After the End: Survival

by Stebbins, Dave

  "Can't I take it out in trade?"

  "Works the other way around, big boy. Hello Pete, how are you?"

  "Just fine, Yolanda. David had me put this belt on not three minutes ago.”

  "Liar. David isn't smart enough to bring an extra belt. Pete you need to try some of those pork ribs over there. I had some and they just about melt in your mouth."

  "Ain't as good as your ribs, baby," said David, loyally.

  "Thank you, honey, but you still owe me a dollar. Pete, you want to join us?"

  "Thanks, Yolanda, but I need to walk around here a little bit and visit some."

  "OK. We'll see you later."

  Pete started across the room to get another beer. Several couples were dancing.

  "Hello, Pete, good to see you." Brenda Farley, the mayor's right hand woman. Smiling as she touched his shoulder.

  The woman was drop dead gorgeous, knew it, but always acted like it didn't matter.

  "Hi, Brenda. You look just beautiful." Pete couldn't help it. It was like somebody squeezed it out of him.

  "Thank you. Pete, when you get a chance, could you stop and talk with the mayor for a moment? It's about the girl they found near Canyon."

  Pete glanced over to the mayor's table. The mayor was seated at the head, staring impassively while listening to Bruce Holman, of Holman's Wholesome Foods. The grocer was standing at the mayor's side, speaking earnestly and gesturing with both hands.

  "Looks like he's busy. I'll grab a beer and head over in a few minutes."

  "Thanks, Pete." Touching his elbow and smiling as she walked away.

  That woman can touch your elbow better than anyone else I know, he thought. Walking over to the bar, he got another drink and then went over to the buffet and began loading his plate. Ribs, potato salad, corn on the cob, coleslaw, cheese and thick slices of bread. He passed up the carrots, cauliflower and broccoli, figuring he'd save room for the apple pie later on. The mayor was sitting alone, surveying the room behind half closed eyes. Looking like a hawk, perched on the top of a telephone pole, motionless, but aware of everything.

  Pete walked over toward Mayor Jerry Blakely. Most everyone had a strong opinion of the man. Be it fear, envy, greed or distaste, people's demeanor changed in his presence; most became nervously chatty. Pete didn't give a shit. Having lost everything he loved, he'd lost his fear of everything, of failure and of death. Dealing with a powerful man was small potatoes.

  "Sit down, Pete. Eat before it gets cold." The mayor gestured to the chair on his left. Sitting, Pete commenced to dig in. It was several minutes before he wiped his mouth on a napkin and took a swallow of beer.

  "Excellent ribs," Pete commented.

  "They are good, aren't they? Clay Hendricks is quite a hunter. Claims to be able to call feral hogs to within thirty feet. He assures me his animals are free of trichinosis."

  Pete looked down at the remains of pork on his plate.

  "That's good news," he said. "I see they've been well cooked, besides."

  "Yes," said the mayor, with a slight smile. "Helps eliminate the need for trust, doesn't it? Pete, tell me what you've been able to find out about the murdered girl."

  "OK. But I'm curious about something. I spoke to Sheriff Westlake this afternoon. Given his resources, wouldn't he have a more complete report?"

  Blakely nodded, his eyes never leaving the whirl of people in the crowded ballroom.

  "The ultimate insult to any civilization is the perception your children are not safe. Whether it's environmental, sociological, or," he turned his head and looked directly at Pete, "that your children are starving, sick from disease, or are in physical danger.

  "Someone is killing our children. A community cannot tolerate this and remain viable. I have plans for this area. To achieve these goals I need the support of the people. If the community feels vulnerable, I will not have their support.

  "Now you understand better why apprehending those responsible is so important.”

  "As to why I want information directly from you and not second hand.

  "Rob Westlake and I go back several years together. He is very good at what he does, given the limitations imposed by circumstances. He is very much a law and order man. He wants to do things by the book.

  "I am also a believer in law and order. But I am a bit more," he paused, searching for the right word, "pragmatic, in how that end might be achieved.

  "I want the bastard who did this. I don't need to know about his deprived childhood, his learning disabilities, or hearing theories of how bed wetting affects the decision making process.

  "I want him dead. If you'd like, think of him as a malignancy. To save the patient the cancer must be removed.

  "Many think of me as cold, emotionless, and ruthlessly efficient. I am all those things. So are you, Pete. Underneath your polite exterior is a block of ice. I need that cold objectivity to help eliminate this threat. Not everyone has what you've got. I need it to help the community. In addition, Sheriff Westlake tells me you are observant and tenacious. Now please tell me what you've discovered today."

  Pete took another sip of beer and then quickly recounted the events of the past three days. The mayor listened in silence until Pete was finished speaking.

  "You'll need to question the dead girl's friend. Kim? She'll be here tonight, if she's not here already. I'll leave word with Mona to insure cooperation. Keep me posted. I appreciate your time."

  Pete understood this to be a dismissal and he stood, carrying his plate and glass to the table shared by Dr. Flood. Leaving his food there, he walked to the bar, tipping back a shot of raw whiskey before returning to his table. He felt like he's swallowed a hot coal. That old familiar feeling, he thought.

  "Why is it," Jay Flood was asking, "this shit-kicker music is starting to sound good?" A fair rendition of "All My Ex's Live in Texas" had brought a few more dancers to the floor.

  "Have you checked the bottoms of your shoes lately?" Pete asked.

  "Hah. Need some rock 'n roll." Jay staggered to his feet, walking unsteadily to the bandstand. Pete turned to Jay's spouse.

  "So, Paula. What's the chance of my earning a bachelor's degree in the near future?"

  "Well, we might be looking at that down the road, Pete, but right now we’re concentrating on the three Rs." Paula went on for several minutes, describing the goals and obstacles confronting the school board. As she talked, Pete's mind returned to the mayor's words. The inference that he was lacking emotionally bothered him. Well, if it bothers you, then there may be some truth to it. But you'd need emotion for it to bother you. Therefore, if...

  "Planet Earth, calling Pete Wilson. Come in Pete, we're losing contact." Jay Flood had returned, and was talking, megaphone like, through a rolled up piece of paper.

  Pete turned to Paula.

  "Sorry. I got distracted."

  She smiled her forgiveness. The music stopped, and then picked up again. It was a Car's tune, "You Might Think."

  "Yeess!" Jay Flood practically yanked Paula out of her chair.

  "Pete, you and Judy need to dance!" said Paula, over her shoulder.

  Damn! She knows I don't dance. He turned to the new nurse, who was looking at him expectantly. Ah, what the hell.

  "Uh, Judy, I don't really dance, but I was wondering if you might accompany me to the dance floor." Oh yeah, he thought. Mr. Smoothie.

  "Why certainly," she said, standing. She was short, medium build.

  Together they went to the center of the room and joined a growing crowd in front of the band. Judy smiled, and then began moving in time with the music, her movements fluid and natural. Pete sort of shuffled around for a few seconds, feeling himself slide into a sort of euphoria. Hey, this is good music. And his hands moved into position, as though he were playing a guitar. His fingers ran up and down the neck of his imaginary instrument, perfectly coordinated with the movements of the lead guitarist on the bandstand. His feet moved, his body swayed, but his energy remained focused on his . . . g
uitar. And when the song ended, he was on his knees, back arched, face pointing towards the ceiling.

  "Damn, Pete. You're making those boys on the stage jealous."

  It was Jay Flood, staring down at him and grinning.

  "Some of us got it, some of us don't." Pete got to his feet. "Thanks for the dance, Judy." Taking her hand, walking her back to the table. He went to the bar, put down another shot, and sauntered over to Mona Simmons’ table. Mid-forties, large breasted, low cut dress. Mona didn't play the role of whore house madam; she lived it. As Pete came nearer, a mini-skirted young woman sitting at the table saw him.

  "Dr. Pete!" she cried, swiveling on her chair and raising her bare foot towards him. "Look! My toe's all better!"

  Pete turned to examine the proffered extremity. Let's see, he thought. The foot bone's connected to the . . . shin bone. The shin bone's connected to the . . . thigh bone. The thigh bone's connected to the . . .

  He forced his eyes to stop their upward progression and returned his attention to the left big toe.

  "Ah yes. Ingrown toe nail. Looks much improved. No inflammation. I believe you're cured."

  "Oh thank you, doctor," she said, holding her clasped hands to her chest. "Is there anything I can do to repay you?" Fluttering her eyelids.

  "Your continued good health is all I require." This brought several groans from the group of females. Their attire varied from tight jeans and tank tops to evening dresses and mini-skirts.

  Altogether a pretty good looking bunch, he decided.

  "Pete, sit down over here and don't let these girls bother you." Mona Simmons patted the empty chair to her side. Pete ambled over and sat down.

  "I understand you wanted to talk to me," she said, turning toward him, her ample breasts resting against his upper arm, her hand resting against his thigh.

  "Yeah, well, Mona, I do, but you're making it really hard for me to concentrate."

  She laughed, tipping her head back and slapping her hand on the table. "OK Pete, I'll go easy on you this time. What can I do for you?" Moving back, she gave him about two inches of personal space.

  "Guess you know I'm working with the Sheriff's department on the girl that was killed earlier this week."

  Her smile faded, and she nodded.

  "Her name was Susan Shupe. One of your girls was a friend of hers. Kim?"

  Mona nodded. "Kim's working over tonight, she should be here soon."

  "What's she like."

  Mona shrugged. "She's just been with us a couple of months. Laid back, likes to smoke her dope, really no problem at all. She just goes with the flow. No complaints from the customers."

  Mona had her arms crossed, resting on the table, breasts resting on the tops of her arms. As she talked, she casually scanned the room. If Jerry Blakely is a hawk, Pete decided, Mona is a coyote sitting on a hill. Scratching occasionally, relaxed, but always aware of her surroundings. Infinitely adaptable.

  "Here she is," Mona said suddenly, nodding towards the entrance. Pete saw four young women enter, accompanied by a lean, muscular man wearing a black tank top. He spotted Mona and herded the women toward the table.

  "Everything OK?" Mona asked Tank Top.

  "No problemo. Kinda slow tonight."

  "Sure. That's because most of law enforcement's over here."

  The two snickered over this.

  "Paul this is Pete. Pete needs a quiet place where he can talk to Kim for a few minutes."

  The two men nodded warily to each other.

  "So, just how quiet does it have to be?"

  "Paul, they just need to talk. For the time being, anyway."

  "How about that hallway just off the entrance?" Pete suggested.

  "Cool. You'll likely want to let her to bring some food. They’ve been bitching how hungry they are."

  "As long as I can bring a plate myself. Thanks Mona." Turning back to Paul, he said, "I'll be over there waiting for y'all."

  Kim was tall and blond. Pete recalled a wizened rancher once describing a beautiful woman. "More curves than a barrel of snakes."

  Healthy appetite, too. Kim was exuberantly licking sauce from her fingers, starting with her thumb and working her way down to each pinkie in turn.

  "God, this is good. Can I borrow one of your napkins?"

  Pete handed her a napkin, and she grinned apologetically. Pete noticed some corn stuck between her front teeth.

  Looks like one happy kernel of corn.

  "We're allowed to get seconds, right?" she asked.

  "It's all you can eat," he said smiling. Kim was about eighteen. His own daughter, had she lived, would have been just a couple of years younger.

  Kim drank some iced tea, sighed contentedly, and leaned back in her chair. Paul was sitting about twenty feet down the hall, eating, ignoring them both.

  "This is about Susan, right?"

  "That's right."

  "Jeez, I'm sorry she's dead. Like, we weren't exactly friends? But we were still kind of close, if you know what I mean."

  Pete had no idea what she meant, but nodded sagely.

  "How did you meet her?"

  "Well, after the Change, I'd moved in with a couple of different families. I moved out of the first one when the man there started getting kind of creepy. You know. Then, at the second place, they were pretty nice and all, but the guy there wouldn't let me out at night unless I was back by, like, ten o'clock, and it was like I was in jail or something. I mean I'm not a little girl, OK, and these people are all the time asking me, ‘Where are you going, who are you going to be with, what time will you be back.’ Geez. So one day I just packed up and moved over to Easy's place, you know where that is? And it was OK living there. I mean the food sucked, and you had to do all your own laundry and the guys there were kind of gross sometimes. Like really gross." Her face wrinkled with distaste. "But it was kind of nice to be able to not have to ask permission to do stuff."

  "How long ago was it you moved there?"

  "A year ago last spring."

  "Was Susan already there?"

  "No, but she moved in right after I got there so we got to be kind of roommates. She was like a little sister. We'd go scrounge together sometimes and I'd tell her how to deal with guys. She was sort of messed up. You know that Dingman preacher dude? He'd been screwing her and telling her it was God's will, or some such shit. I kept telling her not to think about it so much, because guys'll tell you anything to get laid. But really I think the guy's a pervert 'cause, I mean, she's so young, you know?" Kim looked at Pete, hoping for agreement.

  Pete nodded, his eyes flat.

  Kim continued, somewhat reassured.

  "So how did she die?"

  "Some guy raped her, beat her, strangled her and cut her with a knife."

  "Ugh.” She shook her head. “She was such a skinny little thing. She used to make herself puke all the time. Sometimes, I'd start talking to her after she'd eat, or make her come out with me and go scrounging, and she'd, like, forget to puke. It was about all I could do. A few times I went to church with her. You know Leonard Goss? He's pretty cool. He's nice, you know, but doesn't make a big deal about it. Some guys act like they're sweet and wonderful and all, and ten minutes later they expect you to go down on them." She rolled her eyes.

  "When did you last see her?"

  "Oh, let me think. I started at Mona's a couple of months ago. I went back to visit a few times, really just to see how Susan was doing. Tammie was sort of keeping an eye on her, but some of those guys were doing them both whenever they felt like it. Seems like Susan was getting so skinny guys were starting to leave her alone. OK. The last time I saw her was maybe two weeks ago. We didn't do much, just visited. She was talking about maybe moving over to Goss's place. I told her she ought to, on account they're pretty nice people. I wish she would have."

  "Did she mention any strange guys around, anyone she felt afraid of, or even just someone paying attention to her?"

  "Hmm. Well, maybe. She said the last couple of times
after church some guy with a horse would try to give her chocolate. She hated candy because she thought it might make her fat."

  "Was he at the church?"

  "No. It wasn't at the church, it was somewhere between there and Easy's place. She didn't ever say where."

  "Did she say what he looked like?"

  "Nope. Just some guy with a horse. You think he might be who killed her?"

  "Don't know. Try and think back. Did she say any thing else about this guy?"

  Kim squeezed her eyes shut to concentrate.

  "No. I don't think so."

  "Kim, you've been real helpful. If you remember anything else, let me know. Mona'll know how to get hold of me."

  On an impulse he reached into his pocket and withdrew the crucifix Susan had put in her pocket, perhaps knowing she would soon be dead. He handed it to Kim.

  "I think she would have wanted you to have this."

  "Oh wow. Her cross! You know, she was such a nice little thing. I'm going to miss her. She had her problems, just like everyone. But she wouldn't ever hurt anyone. It's just not right." She was quiet for a moment, and then brightened a little.

  "You're kind of a nice old guy." She looked at him expectantly. "Aren’t you going to ask me how come?"

  Pete looked a little bewildered.

  "What do you mean?"

  "How come I work over at Mona's. Especially the old guys want to know. OK, I'll tell you. It was like, at Easy's, guys were always hitting on me. You know, like wanting to have intercourse," she explained primly. "And a few times, they were like, crazy, and I got kind of scared. The food was bad and the house was either really hot or really cold, depending on when it was. I just got tired of all the hassle.

  "It's pretty nice at Mona's. We've each got these little fans in our rooms, and this lady cooks all our food for us. We've got this huge living room. Guys don't give us trouble because of Paul.

  "Hey Paul! You gonna beat up somebody tonight?"

  Paul continued to eat, ignoring them.

  "It's pretty nice," she repeated.

  In the gathering twilight, five miles south, a man sat in the shadows of a vacant house. He was observing a group of children playing basketball in a parking lot next to Westover Park School. One of the youngsters, twelve year old Laura, sat on a curb and watched the game. She didn't play very well, and for the last half hour had been content to just watch. Growing bored, she waved to the kids on the court and said, "I gotta go home. See ya." A few of them yelled back their goodbyes and continued to play. As she trudged home, she heard a man's voice.