When It Rains

by Joel Shaw

  “Either that, or they haven’t had a supply shipment in months. Or, they’re really lazy or drunk...or drugged.” Leland began searching the footlockers; some were empty, some contained salmon-colored packages labeled HUMANITARIAN-DAILY-RATION.

  “Score. I found some food, Jerry.” Leland’s stomach growled as he opened one of the foil envelopes, withdrawing the contents. He read the labels as he spread them out on the floor:

  “Check this menu out. We have pasta and tomato sauce, short bread, strawberry jam, vegetable crackers, a fruit pastry, a fig bar, and a small container of...Power Butter, whatever that is.”

  “What’s this?” Leland slit the top of a small envelope then pulled out a book of matches, salt and pepper, sugar, and a packet of crushed red pepper. The next envelope contained two sanitary napkins, one prophylactic, and one Morning-After Pill, toilet paper, tooth paste and brush, talcum powder, a paper napkin and a plastic fork and spoon.

  “This is amazing, Jer. You better take this rubber, dude. You might get lucky. I’m going to try the fig bar. What do you want?”

  “Let me have the fruit pastry...and the rubber.” Jerry laughed, “I can’t even remember what fruit tastes like.” He tore open the package and nibbled a corner of the pop-tart like pastry.

  “Man...that is sweet...and good.” He took a large bite out of pastry, chewing slowly, enjoying the texture of the crust, mashing the fruit filling to the top of his mouth with his tongue, allowing it to dissolve slowly. He uttered an orgasmic, “Ahhh...you have to taste this, Lee.”

  Leland was having an affair with the fig bar, he smeared the fig filling across his teeth trying to separate each tiny seed with his tongue in an orgy of flavor.

  Jerry swung his light toward Lee, illuminating the face of ecstasy. Jerry grinned at him, strawberry filled the voids in his teeth.

  “Trade?”

  “Huh?”

  “Trade with me.” He handed the half-eaten pastry to Lee, then held his empty hand palm up awaiting the hand-off. Lee reluctantly let go of the fig bar. Jerry took a bite. “This...this is too good, too.”

  “We have to take some of these with us.” Leland couldn’t wait to treat his Dad to a meal. A real meal. Maybe the girls would like some too. What would they be willing to give in exchange? He blushed at the thought.

  “Bullshit,” crumbs spewed from Jerry’s mouth as he objected,” we’re taking all of them, every fucking one of them.”

  Leeland nodded, that sounded like a better idea. “How? We can’t carry much.”

  “I’m not sure, we’ll figure it out.” Jerry grabbed the small package of strawberry jamb, ripped the corner off with his teeth and squeezed the sugary mixture into his mouth. “Oh man, this is so freaking good. Here take some.”

  Leland took the package and sucked the remaining jam from the packet. They continued to eat the convenience foods like Little Leaguers at Mikey D’s. Empty packets were strewn around their picnic area like candy from a pinata.

  “I can’t eat any more,” Jerry said, laying back on the floor holding his aching stomach.

  Leland cracked up, letting laughter ring in the heart of the enemies’ camp. He pulled the straw of his HydroPack to his mouth and sucked. The water washed away the delightful sweetness in his mouth. His noted that is HydroPack was almost empty.

  “Let’s find some water.”

  “Let’s check on our prisoners, first.” Jerry was suddenly worried, their impromptu picnic and gone on too long. They were having a picnic in the enemy’s camp. Where they nuts? They should get out before they get caught.

  “Good idea. We can come back for the food.”

  “No...no...no...Let’s task as much as we can carry right now. This has been an insane day; who knows what will happen next.” Jerry was busy stuffing food packets in his pockets and under his shirt. Leland followed suit. They exited the barracks looking like two doughboys as they waddled in the shadows toward the guardhouse. A quick glance through window assured them that both men remained as they had left them, bound and passed out. They added their plunder to the growing pile behind the FWD, then paused to determine their next course of action.

  “Let’s find Roland’s office,” Leland said. “I want to see what that asshole has in his files.”

  “I’ll bet he doesn’t have a file cabinet. I’ll bet he has a cardboard box full of porn.”

  “And a few cases of whiskey.” Leland laughed, wondering if whiskey had a foul effect on everyone as it did on Major Hanson.

  They walked toward a cluster of containers set apart from the others. Rough, hand-painted signs identified them. “See those signs, Lee? Look for one that has HQ or CO on it.”

  Leland inspected the signs with his headlamp.

  “I found it, Jer. This one reads Major Handsome Hanson CO. It looks like these two containers are connected. Let’s check it out.”

  Leland pushed the double-doors open, a blast of putrid air filled his lungs causing him to balk. He held the door open to let the foul odors escape while he adjusted the beam of his headlamp then stepped inside. The containers were in fact joined. One side appeared to be living quarters while the other was furnished as an office. There was a small conference table immediately inside the doors, beyond that was a kitchenette with a small sink and a two burner gas stove-top let into a counter-top. Above that was a row of upper cabinets. Leland moved around the table and opened one of the cabinet drawers; it was full of a variety of plastic utensils. He opened the remaining drawers and doors, nothing of particular interest caught his eye. He closed the cabinets and opened the base cabinet doors. Several plastic bottles of water stood under the sink. The sink drained into a five gallon plastic bucket, now half-full of brown scum that smelled like tobacco juice.

  “Hey, I found some water.”

  “No kidding. Any good?”

  Leland examined the bottle. “It’s got a label on it...says ClearWater, Kansas City, Kansas. Why would they be drinking water from Kansas City when they have a few million gallons right here? This doesn’t make sense.” He unscrewed the top of the bottle. The sucking sound of air filling the vacuum-sealed bottle was reassuring.

  “Wow. I haven’t heard that sound in years. The water must be good. Don’t you think?” Jerry crossed the room and took a long pull from the bottle. “If I have the shits tomorrow, you’ll know it’s no good.” He handed the bottle to Leland who also took a long drink.

  “Tastes like champagne,man.”

  “How the hell do you know? I’ll bet you’ve never had a drink of champagne in your life. Besides, champagne has bubbles. I don’t see no bubbles in that bottle.”

  “Use your imagination, Jerry, you’re such a fucking realist.”

  “Whatever, dude. I’ve had champagne. I know what it looks like and tastes like and that ain’t it.”

  Leland continued to search the base cabinets while Jerry searched the living area which contained a single bed, a small desk, a dresser and a four foot wide wardrobe. He pulled a box from beneath the bed. “Ha...here’s the porn. What did I tell you? From the looks of it, that’s all Hanson reads?” Jerry paged through one of the magazines. He was repulsed and confused by the images of naked women and men bound in leather and chains performing various sexual acts. Disturbed, he quickly closed the magazine. He dumped the box full of magazines on a soiled mattress. A sheet of paper fluttered into view from inside one of the magazines, catching his eye.

  “Look, he even uses bookmarks.” Jerry pulled the folded paper from the magazine and spread it out.

  “Check this out, Lee. This is the front page of a newspaper...The Kansas City Star. Look at these headlines. Oh, dude, you gotta see this.”

  “What? Newspaper? Any good news?”

  “I’ll read the headlines:

  “CHINA INVADES THE WORLD’S WATER TOWER,TIBET”

  “US PLEADS FOR AID AT UNITED NATIONS”

  “EARTHQUAKE LEVELS LIMA, PERU”

  “VIOLENT WATER PROTESTS KILL THOUSANDS IN IND
IA”

  “U.S. OLIGARCHIES IMPORTING FOOD AND WATER FROM CANADA”

  “CHINESE LABORERS INVADE CALIFORNIA”

  “I didn’t hear any good news. What’s the date?”

  “March 21, 2057... it’s three year old news.”

  “Any mention of rain on the North American continent?”

  “Not that I see. This piece about the US pleading at the UN says that some of the Colonies are running out of water.”

  “Serves them right, the greedy bastards.Which ones?”

  “Philadelphia, Oklahoma City, Kansas City, Salt Lake City, Colorado Springs...there’s a bunch of them.”

  “Kansas City, hmmm...we have bottled water from Kansas City in St. Cloud and they are running out of water in Kansas City. What the hell is going on?”

  “Not sure, says here...the rest of the story is in Section 2B, which we don’t have because the bastards burned it. At least we have some idea of what’s going on in the world. Even if it’s nothing good...”

  Jerry carefully folded the paper and slipped it in his pocket. If nothing else, it will stimulate some interesting conversations.

  They continued searching Hanson’s suite but found nothing else of value. As they exited the office the two-way radio attached to Leland’s belt emitted a short burst of static followed by a voice.

  “Whithers...Samuels, you copy? This is Davis. Over....Whithers, dude, pick up. I can see your Tag on my monitor, man...Whithers? Whithers? Come in, over.”

  Jerry and Leland stopped. Leland pulled the radio from his belt. “What’s the range on these things?”

  “You got me, man. I would guess that it isn’t far...line of sight. Two or three miles, maybe more if it’s government issued. But, that radio looks like a toy.”

  “You’re right, it’s definitely not government issued. So, let’s assume this Davis guy is close. We have to take care of him before he sounds the alarm.”

  “We have to find him first.”

  The radio crackled again, “Whitherspoon, Samuels, you copy? This is Davis. Come in goddamnit.”

  Leland was quietly thinking about tactics. “We don’t have to find him, Jer. He’ll be coming through the main gate. Let’s hide near the guardhouse so we can ambush him.”

  “He might not be alone.”Jerry cautioned

  “Good point. What do you suggest?”

  “Ambush is the way to go. “I suggest we get close enough to the guardhouse to deal with him if he is alone, but far enough away to make our escape if he isn’t.” Jerry was thinking about bullets. He was quick on his feet, but not that quick.

  “When you say ‘deal with him’, are you talking about killing him, Lee?”

  “No...well...maybe.” Killing a human being was not on Leland’s to-do list. But he was less inclined to shy away from the so-called agents now that he knew the truth. He had seen through their facade. They had no legal authority. They were not government agents. They were common thieves. Thieves whom had terrorized the few residents of St. Cloud for decades. Killing might be just what they needed. He slipped his last round into the chamber and slammed the bolt home.

  Jerry took the cue, “I’m going to get my bow.”

  #

  CHAPTER 26

  Faye unlocked the back door and allowed the squeaky clean bathers to follow her into her kitchen. "Stand still. Let me light some candles."

  Soon, the soft glow emitted by large candles on the kitchen counter helped her guests negotiate the path through the stacks of dry-goods to the dining room.

  Wes was slumped were they had left him. His chest was tightly bound with the cotton sheet. Milton was sleeping at the table, head cushioned on his folded arms. Leland and Jerry were absent.

  Faye felt Wes' neck for a pulse. Nothing. His soiled shorts confirmed that he was dead. She shook Milton from his slumber. "Milton, wake up."

  “What? Oh...oh, man, I needed that," he said stretching. "How's our patient doing?

  "He's dead,” Faye said flatly. She was relieved.

  "That sucks. Is that what I smell?" Milton covered his nose and mouth with his hand.

  "I think so. Let's get him out of here."

  Milton stood and stretched. "Yeah? Where should we plant him?”

  Faye looked at Harold. She was about to reveal one of her secrets, not only to him, but to strangers. It was risky, but she wanted to get the cadaver in the ground quickly.

  “I have the perfect place. Give him a hand, Harold." Faye walked to the kitchen followed by the funeral procession. She pulled two headlamps from a kitchen drawer, putting one on, she handed the other to Sheila. “Here put this on, you can help light the way.”

  "I have a headlamp...so does Amber. Wait a second." The two girls retrieved their headlamps and weapons.

  Faye noticed the additional hardware. "You won't need that stuff."

  "Just in case," Sheila said.

  “I understand,” Faye replied, unlocking the cellar door. "Leave Redwing here this won't be an easy walk. Watch your step. These stairs are very old and narrow." She paused at a door at the bottom of the stairs and unlocked it, pushing it open. When they had all entered, she closed the door and locked it. "Just in case." She said, winking at Sheila.

  Sheila missed the wink. She hoped Faye was grinning.

  Light from their headlamps played across the rows of wooden shelves laden with cases of canned goods. Large voids existed on various shelves indicating her Faye’s personal food preferences. Sheila tried quickly to calculate the amount of food stored in the dark cellar. Her best estimation; there was a lot of food in the basement. She now understood why Faye had fortified her restaurant. Her mind wandered to Shania and her crew. Were they starving out there somewhere on the plains of Kansas? They could use some of this food.

  “This is it.” Faye stopped at another steel door at the front of the building and unlocked it. Harold and Milton rested, allowing Wes's dead weight to sag to the dirt floor. They were both puzzled by Faye’s underground passage. The were trying to figure out where they were and, more importantly, where they were going...and why.

  Faye sensed their anxiety. “We’re under the sidewalk. In the early nineteen-hundreds, all deliveries were made at the front of the buildings using small freight elevators that popped up through the sidewalks. We are standing where my elevator used to be. I demolished the adjoining walls so I could move along the block without being seen.”

  "How far can you go in this tunnel?” Harold whispered, fearing he would wake the dead in the dungeon.

  "You'll see,” Faye said it with just a hint of suspense. Like it was a surprise. They walked along the musty tunnel, ducking through one rough opening after another, passing through two secured, steel doors until Faye stopped, unlocking yet another door. A damp, musty odor escaped from within.

  “Take a step down, then watch your heads, there’s a low ceiling in there.” She ducked leading them into another dirt-floored cellar. "We're under the old drug store, now."

  Harold uttered the first word that came to mind. "Wow."

  Milton was impressed. "I second that. Girl you have been busy, haven't you?"

  "I've had a lot of free time, Milton." She cast a withering glance at Harold.

  Sheila was impressed with the amount of labor that Faye had put into the underground tunnel system. "How far are we from your place?"

  “About a hundred yards...we’re at the South end of my block."

  "Holy shit, Faye. How much further?” Milton's hands were sweating, he was loosing his grip on Wes and the dark, dank environment seemed to be closing in on him. He tried to keep an eye on the exit as they moved further into the cellar, but was unable to as he followed the leader deeper and darker.

  “Where do we plant this guy, Faye?” he asked. He was tempted to drop Wes where they stood and skedaddle..., that line of thinking was interrupted by Faye’s voice calling from deep within the darkness.

  “Right over here.” Faye’s voice was cold. She was worried. She never
intended to bring anyone down here. She never intended to tell the truth. She had to tell them something though, something believable. She thought it best to do so before they started asking questions.

  “I dug a few graves down here in the thirties when gangs first started coming to town. As you have seen, I have a lot to protect. I was and am prepared to kill if necessary." And I did. She wanted to say it, but her gut told her otherwise.

  "Did you?" Amber asked, already knowing the answer. Faye was a survivor. What else had she done? What was she capable of? They were in her dungeon. Amber shivered, touching her Tazer, to sooth her tingling nerves.

  “No.” Faye lied. “I wounded a few of the persistent ones. Most of them were looking for easy targets,” she grinned, “they soon found that I wasn't an easy target,” she laughed.

  Amber couldn’t see Faye’s face in the dark but she heard the sinister laugh.

  They created a small dust storms as they shuffled through the loose, dry, dirt, that covered the floor until they came to the brink of the first of several four foot deep graves. That Faye illuminated with her flash-light.

  “Watch your step,” Faye said, as she stepped gingerly between the graves inspecting each one.

  Amber watched Faye intently. She seemed distant, distracted by something, but what? Amber let her light play across the rectangular pits then continued her survey, illuminating her surroundings as she turned full circle. She noticed that the dirt had been raked level in several areas. She wondered who or what else was buried here.

  “Welcome to my catacomb.” Faye said a little too cheerfully.

  “Your what?” Amber asked.

  “My underground cemetery.”

  “Oh...great...thanks a lot.” Amber shivered as she watched Harold and Milton drop Wes unceremoniously in the first hole.

  "You have any shovels down here?” Harold was uncomfortable and scared. He wanted nothing more than to get out of the catacomb.

  Faye produced two shovels from somewhere in the darkness, one with a broken handle which she handed to Harold. “Here...get busy.”