beans out over the wet concrete. The old man got a shotgun out of the pickup and then climbed into the empty back end to try and locate the source of the howl.

I nervously waited to hear if another dog answered the first. I'd be in a precarious spot if a pack of dogs decided to come our way.

Another howl echoed over the field and I struggled to pinpoint its origin. The old man had trouble locating it as well and spun in circles in the back of the truck as he looked.

"Come and get some
you dirty dogs." The old man shook his shotgun in the air. "I'm sick of eating beans! I'm ready for some delicious dog meat." He pronounced the word 'delicious' with salacious flare and licked his lips afterword. "Come try and take a bite of me and I'll chew your shitting heads off. I'll bite the fuck out of you!" He snapped his jaws and stomped around in the back of the truck as if performing a tribal dance.

"This old preacher has a dirty mouth," I said to Stubs. "He's going to get himself killed out there if he doesn't shut the hell up."

The old man had no interest in being quiet. He started to whistle and slap his thigh as he called out to the dogs. "Come here, dickhead. Come get some. You can try to eat me if you want, but I haven't wiped my ass in two weeks." He chuckled as he danced. "I'm going to taste like a big mouthful of shit, you turd lickers. Come get some!"

I couldn't help but laugh, but then I heard the dogs running through the weeds behind me. The old man had gotten their attention, but I would be an easier target.

Stubs heard them too, and his back bristled as he turned and growled at the overgrowth behind us. The preacher was still thumping around in the back of his truck, cursing at the approaching pack as he tried to guess how many dogs were out there. The weeds rustled too close for comfort and I debated what to do next as I aimed my Glock down, past my feet.

"If you're out there, then come out and help me kill these dogs," said the preacher. "I won't shoot you. At least not until the dogs are dead."

I cursed in frustration as I watched the weeds behind me shake in the distance. The dogs were moving closer, and my location would be revealed to the preacher if I had to defend myself. The best option was to take him on his word and get to the truck. I grabbed Stubs and held my gun high in the air as I stood up. I wasted no time running, the pistol held above my head with my fingers splayed out to show they weren't on the trigger.

He laughed as he pointed his shotgun at me. "I knew it! You dirty mother fucker, get in here. What's that you got there? Is that a dog? Are you carrying a damn dog around?"

I'd been hiding about twenty yards from the truck and I covered that ground quickly. "His name's Stubs." I tried to hand the puppy up to the preacher, but the man just pointed his shotgun down at my head.

"How dumb are you, boy? You just come running up at me while I've got a shotgun pointed at you? What makes you think I won't pop your head like a watermelon?"

I sighed as I looked up at him. "I thought I had the word of a preacher."

"Words are cheap."

I clenched my jaw and glared at him. Stubs was in my left hand, and the Glock was in my right, still in the air. I might have a chance of ducking and shooting the old man, but it would be a harrowing attempt.

"I'm just fucking with you, kid!" The old man guffawed and offered a wide smile adorned with rotting teeth. He took Stubs and set him down safely in the bed of the truck before reaching out to offer me a hand up. "Name's Harrison. What should I call you?"

"Ben."

"Ben, Ben, Ben of the Chinamen." He chanted as if it was part of a song I'd never heard, then he shook his head and apologized. "I don't mean no offense or nothing. It's been a long time since I've seen a slant."

"A slant?" I grimaced as I repeated the derogatory term.

"You know, a zipperhead." He looked at me as if he was serious and then burst into laughter. "Don't worry, I'm not racist, I just act and sound like one."

I pointed out at the encroaching pack. "Let's just focus on the dogs for now."

"How about you climb into the truck and get it started. We can drive on the rims."

"Why didn't you just do that before?" I asked as I continued to watch for dogs. "Why'd you wait around screaming out for someone to rob you?"

"Because I thought you were the Devil. I've got some business with him, and I thought he finally showed up to collect his due. But, seeing as you're not glowing red with horns and hooves, I guess we can get the fuck out of here and head down to Juniper."

"Where's that?"

Harrison stared at me, perplexed by my question, then he pointed at Stubs and asked, "Didn't you get him down in Juniper?"

I shook my head. "I don't know what you're talking about. What's Juniper?"

Harrison squinted at me and then down at Stubs. "You two didn't come from Juniper?"

"No. What's Juniper?" I was getting tired of asking.

Harrison pointed across the prairie, down to the industrial plant where the dead colony was hidden. "It's a town, out that way. I figured you and the dog must've co
me from there. Tommy Washington from down that way is the only guy I've ever met that had a dog like yours. I figured you must've traded with him for one of his pups."

I looked down the hill at the town where I'd found the bodies. "I was there. I didn't know it was called Juniper. I didn't even know it was there until just about an hour ago."

"Well, hop on into the driver's seat and get us back down there. I've been aching for a taste of the old widow Castle's pie." He nudged me with his elbow and winked as he added, "As well as a taste of her desserts." He guffawed at his own joke.

I shook my head and said, "I'm sorry to have to tell you this, but that town's dead."

"What do you mean?" Harrison didn't understand and continued to smile. "Are they all hung-over or something? Taking a day of rest? I was headed out here to take a few of them back to Vineyard for the anniversary celebration. They'd better not all be lounging around, hung over or something."

"No, I mean they're dead. They're all dead. The town was wiped out."

Shock and sorrow caused Harrison to gasp and tremble. His eyes grew wide and his mouth drooped as he lowered his shotgun. "They're dead?"

I nodded and offered my condolences.

"Everyone?"

"I think so. I wasn't there long before you showed up."

"The babies?" Harrison blinked again and again as he tried to keep from crying. His voice trembled as he asked, "All the little babies?"

Two dogs broke through the weeds behind the truck and moved out onto the road. They held their heads low and snarled at us as they tested our aggression. I quickly raised my Glock and took a couple shots, both hitting their mark in a different dog. My first shot was good enough to kill one animal, but I hit the second in the hind leg and it scampered off, back to the weeds as it yelped in pain.

Harrison sat down on the raised section of the truck bed, just over the back wheel, and set his shotgun in his lap as if all his strength had been washed away. "The kids are dead?"

"I don't know. I just found one family, but I'm pretty sure the whole town is either dead or gone."

"What happened?"

"I think they were infected."

"The Greys got to them?"

I shook my head as I continued to watch for signs of the feral dogs that were hunting us. "No. I think they were infected with the old virus."

Harrison was surprised and asked, "The Poppers?"

"Yes."

He wiped away his tears and shook his head. "I haven't seen a Popper in years. Are you sure?"

"I'll take you down there and show you if you want. But first we need to get out of here. The dogs in this area are some of the most aggressive I've seen."

Harrison held up his shotgun, a pump action Winchester that held eight rounds, and offered it to me. "Here, I'll drive. I don't feel like killing nothing right now." He shook his head and pressed his thumb and index finger into his eyes to stem the tears. "I can't stop thinking about those babies. Lord help me if they're dead. Lord help me."

I took the gun and waited as the preacher climbed down over the side and got into the cab. He was still shaking, as if the news of the town's demise had ravaged him. It had been a long time since I cared about the survival of anyone other than myself, and his emotions were hard for me to relate to. The old man was sobbing as he got into the truck and I watched him through the rear window as his shoulders trembled while he cried. He set his forearms over the top of the steering wheel and his head on them as he wept.

My life was devoid of familial bonds, and there wasn't a single person alive that I could call a true friend. I was content only when I was moving. Staying in one place, even for just a few days, made me nervous. Harrison's emotional response to the death of the people in the town was more of a shock to me than it should've been. Anyone else would've sympathized with him, but I was only able to stare at him in wonderment.

Finally, the truck rumbled to a start and shifted into gear. The noise of the rims grinding against the pavement was excruciating as we labored forth. I had to sit down and hold onto the side as the truck jostled violently.

The pack of dogs relentlessly hunted us, even as we drove away. They ran along the side of the road, in the weeds, and a few of them revealed themselves as they loped along. Feral dogs were a plague to the survivors of the apocalypse, but the ones here seemed ravenous and more vicious than most I'd encountered before. I didn't know why, but I theorized that they sensed the reemergence of the virus, and began to hunt food more intently in case supplies might soon run low.

We drove west, toward the mountains, for almost a mile before encountering the first road that turned right, which would allow us to drive down to where the industrial colony was hidden. The dogs had given up their chase, but I continued a vigilant watch since we were still moving slow enough for them to keep up if they wanted to.

When we turned, I noticed that there was another Juniper tree at the corner. Its branches leaned north, seeming to point the way to the colony. It was then that I realized the people of the town had deliberately trimmed or otherwise influenced the growth of the tree to direct knowing travelers to the site of their town. If someone wasn’t aware of the 'signposts' they wouldn't notice the otherwise obvious clues.

Harrison followed the road down to an unassuming driveway, shielded by two Juniper trees that intertwined over the gated entrance. The metal pole that could be used to block the drive had been opened, allowing us to continue without having to open it. Harrison moved slowly while the truck's rims grinded on the concrete below. They groaned with increasing intensity as if an axle was ready to snap.