Bad Day For A Road Trip

by Jason Offutt

  “Diarrheasburg?”

  The brake lights of the Subaru sent Doug’s good foot to the brake pedal of the Toyota. He hoped to hell Donnie was paying attention.

  The walkie-talkie kicked on again. This time Terry’s voice was flat, emotionless. “Doug. I think you need to see this.” Maybe I need to grow another dick.

  Nikki was out of the car first, running to stand next to Terry; Jenna jogged to meet them. “Looks like you got left behind, boss,” the ‘boss’ coming out in a soft hiss. Doug turned as Donnie walked past him. What was that on his face? A smile? Doug limped forward on crutches and joined them at the front of the Subaru. They sat at a T in the road, Tonnies’ Shell Repair and Quick-N-Easy convenience store sat dark and quiet at the intersection, weeds grew high around the gas pumps.

  They stood in front of a road sign. The sign was innocent enough; a common piece of sheet metal painted highway department green. White letters pointed travelers east ten miles to Carlson, south ten miles to Mayday and farther south 20 miles to Interstate 69. It was the homemade sign painted on a sheet of plywood and tied to the post with bailing wire that had made Andi stop. “Mayday. The Last Safe Haven in Kentucky. Everyone Welcome.” And underneath, in letters nearly too small for the brush the artist used, “Help us rebuild the world.”

  “Well,” Nikki said. “At least they spelled all the words right.”

  Andi turned toward Doug. “This what you’re looking for?”

  It was, wasn’t it? Safe haven. Everyone welcome. Help us rebuild the world. Yes, that’s what I want. A rebuilt world. “I gotta go,” he said, his voice coming out softly and slowly. “This might be it. We might not have to go to Dyersburg.”

  “Diarrheasburg.”

  “This might be exactly what we’re looking for.” The familiar faces held familiar looks.

  Terry smiled. “I’ve followed you this far, boss.”

  Nikki frowned. “It’s better than nothing.”

  Jenna looked bored.

  “So,” Andi said. “You’re going?”

  Doug nodded. “Yeah. You?”

  Andi stood in the middle of the road, the brightly painted sign like clown makeup on a pig, Big Andy would say. Would have said. Something rubbed her wrong. Maybe it was the Jethro Bodine shakiness of the letters, or the smiley face on the sun. “No. I’ve followed enough hand-painted signs.”

  “But,” Terry started. Andi put up a hand.

  She pulled the walkie-talkie off her belt. “This has a twenty-three-mile radius. If you want to help me clear that service station, I’ll back the Subaru into one of those service bays and shut the door. I can camp out here for a while. If it looks good, call me and I’ll join you. If things go south, call me and I’ll come get you.”

  Nikki started to protest, but stopped. Andi wore a Gene Holleran look, a look she’d seen on her dad’s face more times than she could count. She didn’t need to say anything to Andi; her mind was made up. “Okay,” Nikki said, her voice loud in the now quiet morning. A crow cawed somewhere, but Nikki didn’t pay attention to it. She’d had enough of crows. “Sounds like a plan. If Doug’s dream goes to shit, we have backup.” She pulled her sidearm from its holster and cocked it. “Let’s go clear that service station so Andi doesn’t get eaten waiting to save us.” She turned toward the former soldier who looked so strong, but fragile at the same time. “If there are any Nutter Butters in the convenience store, they’re mine.”

  ***

  Donnie kept his fist in tight balls in the green camouflage fatigues the Army woman had stripped off a corpse in Omaha. Donnie’d pissed his dress pants then as the crazy Vanessa Hagen-looking woman leveled a rifle to his face. The Army woman didn’t let her shoot Donnie then. Donnie tried to push a grin away from his mouth because he knew the Army woman was going to wish she hadn’t tried so hard. Donnie figured his knuckles were white by now, but he couldn’t have his hands out for everyone to see them; they moved too much. “You don’t ever have to talk, Donnie,” Mother had told him more than once. “Your hands tell the story for you.” So he kept them buried. Now, if he could just keep the gosh darned smile off his face.

  The Gunkies were leaving, all of them, just getting into their little Prius and going away. The drunken redneck and the black-haired lady followed the Army woman into the convenience store; a bird had built a nest in the Q of the Quick-n-Easy sign over the door. The cripple and Vanessa Hagen leaned against the Prius. Donnie stood next to the Silverado and watched them through the dirty glass. Inside the store, the Army woman produced a flashlight and peered into the coolers before going back into the storage room. The convenience store must have been clean, because the blade of light disappeared and reappeared in the window of the service station. A few minutes later, one of the service bay doors rolled up, the mama bird in the Q squawked angrily and flapped away.

  The black-haired girl walked out eating peanut shaped cookies from a red plastic package. “All clear,” the drunken redneck said and tried to slip his hand into the package. The girl slapped it away. The three walked up to the Prius and stopped before the cripple, like they had to get his blessing, or something. What was he, the friggin’ doodie pope?

  “You sure you want to do this Andi?” the cripple asked. That man wasn’t anything special. He’s the one who got them all into this doodie mess to begin with.

  The Army woman nodded. “Yeah. I just have a feeling. Probably nothing. Just give me a call, okay?”

  Doug nodded.

  Donnie was a long way away from Colorado. He knew he couldn’t get back there and take care of Mother anymore, but he could take care of these people. “One at a time, Donnie,” Mother’s voice said somewhere in his head. “One at a time.” Yes, Mother. One at a time. And the time to take care of one, all alone, had presented itself all in a nice, pretty little package. Mother’s long, sharp kitchen knife sat under the front seat of Daddy’s truck and nobody knew about it. All Donnie had to do was keep from laughing, then plunge it into the Army woman’s back until she stopped moving, just like that wicked Taylor boy when he fell down the stairs at Jimmy’s Old Country Pizzeria.

  The Army woman got into the Subaru and backed it into the open bay door. Donnie walked past the front of the car as it backed up and grabbed the handle of the second door. Oh, geez, it’s heavy. He grunted as he pulled. The drunken redneck appeared beside him and helped him pull; the door slid up easily. You’re next, fatty.

  “What’re you doing, Donnie?” the man asked, his jovial face looked stupid to Donnie. All happy people looked stupid.

  “I’m staying here with–” he paused. Can’t say the Army woman, can’t say the Army woman. “Andi. If you guys are in trouble, it might take more than one of us to get you out of it.” Oh, the words. The words, Donnie, came out like the truth. You’re a good boy, Donnie.

  The drunken redneck glanced over at the crippled man, whose face told something. What? What was that look on his smug doodie face? Relief? They were glad to have him gone. Assholes. Donnie closed his eyes and winced, waiting for the hand of Mother to come crashing into his mouth for saying that word. That bad, bad word. But nothing came. His eyes slowly crawled open; everyone stared at him. This time Donnie did smile; he couldn’t help it, the looks on their faces. Fear. They were all afraid of him. Except for the Army woman and she soon would be.

  ***

  The Shell station with its Quick-n-Easy convenience store disappeared behind the thick, green trees around a long, sloping curve before anyone spoke. “You sure she’s going to be okay?” Jenna asked.

  “Andi?” Terry laughed. “Haven’t you paid attention? Andi can take care of herself.”

  “But that Donnie kid is so, so, so–”

  “Creepy,” Nikki finished. “That kid smells crazy.”

  Doug whistled and everyone stopped. “Andi’s going to be fine,” he said. “And so are we. We’ll see Andi again by sundown, after we find out this place is real.” He stared out the window. “I hope to God this place is real
.”

  Five miles closer to Mayday they drove by another homemade sign, the smiling sun in the corner a little angrier than the first; Doug shook it off. “Five Miles Closer to Heaven. Mayday, Kentucky.” Doug raised the walkie-talkie to his mouth and pressed the button. “Halfway there, Andi. You copy?”

  The walkie-talkie hissed. “Loud and clear, Doug. Remember, I won’t call you, you call me.”

  “Roger. Out.”

  Doug looked at Jenna in the passenger seat and shrugged. “It works.” He reached and patted her leg. “Everything’s going to be fine.”

  She crossed her arms over her small breasts and huffed. “It damn well better be, Doug Titus. If you know what’s good for you.”

  Doug dropped the walkie-talkie between his legs and pushed the accelerator harder. He wanted this over now.

  Mayday wasn’t what he expected, but he’d always found out the hard way nothing ever was. A rusting plastic factory sat off the highway next to railroad tracks just outside town. The blacktop stopped at a crossroads, a green road sign pointing to Louisville to the east and Interstate 69 to the west. Mayday sat dead ahead behind tin barn doors. A tall half-assed chain-link fence looked like it might surround the town, that may have been home to about 1,000 people before the world fell; who knew how many lived there now. Doug could make out the high school; light poles from the football field and probably the baseball field rose into the sky. A water tower loomed over the town, although Doug couldn’t tell if it was inside the fence or out.

  “This is it?” Jenna asked. “What a dump.”

  Doug slowed the Prius to a crawl. “Don’t be too hasty, babe. It has a fence. Fences keep things out.”

  “And in.”

  Shit.

  The same smiling sun was painted on the barn door, along with “Mayday, Kentucky. We Call It Home.”

  “What do you think, boss?” Terry asked.

  I just have a feeling, Andi said before they left. As he felt the hair rise on the back of his neck, Doug knew he had a feeling, too. A bad one. He slowed to a stop and unbuckled his gun belt. “Leave everything,” he said, pulling the military service revolver from its holster and shoving it down the back of his pants like he’d seen in so many cop shows. “If you think you can hide a gun, hide it. If not, leave it. We want to look as friendly as can be.” He picked the walkie-talkie off the seat and shoved it down his underwear, hoping the tighty-whities would keep it from falling down his leg.

  “I’m ready,” Jenna said, then kissed him on the cheek, his stubble rough on her lips.

  “Let’s do this.” Doug pulled the Prius next to a rusted Oldsmobile Delta 88, probably a 1978, put the keys in his front pocket and killed the ignition.

  They stepped out of the car slowly, Terry handed Doug his crutches from the back seat. Nikki swallowed hard as she looked at the town from the outside of the chain-link fence. The lawns were all mowed, the houses were freshly painted. Doug said he was looking for Mayberry from The Andy Griffith Show. She took in a deep breath of clean, sweet air and wondered if he may have found it.

  Hinges squealed as people behind the fence pulled open the barn doors to reveal a fat, smiling man. He threw his arms wide. “Welcome to Mayday, Kentucky, my friends. Your new home.”

  August 1: Mayday, Kentucky

  Chapter 17

  Breakfast didn’t settle well today. A slice of steak next to a three-egg omelet stuffed with Armour chili, a cup of coffee and Tang (orange juice unfortunately off the menu) usually got Lazarus’ day off to a fine start, but not today. The front door to the Whistlestop rang when customers pushed it open, the little bell on a string telling Gwenny she had someone new. It rang a number of times since Lazarus sat on one of the padded metal seats at the café; the Whistlestop was busy this morning, but this ring was for Elmer Toss. Lazarus hated Elmer Toss. The tall, lanky man walked in and sat down across from him.

  “Coffee, darlin’,” Elmer barked and stared at Lazarus, the dangling piece of egg on Lazarus’ fork momentarily forgotten.

  “You gotta do somethin’ about your pet monkey, Tim,” Elmer said through a week’s worth of beard. Elmer’s breath smelled like the floor of the Doo Drop, all cigarettes and stale beer. He turned over the coffee mug in front of him as he heard Gwenny’s tennis shoes slap the tile floor behind him. She filled the cup silently and motioned the pot to Lazarus who waved her off.

  Lazarus sat the fork on his plate and dabbed his mouth with a cloth napkin. Paper napkins disappeared from the aluminum dispensers on the tables at the Whistlestop once people realized how much more valuable they were for wiping their asses. He sat the napkin on his lap, although he knew he was finished with it. Elmer Toss made him lose his appetite.

  “His name’s Jeremy, Elmer,” Lazarus said, his words coming out slowly and clearly.

  “Well, whateverthefuck you call it, it’s scaring the shit out of my kids. Standin’ outside their windows.” Elmer took a long drink of coffee, unflinching at the scalding heat. “Zombies is what’s killed this world. Ain’t no place for a zombie wanderin’ around this town.”

  From somewhere near the back, someone said, “amen.” Lazarus shot a look at the back where eight people sat crowded around two tables and a booth. It could have been Gary Thatcher, or Jim Smithy, or Gil Haply. Hell, it could have been any one of them. It could have been all of them. He turned back to Elmer. “Has he et–” Et, et, et. “Has he eaten any of your children?”

  Elmer shook his head slowly. “No.”

  “Then he won’t. He won’t harm anyone here in Mayday.” Lazarus scanned the café; the twenty people packing the room with its black and white checkered tile floor and pie rack on the end of the counter, stared at their plates. Dear Lord, they agreed with Elmer Toss. They agreed with that drunken fool.

  Elmer threw back the rest of his coffee and set the ceramic mug down hard on the table. “Better be damn sure of that, Timmy boy,” he said, the words coming out in a hiss. Drops of spittle warm and wet, sprayed on Lazarus’ hand. “Or I’ll have his head.”

  “Hallelujah.”

  Lazarus pushed himself to his feet as quickly as he could, the chair legs squeaking against the tile, but Elmer stood with him, his blue flannel chest blocked the back of the café where the hallelujah had come from the mouth of some unbeliever. Elmer pointed a finger in the fat man’s face. “His head, Timmy boy. His fucking rotting head.”

  Elmer Toss walked out of the Whistlestop, the little bell uncomfortably cheery in the cold silence of the room, leaving Lazarus standing alone, his cheeks flush with anger. He scanned the room; no one looked up to meet his gaze.

  “What is wrong with you people?” he shouted, his face slick with beading sweat. The room was silent. “I’m trying to build a future here? A future for all of us. A future for the whole goddamned human race. Don’t you see that?”

  Someone coughed in the back. No they didn’t. Ungrateful bastards. No they didn’t see it at all. The past few months of careful control, of careful planning, of carefully making sure those bastards weren’t eaten in their sleep and they didn’t even see it. A pain stabbed behind Lazarus’ right shoulder blade. What was that? Bet it was a pulled muscle from sex with Gwenny. He knew it. It had to be. Better tell her to slow down. “I’m your only hope in this gone-to-hell world,” he screamed, wincing at the tug in his shoulder.

  He looked at all the people in the back of the room, the ones from the Amen Corner. He would remember them, oh yes, he would. They were all going to suffer with that prick Gary Thatcher. They all were.

  “I’m with you, Lazarus,” a voice said from near the door.

  “Fuck you, Donnally,” Lazarus said as he walked by and slammed the jingle-jangle door behind him.

  ***

  Lazarus felt better after a nap. His walk to the Gate was later than usual, but he needed to sleep the morning off. He’d tell Gwenny to take it easy on him next time; that shoulder still ached. Jeremy was gone when he stepped outside his front door for the second time
today. Probably for the best. He hated assholes like Elmer Toss, but he knew what to do with them, a slow beating from Ken Gundy (what a good soldier) and a bottle of champagne for a private show as Ken fed Elmer’s kids to Mac. One of the first hunting parties Lazarus had sent out after the fence was up and the big barn gate secure, had found Mac wandering in the woods outside Louisville along with a zebra and a pair of gnu, its great bulk on two legs like it had forgotten to walk on its knuckles. Its eyes were clear then, but they knew it had turned. The great black beast just had the look. The men wore vests back then, vests tanned from the skin of the mayor and police chief who’d turned and eaten the city clerk. Poor Carla Evans. Such a nice lady. Keith Young got a rope around the gorilla’s neck and it followed him into the bed of the truck like it was a puppy. Lazarus slapped his belly and smiled as he walked toward the gate. Puppies get hungry.

  Ken Gundy stood at the Gate when Lazarus approached. Ken always took his shift alone. Lazarus didn’t know if it was because he liked it alone, or because everyone else in town hated the sadistic son of a bitch. Didn’t matter; Ken Gundy was good at his job.

  “Good morning, Lazarus,” he said.

  Lazarus smiled. He wouldn’t trust Ken Gundy with his life, but he’d sure trust him to kill people. He didn’t know what Ken did before the Falling, but he liked killing people a lot. “Where’s Seidel?”

  Ken shrugged. “Home, I guess.”

  Home? Wouldn’t be over at Lacy’s by any chance? No. No. If that little bastard were screwing Lacy, it wouldn’t be when the sun was up when everybody could see.

  “Well, if you see hi–”

  Ken threw a hand in the air and Lazarus’ words died in his mouth. Yes, Ken Gundy was a good soldier, but he was a dog, a dog that was dangerous when crossed.

  A car, a silent car, one of those goddamned hippy hybrids, sat on the road facing the Gate. “It snuck up on me,” Ken said quietly. “This is why we need checkpoints on the road. Deer stands manned with armed men with walkie-talkies, so this doesn’t happen.”