Jose was just staring, unable to avert his eyes. It was so disgusting that it was somehow interesting, like watching the dissection of an animal or maggots on a rotting piece of flesh. Every ounce of his soul wanted to look away, but he couldn’t force himself to do so.
“If you ain’t gonna eat them chips, I’ll take ‘em,” Victor nodded at Jose’s chip bag sitting on the seat beside him.
“Take ‘em,” Jose shook his head, tossing his half-eaten ham sandwich back into his lunch bag. He found himself unable to finish his lunch after having stared for too long at Victor.
Victor ripped into the chip bag, cramming several chips into his mouth at once. Then he wiped his nose with the side of his forefinger, sniffled, reached inside, got more chips, and crammed them into his still partially filled mouth. “Uh…” he shook his head and made a face after eating his third mouthful of chips, “…these things are terrible. Sure you don’t want some?” he held the bag out to Jose.
“No…thanks,” Jose shook his head.
“Come on…taste ‘em. Somethin’s wrong with ‘em,” Victor shook the bag at Jose, then sniffled and sneezed loudly.
“No. If they’re so terrible, why would I want them?”
“Come on, just taste ‘em,” Victor shook the bag at him again.
Not wanting to prolong the dispute over the terrible chips, Jose reached inside the bag, took a chip, and put it in his mouth. “Taste’s fine to me,” he shrugged.
“Fine my balls,” Victor shook his head, tossing the chip bag back on the seat. “Only thing that had any taste to me was that burger. Man that thing was good!”
Jose just stayed silent. In his brief time knowing this man, he’d already learned that it did no good to argue with him. Victor knew anything and everything, and nobody was going to tell him any different.
As Victor finished his sandwich, he suddenly flinched back in his seat. Wincing, he paused in his chewing. Jose could see him moving his tongue slowly around inside his mouth as if feeling for something. Then he put a hand up to his mouth, spit something into it, and inspected it closely.
“Mmmmm,” he frowned, eyeing the object. Holding it in his fingers, he moved it closer to his eye, turning it for a better view. Then he began moving his tongue around inside his mouth again.
“You okay?” Jose asked, not so much out of concern but out of habit.
“Looks like I chipped a tooth.”
“How in the hell could you have chipped a tooth eating that burger? The meat looked soft as hell.”
“Don’t know,” Victor shook his head. “But I did.”
“You need to go to the dentist?” Jose kept looking at him.
“Ah!” Victor waved him away.
“I don’t mind the detour,” Jose said. “Teeth are important.”
“Oh well,” Victor shrugged, scooting up in his seat and reaching to start the truck’s engine. “I got more of ‘em.”
As soon as Victor began to twist the key forward in the ignition, he shot back in his seat, pulling his hand back and sucking through his teeth in pain.
“Goddamn!” he screeched.
“You okay?” Jose sighed, beginning to tire of Victor’s antics. Frankly, he’d tired of them days ago.
“My damn hand, man! It hurts like shit!” Victor cradled the affected hand gingerly up against his belly, his good hand cupped protectively over it. “Come on…you drive. I wanna get to the scrap yard and unload this shit, but I’m not feelin’ so hot. My hand’s killin’ me, and it hurts worse when I have to hold the wheel,” he opened the driver-side door and slid from his seat.
Jose sighed and switched spots with Victor. An hour later, they’d offloaded their haul, got paid at the bulletproof glass-enclosed scrap yard office, and were on their way back to their home base.
Jose kept sneaking looks over at Victor along their ride. For once, Victor was quiet. And he looked terrible. He was sweating, his eyes appeared glazed, and every so often, he would mumble something to himself and then jerk violently.
Jose figured that the bite to Victor’s hand had become infected. But Victor was a grown man. He could make the decision as to whether to go to the hospital on his own – or so Jose thought.
Chapter 5
“How’d the shopping go today?”
“Oh…fine. Nothing special,” Caroline padded out from the master bathroom in flannel two-piece pajamas and slippers. “You know, it was actually kind of fun going with other people. I’m so used to shopping alone, but it was nice having people there to talk with while wandering the store.”
“How is buying the community supplies coming along?” Michael adjusted his pillow where he lay in bed. He held a remote, flipping through the channels on the television mounted on the bedroom wall.
“We’re starting to get a nice little stockpile of stuff. Right now, it’s mostly frozen burger patties, a couple pork roasts, pre-portioned pasta sides, canned foods, condiments…stuff like that.”
“Thanksgiving is coming up soon. I bet they’ll have some really good deals on things like green beans, stuffing, hams, turkeys.” He yawned and settled on a college basketball game to watch. “You should let the men go once in a while.”
“Ugh…I’m afraid,” Caroline climbed into bed beside her husband, giving the covers a yank to steal them back from where Michael had pulled them over toward his side. “Really?” she gave an exasperated sigh. “College basketball? You couldn’t find anything else?”
“Nothing good,” Michael shrugged.
“Here, let me look,” she snatched the remote off the comforter before Michael could react and started channel surfing.
“I think it would be a good idea,” Michael said.
“What?” his wife kept flipping through the channels.
“The guys shopping once in a while. Guys have different shopping methods. We could get some stuff we really need.”
“Oh?” Caroline paused in her flipping to turn and give him a doubtful look. “Like what?”
Michael shrugged. “Good camping type stuff. The kind of stuff Patrick and I used to get when he was a scout.”
“Now I’m really afraid.”
“Ah, it’ll be fine,” he waved her away with a hand. “Some corned beef hash, Snickers bars, tuna fish, hot dogs, baked beans…that sort of stuff.”
“Sounds real healthy,” Caroline rolled her eyes.
“I’ll go next time with Josh and Juan. Maybe Monte will come too, but I doubt it. He’s usually so tired after work; he just wants to relax whenever he gets time off.”
“He’s always on the road. Poor thing. Hardly gets any time at home with the family these days,” Caroline shook her head sadly.
“Should we talk to the group about bumping up the investment amount? If we ever want to get a substantial stockpile of supplies built up for such a large group, we’re going to need more money. I think at least thirty a week would be better.”
“That’s fine with me,” Caroline nodded, finding a made-for-television mini-series and settling on that rather than basketball. “We’ll just have to make sure that the rest of the group can afford it. Ms. Mary is on a fixed income, and the Hines’ family as well as Christine Franko could find it difficult to chip in that much each week too.”
“We’ll talk to them and find out,” Michael said. “We can always chip in a little extra ourselves…for the good of the group,” Michael shrugged. “We’ve got the money to spare, and I wouldn’t mind bulking up on some stuff like bottled water, more canned food, some extra propane for the grills, stuff like that. It’ll be used by someone at some point, so it’s not as if the money will go to waste. What’s an extra couple hundred bucks when it comes to the well-being of our extended family, right? We get far more enjoyment out of the time we spend with them than that.”
“True,” his wife considered. “That’s fine with me. Just don’t go overboard.”
“Me? Go overboard? Nooooo,” he turned to grin at her sheepishly.
“Michael
Trove,” she eyed him warily. “You be good.”
“Always,” he put a hand over his heart and slid over on his pillow to kiss her cheek.
* * *
Several houses away, Christine Franko was doing her best to wrangle her overly rambunctious adolescent boys.
“Would you two please get ready for bed?! It’s the second time I’ve asked. You know what happens at number three!” she called to them up the stairs.
“Aww, Mom,” Andrew called back from his room. “It’s not even nine yet!”
“You have school tomorrow!” she reminded him. “Just because it’s Sunday, it doesn’t mean you can stay up late. I shouldn’t have to tell you that.”
She was met with silence. “Right?” she called back after several seconds.
“Yes, Mom,” Andrew groaned.
“And that goes for you too, Jack!”
“Just a few more minutes…pleeease,” came his muffled call through his closed bedroom door.
“Are you on that stupid machine again?” Christine frowned, starting to mount the stairs.
There was silence, and then a slow, “Nooooo.”
“Gosh darn-it!” Christine walked up the rest of the stairs and opened the door into Jack’s room.
She caught a glimpse of him quickly hustling back to several opened books slung across the top of his bed. A chair sat askew in front of his bedroom television, a video game controller atop it.
Christine glared at him. “Are you done with your homework for the night?”
“Yes,” Jack nodded.
“You did your reading too?”
“Uh huh,” he kept nodding.
“I’ll take that video game system away if you can’t control yourself,” she warned.
“But I’m done with my homework. And I did my reading, just like you asked,” Jack argued, open-mouthed and eyes wide.
“Good…so get ready for bed,” she returned the wide-eyed look.
“Aww, Mom,” Jack groaned.
“Don’t ‘Aww, Mom’ me,” she said. “Come on…both of you…get on it! Go! Go! Go!” she called, military style. “You like military video games? Then I’m the general! Get your little tails in that bathroom right now!” she hollered in the deepest, most gravelly, most drill sergeant type tone she could muster.
Both boys hustled out into the hallway and toward the bathroom, bumping, jostling, tugging, and fussing at one another as they went.
Their mother stood watching, proud of how her two fine young men were growing up, but exhausted nonetheless.
The two boys scrambled inside the bathroom, slamming the door shut loudly behind them, making Christine jump.
“Don’t get water all over the place!” she called to them through the closed door.
She took a deep breath and let it out heavily, running a hand through frazzled hair.
“Where’s my wine?” she sighed as she turned around and headed back downstairs.
* * *
Next door, young couple Manny and Margaret Simpson lounged on the sofa together, binge watching one of their favorite television series. Margaret had her legs outstretched, socked feet set on Manny’s thighs.
They were on their fifth episode of the evening. Their only break had been to move the load of laundry they were doing from washing machine to dryer, and order Chinese food, which they’d already finished along with a couple beers.
“What a lazy day,” Margaret moaned as Manny took one of her feet in his hands and began to massage it. “Ughhh…” she sighed. “That feels soooo good.”
“I’m so glad we have tomorrow off. It feels like forever since we’ve spent a three-day-weekend together. What do you want to do?” Manny asked.
“Finish season two?” Margaret gave him raised eyebrows.
“Sounds good to me,” Manny nodded. “We should go to the grocery store at some point.”
“We can do it in the morning, after breakfast. Get it out of the way; then we’ll have the entire day to relax.”
“We might have to take a break in the evening to check on the Bears game and see how they’re doing…they’re the Monday night game. If they’re up, I want to watch.”
Margaret snorted. “Yeah, right. I won’t be planning my day around it.”
“I don’t blame you,” Manny smiled, giving her foot a hard squeeze.
“Ahhhhh…” Margaret moaned. “Soooo gooood…so good! Your hands are like magic.”
“Don’t call me Magic Mike…call me Magic Manny,” he laughed.
“Hmm…Magic Manny. I like that. You going to show me your magic wand later tonight?” she gave him a sexy, narrow-eyed stare.
“I might just have to,” he grinned. “Teach you some of my best tricks.”
“Oh! That was crazy! Did you see how that guy just died?!” Margaret pointed at their large flat-screen television hanging across from them on the living room wall.
“Darn, I missed it! Rewind it,” Manny said, upset over having missed the grizzly killing.
Margaret grabbed the remote and hit the “back” button, running the show back by 20 seconds and then hitting “play”.
“Ohhhhh!!!” the couple cried in tandem as they watched the character’s gruesome demise.
“I gotta see that again!” Manny said in amazement.
* * *
Across the street, Monte finished reading the last story of the night to five-year-old Rebecca and seven-year-old Sarah. The two girls were the last of the four Hines children still requiring bedtime stories. Victoria would start bedtime with a story or two, and then head to the kitchen to make the kids’ lunches for school. Meanwhile, Monte would finish the bedtime routine with a story or two of his own.
Once he was done, kisses had been given, and sheets had been tucked in around the little ones, Monte headed for the kitchen to join his wife. He took but a brief second to admire her from behind, marveling in the fact that Victoria still maintained such a fine figure even after producing him four fabulous children.
He shook his head and took a deep breath, suddenly wondering if a fifth child would be too much to ask. Thinking better of it, he instead walked up behind his wife and kissed her lovingly on the base of her neck.
“Hi,” she turned slightly from her work to smile back at him. “The kids all snug in their beds?”
“Nope…I moved them out to the garage for the night. We have the whole house to ourselves,” Monte grinned.
“Woo hoo!” Victoria let out a soft cry of faux victory.
“When does your mother get here again?” Monte walked over to where a calendar was affixed to the refrigerator.
“The twentieth. She’ll be here through Thanksgiving. She goes back the twenty-sixth.”
“Thank god,” Monte breathed. “We’ll actually be able to go out…just the two of us!”
“Seems like forever, doesn’t it?” Victoria put a peanut butter and jelly sandwich inside one of the lunch bags. She affixed a sticky-note to the bag reminding Patricia not to sit at the peanut-free table at school tomorrow.
“It feels like forever,” Monte sighed, walking back over to where his wife was working on the kids’ lunch preparations. “Between my work and the little monsters you keep birthing, I don’t think we’ve had a date night together in over a decade.”
“Sure…blame me for all these kids. You had nothing to do with it, right?”
“I’m not home very often. If they start looking like the milkman, I’ll know I’m in trouble,” he chuckled, coming up behind Victoria and wrapping his arms around her.
“Believe me, those ‘little monsters’ as you refer to them, are all yours. Why do you think they turned out like little monsters?”
Monte began rubbing his wife in ways that distracted her from her work.
“You’d better quit it,” she chided him. “I’ll make a mistake and one of our children will end up without a sandwich at school tomorrow.”
“If that’s the worst that happens, so be it,” Monte turned his wife arou
nd to kiss her.
“You be good,” she smacked his chest playfully. “I’ve got two more sandwiches to go…then I’ll give you some attention,” she grinned at him sly and then gently, reluctantly pushed him away.
Monte blew out a huff of air, “Okay…okay. I’ll be on the couch waiting for you when you’re done. I’d offer to assist, but I’d probably be more of a hindrance than a help,” Monte said as he made his way from the kitchen out to the living room.
“You probably would,” Victoria agreed, adjusting her rumpled clothing from where Monte’s busy hands had just been.
Five minutes later, Victoria put the last prepared lunch in the fridge, washed her hands, and headed for the living room. There, she found her husband, soundly asleep on the couch, television remote still in hand.
“Ah yes…the usual,” she sighed, bending to pull a blanket up over Monte. “Poor fella,” she bent and kissed him on the cheek. “All tuckered out. And you wonder why we never go out together,” she smiled to herself as she gently removed the remote from Monte’s hand and turned off the television. Then she walked over, turned off the living room lights, and made her way quietly upstairs to the bedroom.
Chapter 6
The lights were blinding. The ferocity of their illumination temporarily stunned Victor as they approached. There was the sound of screeching tires as a car blasted past, just inches from hitting him, horn blaring.
Victor stumbled backward, terrified. Hitting the sidewalk curb, he ended up flat on his ass on the cold, wet pavement. He scrambled to his feet, wiping his wet hands on the knees of his pants. Most of his pants were wet now, yet his body still felt warm. The chilliness of the fabric against his excessively hot skin was actually comforting. He almost felt as though he was literally burning from the inside out.
The Last Bastion (Book 1): The Last Bastion Page 5