Her eyes narrowed and she glared at him. “You are mine.” She stepped closer and thrust her arm out, pointing to the cans. “MORE.”
Simon felt anger rise up in him and his bead began to throb. He squinted one eye and slowly shook his head. “Fuck me, my head is pounding.” He turned and walked toward the liquor aisle, the woman following close behind.
As his hand wrapped around the brown liquor she slapped at his hand, causing him to drop it. He expected the jug to shatter, but it bounced on the floor. Thank god for plastic bottles.
He spun on her. “What the hell?”
“More!”
He bent low and picked up the bottle, twisting the cap as he stood. He eyed her cautiously as he pressed the bottle to his lips and sucked the brown liquor out, swallowing it.
He lowered the bottle and sucked at his teeth, measuring the woman standing before him. “You got balls, lady. I’ll give you that.” He took another pull from the liquor and squeezed his eyes shut. “In my younger days, I’d have skinned you alive for talking to me like that.”
He leaned against the shelf and twisted the cap back on. “I think that was the longest I’ve gone without a drink in…forever.”
She reached for the bottle and he handed it to her. She turned and threw it back down the aisle where the canned goods were. “More.” She stepped closer and got in his face. “Now.”
Simon felt a smile cross his lips and he reached out, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re kind of cute when you’re pissy.”
She ran her hand down his chest and cupped his groin. Simon’s breath caught in his throat when she seemed to massage his favorite appendage. He doubled over the moment she squeezed, his eyes bulging. “More. Now.”
Simon nodded furiously. “I’ll…do it,” he choked out. She slowly released him and he fell to his knees. “You bitch.” He coughed as he cradled his half pound of Aunt Mollie’s Nut Butter.
She grabbed the shoulder of his leather jacket and, to his amazement, dragged him toward the canned goods. She let go unceremoniously and he fell to the floor. “If I had my pistol on me right now, I’d shoot you in the tits.”
“Food.” Her eyes were narrowed and he knew that she was about to squish his nuts again.
“Fine.” He pulled himself to his feet and forced air into his lungs. “How about, I open the cans and you answer my questions while I do it?”
She gave him a barely perceptible nod. He reached for the closest can and held it out to her. “Is this okay?”
She looked at it and cocked her head to the side. Finally she nodded. “Food.”
Simon applied the can opener to the top and slowly worked it into the lid. “So tell me. Why attack and eat people?”
“Easy food. Tastes good.” She smiled at him and he almost cringed at the stuff stuck in her teeth. “Slow but tasty.”
Simon nodded as he continued to work the opener. “Okay. I see that. I think.” He glanced up at the shelves. “But there was so much here still. Why eat people?”
She slapped at the side of her head as though shaking a bug out of her ear. “More!”
Simon sighed and pulled the lid open. He had no idea what she sucked into her mouth, but the juice ran down her neck as she ate.
“You can talk. You can think.” He turned and leaned against the shelf as she continued to suck at the cans innards. “What possessed all of you to start eating people?”
She dropped the can and belched. “More.”
He glanced at the shelf and shrugged. “Pick one.” She slammed a can into his middle and he reluctantly began to open it. “But why people?”
She glared at him. “Food.”
“I know they were food.” He stopped opening the can and stared at her. “Why?” Her face twisted in anger and she ground her teeth at him. “You can get mad all you want. Answer my question or you go without.”
She tensed, her hands balled into fists. She continued to glare at him as her body shook. “The…fire!”
“What fire?”
She slapped at the side of her head again. “The fire…inside.” She looked up at him, her eyes wild. “In here!” She slapped at her head again.
Simon twisted the lid on the liquor bottle and handed it to her. “Try this. See if it helps with that fire.”
She gave him a dirty look then took the bottle from him, tilting it back and sucking the amber liquid from inside. She drank nearly a third of the half gallon bottle before he reached out and took it from her. “I think that’s enough.” He twisted the lid back on and smiled at her. “Give that a few minutes to kick in and then tell me if you still feel that fire in your skull.”
He finished cutting the lid off and handed her the can. She was visibly wobbling, her face slack. “Fire.” She grunted before sliding to the floor.
Simon smiled and shoved his fingers into the can. He scooped out a brown paste and licked it off. “Yeah. Nothing like a little night-night juice to shut your bossy ass up.”
Chapter 9
Hatcher clicked off the microphone and leaned back in his chair. “I hope that quells some of the rumors.”
Roger sighed and gave him a shallow shrug. “Or it might fuel more. Who knows?”
“What more could I say? I told them everything that we actually know. Anything else is guessing or pure fiction.”
“You know that. I know that. But there will always be people who think that ‘the man’ is hiding shit from them. Or using their people as guinea pigs. Or…” He chuckled to himself. “You should have heard some of the shit I used to have to listen to when I was undercover.”
Hatcher leaned back and crossed his legs. “Enlighten me.”
“My favorite was the FEMA camps.” Roger rolled his eyes. “Some asshole swipes a picture off the internet, calls it an internment camp, and gets all of the monkeys in the zoo to throwing shit.”
“I think I read something about that once.”
Roger nodded. “Their paranoia made the national news more than once.” He sighed and shook his head. “Good times.”
“So what else?” Hatcher waved him on.
Roger leaned back and pried into the dusty memories. “Well, we had a guy that swore that aliens had abducted him and run experiments. He tried for years to convince the club to make a rush on Area 51 so that he could shove a Vance & Hines exhaust pipe up the alien’s ass.” He snorted as he laughed.
“Oh, that’s classic.” Hatcher leaned forward. “I thought those bikers were all into outlaw shit?”
Roger nodded. “The higher ups, most definitely. But like any organization, you’ll find the cutups, the fruit loops, the straight up Section 8s. You run the whole gambit.” He crossed his arms and stared into nothingness. “But they’re all rattlesnakes down deep. You can’t trust a one of them.”
Hatcher sat up quickly. “Coop.”
“What about him?”
“He’s dating my sister. He’s one of us.”
Roger held a hand up to calm him. “Coop wasn’t with Simon’s clan. He got absorbed after the shit hit the fan.”
Hatcher nodded slowly. “So, he’s an okay guy?”
Roger shrugged. “I didn’t really know him much. I just remember when they picked him up, he was wearing colors that nobody recognized.” He rubbed at his chin as he tried to remember what exactly it was. “I think it was a ‘Nam thing. Something military.”
“Well, you called him ‘Sailor.’”
Roger nodded. “Oh yeah. He’s old school Navy. Maybe he wasn’t even wearing colors. It could have been old military patches that somebody assumed was colors.” He shrugged and sipped his coffee. “But either way, Simon took to him. Sort of adopted the old codger as a lieutenant right off.”
“Maybe he recognized experience? Was Coop an officer?”
Roger shrugged. “Beats me, man. He could have been a cook or a fucking Gunner’s Mate for all I know.”
Hatcher raised a brow at him. “Were you Navy?”
Roge
r shook his head. “Marine.”
Hatcher gave him a confused stare. “But…you can read.”
“Hardy-fuckin’-har-har.” Roger kicked his foot out, pushing Hatcher off balance. “Don’t forget I was a cop, too.” He smiled slyly. “They were the ones who taught me my letters.”
Candy knocked at the door. “Hatcher, we may have a problem.”
“What’s up?”
“Vic just said that she’s had three people already show up to the dispensary with really bad sore throats. She thinks we may have a bad case of strep going around.”
Hatcher gave Roger a dumbfounded look. “Okay. And?”
“And…she says that if this is as bad as she thinks it is, she doesn’t have enough antibiotics to go around.” She crossed her arms and raised a brow at the pair. “Somebody’s gonna have to make a run.”
Hatcher stood, his head shaking. “We cleaned out the pharmacy at the grocery store. Surely…”
“There’s not enough.” Candy blew her breath out hard. “Apparently not all antibiotics can deal with strep.”
“Great.”
Roger stood and patted his leg. “No sweat, Hatch. I’ll go.”
“Like hell.” Candy gave him the look.
Hatcher laughed and pushed off his desk. “I’ll grab Hank and Wally. I’m sure they’re just dying to get out and get into trouble again.”
Roger narrowed his gaze at Candy. “I’m sure it’ll be an easy in and out.” He stroked the sides of her arms. “How about you drive?”
She shook her head. “We got other things to do.”
“Like what?”
She hooked her thumb down the hall. “Like help get big Mike to and from the radio stack. Stanton couldn’t raise anybody on the radio last night and since we’re almost certain those were military jets, they want Mike’s expertise in narrowing their frequency range.”
Roger blew his breath out hard and nodded slowly. “Yay, babysitting.”
“Shut up. And you’d better get used to it because in a few months’ time you’ll be doing a lot more of it.”
“That’s different.”
“Just say ‘yes, dear’ and I’ll let you off the hook without breaking any of your bones.”
“Yes, dear.”
Dr. Kevin McAlester jerked awake, his head snapping from side to side. He collapsed back onto his narrow bed and grimaced at the cold sweat stain soaking his lower sheet.
Kicking his legs off the edge of the bed, he sat quietly and tried to recall the details of the nightmare that had just startled him from slumber. Thankfully, his mind couldn’t recall the details.
He slowly stood and instantly his eyes were drawn to where he just knew he had killed his neighbor. He extended his foot to where the puddle of blood should be and swiped side to side.
He actually giggled when his foot found nothing.
Kevin peeled the wet t-shirt from his body and dropped it into the laundry basket. He stepped into the bathroom and patted himself down with baby powder. He had just taken a shower the evening before. No sense in wasting water.
He quickly dressed then made his way to the mess decks. He could smell it well before he entered the dimly lit area. He grabbed a tray and moved up the line. He was surprised there were so few people around. He tried to glance at the clock on the wall, but he couldn’t find one.
“We were about to shut it all down, Doc. You’re lucky you caught us.”
“What time is it? Is this breakfast or…”
“Midrats.” The cook tapped his wrist. “It’s what we put out at midnight for the guys coming off watch who missed last meal. We leave it out for about an hour then shut her down. We left it a little longer tonight because some of the chopper crews just came back to load up on more of that goop you and your people brewed up to save the world.” The cook beamed a wide smile. “Word is that if this crap works right, we’ll be able to make port in a week or two.”
“That’s good, right?” Kevin asked as the cook loaded him up on bacon and sausage.
“Damn straight that’s good. We had to cook this stuff up before it went bad.” He lowered his voice and leaned toward Kevin. “Believe it or not, even with the end of the world all around us, they still expect us to follow the ‘serve by’ dates on the frozen meats.” He shook his head in disgust. “This stuff lasts years if you keep it frozen. Instead, we have to hurry up and use it all.”
Kevin’s eyes narrowed. “What do we do once it’s gone?”
The cook shrugged. “Move on to the canned stuff. That’s when you’ll see all of the creamed mystery meats and casseroles.” His face twisted. “It’s not terrible if you toss enough salt on it, but we’re even running low on that.”
Kevin sighed and pulled his tray back. “Well, at least we have this.”
“For now.” The cook winked at him. “Hopefully we’ll get resupplied long before we have to worry about breaking out the tins.”
Kevin poured a large cup of coffee and sat an empty table. The TV mounted to the wall in front of him replayed one of the many videos kept onboard for entertainment. “The Sound of Music?” He popped a chunk of bacon into his mouth before he sporked a mouthful of powdered eggs.
He slowly chewed and watched the old film, his mind wandering to Broussard and Chaplain. Why would they abandon ship when they were about to be heralded as national heroes? Hell, WORLD heroes.
He leaned back, the powdered eggs destroying any chance of enjoying the bacon or sausage, and slowly pulled the crust from a dry piece of toast. “I don’t get it.” He popped the piece of crust into his mouth and chewed. “It makes no sense that they’d just run off.”
He glanced at the TV again then toward the cook, who was carrying the stainless steel pans from the steam table back into the kitchen. He tried to imagine a wild scenario that would call for the pair to abandon their work right before it paid off.
He paused as his mind began to stitch together a tapestry that he really didn’t like.
“It doesn’t work.” He felt himself go pale. “Oh my god. They know that the cure is phony and they baled before they could be found out.”
Kevin felt a mix of emotions rip through him. Part of him was elated that the dynamic duo screwed the pooch, but an even bigger part of him cringed at the idea of the cure failing. He glanced back at where the cook had disappeared through the door and groaned. “So many people have such high hopes hung on this.”
He fought the urge to scream, to throw up, to slide his tray into the floor as hard as he could. He took a deep, cleansing breath and let it out slowly.
When the idea hit him that he could maybe fix their screw up, it was like somebody had punched the air from his lungs. Nervous excitement coursed through his appendages and he felt his hands begin to shake.
“Come on McAlester. It’s up to you now.” He pulled the tray closer and scooped a handful of the bacon onto the toast. He crammed a sausage patty on top of the mess then pressed it down hard with another piece of toast.
He left his tray where it was and carried the sandwich and his coffee to the lab. He pushed the door open with his foot and stared into the brightly lit workspace.
“Time to make a name for yourself.”
Simon searched the store and finally found a hand-powered can opener. He spent the better part of the early evening hours opening cans of food for his troops.
He spoke to a handful of them and noted their surprise that he wasn’t barking like a dog anymore. Simon could only imagine how they understood each other. Maybe it’s some ancient caveman language?
He handed off the last can and shook his hand, trying to revive the feeling in his fingers. He turned and tried to take an inventory of the people available. He saw a handful of women and one pre-teen. The rest were males, but in their current state, they didn’t look like they were in much condition to wage war.
He knew that he had seen at least one larger man when he was opening the cans. He looked like he might be a force to reckon with.
/> Simon walked slowly through the store, searching for the big fellow. He rounded the last aisle and saw him sitting alone in the corner, his fingers swiping at the contents at the bottom of a can.
“I think we should talk.” He stood over the guy and tried to measure him up. The fellow glanced up at Simon then turned his attention back to the chipped beef. Simon kicked the bottom of his foot. “I’m talking to you.”
The large man didn’t look up a second time. He continued to dig at the bottom of the can, licking the white goo from his fingers. He held the can out and stared into it then set it on the ground next to him. He finally raised his eyes, and Simon felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.
This guy looked like he had zero body fat, but still plenty of lean, sinewy muscle. He was no bodybuilder, but he looked like he could rip the head off of somebody and spit down their windpipe with little to no effort.
Simon squatted and continued to study him. “I need to know who the best fighters are.”
The man continued to stare at him, a blank expression on his face.
Simon waited then leaned closer. “Do you understand me?”
The man nodded.
“Then answer my question. Who are your best fighters?”
“Don’t fight.”
Simon sighed and wiped his hand across his face. “Who are your best hunters? The best killers?”
The man nodded then slapped at his chest. He stared at Simon then slowly extended his hand. His finger was bent but he pointed out two other men. “We hunt.”
“That’s it?” The large man nodded slowly. Simon inhaled deeply and stared at him. “Where are your other hunters?”
The man cocked his head to the side then made a ball of his hands. With a quick motion he spread them out, his fingers splaying. “Boom.”
“Boom?” Simon sat forward and blinked at him. “Boom. Like, they exploded?”
The man slowly nodded then scooped up one of the empty cans to search for more scraps.
Simon sat down hard and wrapped his arms around his knees, pulling them tight. He turned quickly to the large fellow and tapped at the side of his foot. “Are there other groups out there?”
Caldera 8: Simon Sez Page 7