Against the Grain

by Ian Daniels

  “Where are they?” I asked him again.

  “Dead… B-B- he killed 'em before we even knew…” he stammered, tears rolling out of the corners of his dirty eyes.

  “How many were here?”

  “Just the three…” he managed to get out before a violent cough shook him.

  Damn it. Three of the family members that I once had known were here and had been murdered.

  “How long ago, where are the bodies?” I again asked, this time having to step on his arm to regain his focus. He couldn’t answer through a coughing fit, so I moved on to what was probably more important information.

  “How many are with you here? How many in your group?” I asked after he regained control. He was pale and obviously weakening.

  “Me and… we’re the last ones here...”

  “Were there others? Where are they now?”

  “They… they drove off after some trucks a few days ago,” he was fading too fast from the shock and blood loss to be of any further help.

  “Well, they’re dead now and so are you,” I said coldly as I stood up, turned my back to him and walked away.

  “This one’s dead. Meet at the northern shed in five minutes,” I again spoke into the radio.

  After scrounging through the weeds to find the loose rounds that had puked out from the bottom of my magazine when it had been shot, I joined RJ at the poorly sided shed that from the smell, must have housed some sort of livestock at one time.

  “Dude said they followed some people back here and killed ‘em. They were the last ones left after some others took off to follow some trucks, which I’m guessing was us, a few days ago.”

  “Sorry man,” RJ consoled simply but meaningfully, as only guys can do.

  “I didn’t even know them that well, but you know, it is what it is. These guys I’m sure ransacked the place, but it might be worth looking around to see if there’s anything left that we can use.”

  “Do we need to do a full search and clear you think?” He asked sensibly.

  Assuming the dying guy had told me the truth, and that we were again alone was a dangerous assumption, but boy was I tired of all this.

  “Probably should, for now let’s just start with the main house and make sure your guy is down for good.”

  I hated clearing houses. I almost would have rather burned the damn place down than have to clear it. Plus, we knew there was, or recently was, one hostile person inside. Any of the other times I had cleared a house on my own it had been obviously empty, and no matter how many times I did it, I still was too slow and never did get all the angles right.

  Slinging the long guns we each optioned to go with our much more maneuverable pistols. I had my now reloaded Glock, and RJ had Stan’s borrowed .38 revolver from his early days on the police force.

  We approached the back door staying low, foregoing peeking in a dirty window to try and keep the element of surprise in our favor and avoid being seen from anyone hiding inside. The noise of the screen door violently opening was the starting signal to get in and move through the house quickly and cleanly.

  The hallways were tight with multiple doors into other rooms, but we made it through and found the second guy lying dead on the kitchen floor. RJ’s shot had taken him in the upper chest, the soft point bullet blowing a hole out his back the size of an orange.

  The gun he had used to shoot at us was another crappy version of an AR15 that was nearly identical to the one we had pulled off the guys that attacked Breanne and I from the Volkswagen. We laid it along with everything else that we might want to take with us on the kitchen table. It was a small pile.

  The cupboards were empty of anything in a can, but there were some spices and basics like flour, sugar and baking soda remaining. Each room of the house had been gone though and there was very little left that would be of use to anyone. There were many sentimental pictures and trinkets, nothing mind blowing that I had secretly hoped for from a family that I had thought to be of the mindset of self sufficient living.

  Each shed was also empty of anything that we could easily take with us. There were some old half broken tools and rusty animal troughs, nothing worth getting excited over. We did find the spot that whatever livestock had been housed there was butchered. There were feathers and flies swarming poorly buried gut piles near the chicken coup. The murdering home invaders didn’t even have the decency to go out of sight of the rest of the flock to process their food. The poor little chickens had to watch as their buddies got chopped up and eaten right in front of them.

  The last places to check out were the two trucks, one car and another Volkswagen, but this one a camper van. The gas tanks all came up empty and each one had been stripped long before we got there. These guys must have been right at the brink of running out of everything to be shooting at squirrels, and they were desperate enough to take off after our convoy of trucks. Then again, they seemed to have some success from following others back to their homes, I reminded myself.

  We checked the camper van last, even opening up the ancient little mini fridge… nothing. I had already backed out of the van when RJ paused and lifted up the mattress of the little bed in the back. His frozen body language caught my attention and a fleeting thought ran through my head that he had just found the Bradson’s bodies. I quickly put that aside as there had been no tell tale smell.

  I stepped back in and quickly saw what it was that had his attention.

  “Holy shit,” I whistled.

  Besides the two bales of marijuana, there was a Beretta 92 pistol, a case of beer and three bottles of tequila.

  “Cerveza por favor?” I spoke to the still stunned former Marine.

  “Back off Looter, I saw them first!” he smiled back.

  Chapter 21

  We eventually left most of the beer and both the shrink wrapped cases of weed back at the Bradson’s place. We did take the time to bury the pot in an old cooler we had found in one of the sheds though, just in case we ever found a reason or a way to come back for it. It wasn’t something I was all that interested in, but I was no idiot either and knew the potential value of having some good old fashioned contraband to trade with.

  After changing out of our camos and “dressing down” a bit, the walk to Wilcox was a festive one with much more talking and laughing than was probably smart I’m sure. But hey, if you find beer that you aren’t going to take with you, you’d hate to just leave it un-drank.

  RJ now had the Beretta pistol tucked into his belt along with the old police issue revolver balancing out the other side. Now that Stan had his Sig, Derek loved the dead fat guy’s 1911, and Tiffany now had my old Makarov in her hands again, it was only fitting for RJ to have this semi auto pistol, especially figuring that he was more familiar with a Beretta than anything else I could have offered him out of my own collection.

  We each took a share of the items recovered from the house, only what was one hundred percent necessary since we would be carrying the heavier loads on our own backs. The invaders long guns we had broken down and stashed in our packs along with everything else.

  It was nearing evening time and I was beginning to worry that the little general store turned trading post would be closed for the night. While I wanted to stop in, I also didn’t want to linger too long to still be able to put a few miles between us and the town before we stopped to make a camp.

  We decided on taking a direct approach to Wilcox by coming in from the main road and not trying to sneak in. The whole point was to see what there was to be seen and talk to anyone worth talking to, so there was no reason to try and be all clandestine about it. Our packs were heavy and we looked like hell anyway, no one would have had much trouble believing our story of just being two simple travelers passing through on their way to lands beyond.

  The little gas station turned General Store was dark and dusty and I doubted that it looked much better before the lights had been permanently turned off. Years and years worth of random household junk was piled alon
g the walls, blocking out any real light from the windows. A little bell tied above the door announced our presence to the old couple sharing what looked like a can of peaches as they sat behind the counter.

  “Hi boys, come on in but we ask that all long guns are cleared and left by the door and your hands stay away from the pistols on your hips,” The old woman greeted us as her counterpart placed an old shotgun on the counter top.

  He was careful to keep it nearly pointing it at us, but not quite. Either way, I noticed his old hand had a firm grasp on it.

  “We saw your store and got curious; how’ve you folks been managing these days?” I asked in a friendly tone and leaned our guns against the wall.

  “We had to shoot the last guy that asked us that. Had a mind to rob us seein’ as we’re still here and have some stuff people want,” the old coot with his hand on the shotgun drawled.

  “Yeah well nice to meet you too,” I said and received a warning look from RJ.

  We had talked about how we wanted to play it if we found anyone to talk with and had decided to just be polite, and not give any real information. Maybe I was naïve, but I hadn’t expected to have a shotgun pointed at me just for waving hello and it kind of irked me.

  “This is just the first place we’ve seen in a while that is up and running is all,” RJ interjected for me.

  “Don’t mind them… getting cranky in their old ages,” a man’s voice said from behind a curtain in what must have been the back room. This guy was middle aged and weathered with a beer gut, but the strength of his youth was not gone yet. He looked to me like somebody who had labored with his hands for most of his life.

  “My name’s Tim and these are my in-laws. We saw ya coming from a ways off. It’s nice that you came in and didn’t just try to slink on by.”

  “You get many people traveling through here these days?” RJ asked.

  I was sure that he too had caught on that they had a look out along the road from Tim’s comment about seeing us coming.

  “Normally no. Plenty at first, then lately some other folk have started to come through again, but only a few have stopped or stayed.”

  “Stayed? There are rooms available?” The surprise was obvious in RJ’s voice.

  “Well sure, rates are from the hour to the night… if you can pay the price,” Tim said with a slimy undertone and crooked smile.

  Neither RJ nor I visibly reacted to his offer of shaking up at the little bordello they apparently had set up here. First and foremost that kind of thing wasn’t my style, but I also wasn’t surprised that it was going on and I was sure that this was not the only place it was happening.

  “And the price is?” I asked to satisfy my own curiosity and try to keep the conversation going.

  “What’ve you got?” Tim all but rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

  “Not much that a place as well stocked as this would need, I’m sure.”

  It was a bit of a gambit as the place was not bare, but what it did have was pure and utter crap. There was some old hard candy, some hand canned vegetables in glass mason jars, a box with what looked liked already used canning lids, a small bin of mixed batteries (none looking new or unused), a package of disposable razors, a few random jars with hand written labels claiming vinegar or cooking oil, and some other junk haphazard sitting next to the light bulbs, air fresheners, post cards and key chains on a shelf nearest to us.

  More interestingly to me was a list on the counter of services available from the local residents like plumbing, carpentry, general mechanics and even a horse trainer.

  “Well what is it you guys are looking for then?” Tim asked, getting miffed that we didn’t seem to value flesh as a sustaining life force right along with air, water, and food. So far I just hoped the old bitty that had first greeted us wasn’t the main madam of the house.

  “News mostly,” I said barely looking up over the top of the list to judge their reactions.

  “It’ll cost ya,” Tim jeered, springing back to life.

  “A conversation will cost us? Tell you what, why don’t you buy a ticket to kiss my…”

  “Let me clarify,” RJ broke in and gave me another look to remember my own advice about not pissing anybody off. “We might have a few small items to offer, if your news is worth it.”

  “News means more to some than it does to others Sonny,” the old guy interjected. “And you, I don’t like you. Give me my list back,” he snatched the tattered spiral notebook from my hands.

  “What’ve you got to trade?” The lady at the front counter asked around a mouthful of food.

  I was beginning to wonder if it wasn’t a planned show they put on to eat in front of hungry people in an attempt to get them desperate and wanting to buy something.

  “Some fresh roasted squirrel...”

  I was apparently having trouble keeping my mouth in check as I was quickly coming to the conclusion that this was a real waste of time.

  “…and maybe something to wash it down with,” RJ finished, covering for my sarcasm again.

  “Booze? We got booze. Best rot gut you’ll find in these parts,” the old guy again dismissed us.

  “I like my eyesight just fine thank you… how about few rounds of ammo then?” I jingled the cases in my closed palm.

  “Ammo?! What’ve you got?” Tim exclaimed, his attention now fully peaked.

  “Twenty two magnum,” I answered.

  I had fifteen rounds of the little bullets we had found in an old drawer at the Bradson’s place. Seeing as how I didn’t have a gun that would shoot the slightly obscure round, it made for decent bartering leverage.

  After a brief whispered discussion between the three shop keepers, Tim finally turned back to us. “It’s not of much use to us, but ammo is at a premium these days. All you guys want is news?”

  RJ and I looked at each other, wondering if I may have underestimated the going rate considering their initial excitement, and the now obvious attempts to downplay any interest they had, but we pushed forward anyway. “Well we might take another look around as we talk, but yes, just some info for the moment,” RJ stated.

  “How much do you have, how many rounds?” Tim was damn near giddy at the prospect of getting his hands on some ammunition.

  “We have enough. How is it that this little town lasted this long out here?” I got the ball rolling.

  “Like any of the others I guess. There’s lots ‘o people that live within a few miles of here, so we all have something that someone else needs.”

  It was kind of an obvious answer, but it was a start so I tossed one round into the air for Tim to catch.

  “Okay but food, water, law… how have you all kept going?”

  “Easy sonny,” the old guy again warned me, patting his shotgun. I had had enough of his grit for the day.

  “Look, you guys have a working model of civilization out here and I’d sure like to know if this is a fluke or the norm. Are the actual towns starting to put this all together like you guys have, or are you small enough to have skated by just enough to make it work with some luck thrown in?”

  “It ain’t been easy,” he retorted.

  “Well no shit but you can see why I’m interested. We’ve been through cities that looked like middle eastern war zones when just a few years ago they were modern metropolises. I’m trying to get a feel for what to look for when we finally get to where we are going.”

  I was in full BS mode now, but I was also laying out a plausible story, or so I hoped.

  “And where is it you are headed?” The old lady squinted one eye at me.

  “East,” I stated simply and tossed another round of ammo into the air.

  “What about the law? Do you all have a cop or sheriff here? Has some aid or relief from the military or government finally come through?”

  “We kind of govern ourselves but hear there is some law coming back into the bigger towns. Some sort of central government that is trying to come through and organize all the ar
eas people still live in. We’re too small for them to worry about though I hope.”

  Through Clint and his radios I had probably heard the same rumors that they had. This little rundown store had the advantage of being at the intersection of two major thoroughfares though. They would physically see more travelers than I would ever hear about. The question was, what had they learned from those people?

  “One more thing, you said you’ve been seeing some traffic come through here lately?”

  “Yeah,” Tim was eyeing the last round to make sure I wasn’t somehow cheating him. “We get some every once in a while, but some people on bikes down from the north and a couple of groups driving through this last week were the most recent ones.”

  “Any of them stop?”

  This was as much of a test of his truthfulness as it was an inquiry.

  “Yep. The girl and guy on bikes took a look around in here, and some of the guys driving had some stuff to trade for a little time with the ladies, if you know what I mean.”

  “And there were those other three trucks the other day that came by when you were sleeping. I told you about them, remember?” the old lady supplied helpfully.

  “Ah you don’t know what you saw,” Tim attempted to quiet her down, but I was starting to put a puzzle together, or so I thought.

  “Which way were they all headed?” RJ asked with me adding the now obligatory round of ammunition into the mix.

  “The bikes kept going south and the trucks I saw turned and headed east.” Tim answered slowly.

  “The ones I saw were headed out west where you fella’s came from,” The old lady added. “You mean y’all didn’t see any of them? This is the only crossroads in and out of here for a hundred miles. Where didge’ya come from if you didn’t see all them trucks going by?”

  I knew if we kept at it too long there would be a hole or flaw in our story somewhere, just like this. It was easy enough to play it off though, but it was getting to be time to go.

  “We’ve been camping off the main road a ways when we stop,” RJ supplied. “You ready to head out?” he looked at me, apparently feeling as I did.