Other looters had come in later and rooted through the piles, no doubt hoping their earlier counterparts had missed something. Now there wasn’t much of the floor that was even visible. It was quite literally a sea of garbage.
Red stepped gingerly through the mess, aware that she was wearing soft-soled shoes. One misstep onto something sharp could send it through the bottom of her shoe and into her foot. As filthy as this place was, it would probably cause a severe injury and an infection she wouldn’t be able to treat without antibiotics.
It occurred to her that she’d seen an abandoned truck, on the highway twenty miles outside of Lubbock. A Walmart truck that had been cracked open but virtually untouched by looters. Most present-day looters never ventured that far from the city anymore, since cars were no longer working and horses were scarce. Twenty miles was also beyond the range of bicyclists, since bicycle riders were prime candidates for ambush when they strayed too far from town.
She made a point to ask the old man again for a list of the medications he needed. And before she left Lubbock for good she’d revisit that Walmart truck. To see if there was a pallet on board destined for a pharmacy someplace.
And to see if she could rummage through it, and find some of the medications the old man needed. While she was there she’d look for some form of antibiotics. If she could find some, she’d grab some for herself, and for Beth, and to share with the old man. These days, an infection of any kind could be deadly without antibiotics to treat it.
She wondered, as she made her way over the piles of garbage, why helping the old man was so important to her. Perhaps it was because he, like her, was all alone in the world. Or perhaps it was because he reminded her of her favorite grandfather, God rest his soul.
Or maybe, just maybe because it was the right thing to do. And she’d be damned if she let herself turn into an uncaring animal, as so many of the other survivors had become.
She felt something crunch beneath her foot, and drew back in disgust when she realized it was a human hand. Or more specifically, the rotted remains of a human hand.
The rest of the body was buried beneath a pile of garbage some three feet high. Only the hand and part of the forearm were exposed. She marveled that it had only taken a year for the skin to rot away to mere bones. Perhaps the meat was eaten away by rats or mice. What little she could see of the once spotless and shiny tile floor was covered by rodent droppings.
It occurred to her that the biggest disaster in the history of mankind was probably the biggest boon for vermin. Human bodies were piled up everywhere, and rats and other scavengers of the flesh had had a field day. That’s what had brought the plague she’d heard people talking about, she suspected.
There was no plague in Blanco. It was a small town, and while they had their share of suicides and violent deaths after the world went dark, they did a good job of burying the dead. They were their friends and neighbors. There are no strangers in a town the size of Blanco.
In the larger cities, though, with greater populations, it was a different story. Lubbock was a college town, an oil town, a way station between other West Texas cities.
It was a city of two camps: the permanent residents who’d lived there all their lives and called the proud city home.
And the transient population, who were there for a week, a month, a year. Or maybe just long enough to get their degree.
Those people, the ones with no family around to bury them, frequently killed themselves in lonely hotel rooms, apartments or college dorms. Once the city was decimated to the point where city services were no longer available, the bodies were left where they fell. Rats, mice and stray cats and dogs began feasting on the rotting flesh. Survivors, in turn, feasted on the cats and dogs once the supermarket shelves grew bare.
Nobody ate the rats or mice, though. Humanity hadn’t devolved to that state yet. So the rat and mice population exploded, growing tenfold within the first six months, then tenfold again.
Nothing spreads plague faster than a runaway vermin population.
That was why so few Lubbockites of either camp were left standing.
Red wondered why she couldn’t smell the decayed body before she stepped on it.
The answer repulsed her almost as much as hearing and feeling the crunch of human bones beneath her foot.
She didn’t smell it because she’d gotten so used to smelling the stench of rotting flesh that she no longer noticed it.
She pondered whether the body beneath the heap was perhaps the lucky one. His troubles, or hers, was over. He or she was beyond feeling. Beyond caring. Beyond pain and human emotion.
Perhaps Red and the other survivors were the unlucky ones for having survived.
In a world that was more hell than a world.
On the next aisle she found what she was looking for. Cleaning supplies on one side of the aisle, and hundreds of rolls of paper towels on the other side.
Just as the old man had said.
Chapter 4
Luna was still passed out cold on the bed when Red walked into the room. She’d expected to find him awake, looking around and squirming like a stuck pig.
But he was motionless, causing her some concern. She felt for a pulse and found one. He appeared to be breathing easily through his nose. She checked his head wound to see if the bleeding had stopped. When she gagged him by running duct tape around his head, she purposely ran the tape across the wound, in an effort to stem the bleeding.
It had worked. The bleeding had stopped completely. There was a fair amount which matted the hair on the back of his head, and which soaked into the pillow. But it wasn’t enough to cause any permanent injury.
Still, he should be awake by now.
She hoped she hadn’t hit him too hard.
Then it occurred to her how bizarre it was that she was concerned for the well-being of the man who’d almost surely killed her family. Or who at least was involved in some other way.
This man… this animal… likely never showed any mercy on anyone in his life. He probably felt no empathy for his victims at all. Yet here she was, worrying about whether she’d hurt him.
While she was sitting on the bed next to him, her fingers on his pulse, he moved his left foot.
That was all the confirmation she needed. He was alive. He was breathing. His bleeding had stopped. When he came to he’d likely have a hell of a headache.
But that was too damn bad.
Red set about the process of cleaning the blood from the carpet.
It was slow going. It was already cooled and thick. And it had already soaked into the carpet fibers.
It likely would never come out completely.
But she’d do the best she could. It was her way. She hated cleaning up other people’s messes. So she tried never to leave any of her own.
She sprayed the area with 409 cleaner, then let it soak for a few minutes while she sat down and surveyed the place.
She hadn’t had time to do that before because she hadn’t known how much time she had before Luna returned.
It was a typical apartment, probably occupied by a small family struggling to obtain middle class. There were handprints all over the walls about shoulder high to a five year old. A Raggedy Ann doll sat in a corner of the room, toppled over. A few feet away were a couple of plastic dinosaurs and a Dr. Seuss book.
One Fish, Two Fish, Red Fish, Blue Fish.
She vividly remembered reading the same book to little Rusty at bedtime.
Before her house exploded with little Rusty and Russell in it.
Before her whole world came crashing down.
The dining room table was still set for four, a high chair forlornly occupying a fifth position.
She wondered what would cause a family to leave their home in such a hurry they couldn’t even finish dinner first.
Then she caught herself and tried to think of something else. Several possible scenarios had played through her mind, each one more troubling than the one before.
T
he cleaner had soaked long enough, she’d decided.
She went back to the bloody mess and unrolled a handful of paper towels from a roll of Bounty, then wiped the carpet in a back and forth motion.
The towels immediately turned a brilliant pink color.
She cast them aside and tore off a few more.
When the towels started coming up dry she applied more spray, then repeated the process.
Half an hour later she decided she’d gotten as much blood up as she was going to. A big pile of soiled paper towels sat in the center of the room, and her back was starting to ache.
She stood up, stepped back, and inspected her handiwork.
It was a bit hard to tell, until the carpet dried. But she thought she’d done a pretty good job. It would be noticeable, but not for the reason she’d suspected.
No, it would be noticeable because the area of carpet she’d been cleaning was now much cleaner than the rest of the carpet surrounding it.
She remembered how much dirt little Rusty used to track into her own house, and imagined the residents of the apartment had the same problem. Times three kids.
Oh, well.
She found a large black garbage bag beneath the kitchen sink and gathered up the soiled paper towels, then carried the bag outside and threw it atop a mountain of similar bags adjacent to a dumpster.
The trash would likely never be picked up again. Instead, it would likely rot into nothingness over the coming few years.
But that wasn’t her concern. She had a new problem.
She was hungry.
She returned to the apartment to check on Luna. He snorted once and turned his head slightly.
He wasn’t dead. He damn sure deserved to be, but he wasn’t. Oddly enough, she was glad. She might kill him later on, but first she needed to talk to him. Interrogate him. Find out how he was involved in the deaths of Russell and Butch. And little Rusty, who she once had such high hopes for.
She hated this man with a passion. But despite what the world had become she was still deeply ingrained with a sense of justice. There was a chance he was innocent; that she was jumping to conclusions and misinterpreting everything.
What was it the lawyers used to say, back in the days before the world went to hell?
“My client is innocent until found guilty by a jury of his peers, in a court of law.”
The courts didn’t exist anymore. Neither did juries. If justice was to be served, it would be up to Red to serve it. But he was indeed innocent until proven guilty.
She’d give him a chance to prove his innocence.
Then all bets were off.
Chapter 5
It was an old Chili’s Restaurant.
She could tell by the shape and style of the building.
Red was a big fan of Chili’s, back in the day. Back before the world went black.
The Chili’s signs had been ripped off the front of the building, but the big pepper was still there. Leaning up against the red pepper was a new sign, not quite as fancy.
Rather ugly, in fact.
It said:
REST-RONT
Gold or silver ONLY
Weighed BAFORE YA EAT
No Handouts or Samples!
Perched atop a wooden sawhorse directly in front of the sign was the severed head of a steer with flies buzzing around it.
She supposed it was meant for people who couldn’t read.
She walked toward the door, muttering to herself.
“I hope you can cook better than you can spell.”
She was greeted at the door by a portly man who reminded her of John Savage.
Overweight men were very uncommon in the new world. Most people were rail thin these days, having to work hard to scavenge or grow each meal. A man who was overweight was probably eating much more than his share, and was probably resorting to something shady to buy his food.
At least that was Red’s experience.
The man greeted her warmly.
“You read the sign?”
He pointed a thumb toward the front door, referring to the masterpiece out in front of the building.
“I read it. Did you make it?”
“Damn sure did. It’s right nice, ain’t it?”
“Would be, if you could spell worth a damn.”
“Who cares about spelling anymore? If you understood it, then I guess it made good enough sense, now didn’t it?”
Red didn’t feel like arguing, so she conceded.
“Well, I guess it did at that. What’s the cow head for?”
“To prove to folks that we’re a respectable place.”
“How so?”
“A couple other places in town have been serving human, and trying to pass it off as beef. We’re on the up and up. We’ll also let you go into the kitchen and watch my cooks cut your steak off a slab of beef, if you’ve a mind to. After you pay for it first, that is. You got gold or silver?”
She pulled out a silver dollar.
“Steak and taters is three grams of shavings. No debates, no negotiations. Three grams, take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it.”
“Follow me then.”
She followed him to the cashier’s station. It still held the original cash register, although it likely hadn’t been opened in a while.
Red had to admit, as soft and mushy as the man looked he had a talent for shaving and measuring silver. He used an old fashioned brass medical scale, which she suspected was weighted on one side. But as he artfully shaved pieces from the coin and made a tiny pile of shavings on the scale, she wondered how many times he’d done this.
And truth be known, if he was ripping her off it wasn’t by much.
“There! Three grams exactly!”
He turned the scale toward her so she could verify the reading, then handed what was left of her dollar back to her.
“Pleasure doing business, ma’am. Would you like to follow me to the kitchen to verify the cut?”
“Sure. Lead the way.”
Red unhooked the leather strap from her sidearm and reached into her holster to make sure the safety was off as she followed the fat man through the semi-dark restaurant. She was always cautious when walking into any strange place. And this one was stranger than most.
As they neared the kitchen, though, she began to relax just a bit.
She saw several other diners, sitting at tables near the kitchen, savoring what were undoubtedly well-cooked beef steaks.
“They like to sit close to the kitchen. That way in addition to enjoying their own steaks, they can take in the aroma of the next ones cookin’. It’s kinda a bonus, and the only one you’ll get around here, that’s for damn sure.”
They went through swinging doors where waiters and waitresses once charged carrying trays of all manner of food to a packed house each and every night.
“Hey, Charlie! Got another customer for ya.”
Charlie, a rather tall and not-bad-looking cowboy, stood up from a table where he was reading a paperback book by the light of a kerosene lantern. He put his cigarette in an ashtray and went over to a table, where a side of beef was wrapped in burlap.
Charlie unwrapped the burlap to expose what was left of a full side of beef, whittled off a bit at a time until it was close to half gone.
But it was definitely beef. Red had seen enough butchered livestock to know that for a fact.
The fat man said, “Enjoy your supper, ma’am, and come back as often as you have money.”
Red heard the swinging doors bang loudly behind her as the fat man returned to his perch at the front of the building.
“How you like your steak cooked, pretty lady?”
“Medium rare.”
“My favorite too.”
She watched him as he cut a slab weighing close to a pound off the carcass’s flank, then threw it on a propane fueled grill.
“I don’t cook ‘em, I just keep the flies off the carcass and cut ‘em. I’ll get our cook from out
back and he’ll get started on it.”
Chapter 6
Red sat alone in the dimly lit restaurant beneath a flickering kerosene lantern. The lantern gave off just enough light to enable her to see her steak and to avoid cutting off a finger, but not much more.
She closed her eyes as she savored the first few bites. It had been well over a year since she’d enjoyed a good cut of beef, prepared by someone who knew what they were doing.
While her supper was cooking she struck up a friendly conversation with the cook. His name was Jeff, he said, and he’d worked the open pit grill at a steakhouse down the street.
Until the world went dark.
“About six months ago Sal Bartlett, he’s the fat man who brought you back here, he came to me with an offer.
“He asked if I wanted to be his cook, for two grams of silver a week, and the chance to cook my own steak dinner twice a day.
“Heck, at that time I’d wasted away to skin and bones. I’m not much of a hunter or a fisherman, so I was having trouble finding any game, and all the supermarkets and trucks were pretty much played out by then. Rumor was that there were plenty more trucks outside of town – full ones. But with no horses, who wants to hike twenty miles just to get food? By the time you had a good meal and hiked back, you’d burn all the calories you ate and then some.”
“Where are all the horses?”
“Oh heck, they’re about as rare around here as you are. Beg your pardon. I mean good looking women. I see ‘em a couple of times a week, but nobody wants to sell. They’re just too valuable. I saw a couple of them tied up next to the hotel a block away if you’re looking for one. But I’d save my breath. I must have asked a dozen men over the last six months if they’d be willing to sell their ponies. Every one of ‘em turned me down flat.”
“This… Mr. Bartlett. Where does he get his beef? And is it true somebody was passing off human flesh as beef?”
“Yep. That part’s very true, although he does lie about a lot of other things. He started the first steakhouse in this side of Lubbock since the blackout. A couple of other guys saw him doing a good business at it and decided to compete against him.
A Lesson Learned: Red: Book 3 Page 2