But the Ol' Clamdigger.
He didn't hear the boy slip up behind him.
When the blade crossed his throat,
He staggered. Blood dripped and stained
The clams. He turned, but
His vision blurred.
He held out the basket and tried to tell the boy
To hurry…
Or the clams might spoil.
Moving On
Jessup held the rifle by the butt, finger on the trigger. He gripped the rusty door handle and stood very still, listening. He heard nothing but leaves skittering across the dry, dusty ground. A gutter, caught in the same breeze that taught the leaves to dance, suddenly swung into the wall with a creak. Jessup flattened himself against the wall. When the gutter swung again, he caught the motion out of the corner of his eye and cursed. He stepped back to the door, lifted the handle, and opened it.
The only light came from smudged, filthy windows. Jessup swung around the door, swept the room with the gun at his hip, and scanned a little ahead of the barrel to target anything that moved. There was nothing. He swung back and lowered the gun to his side.
The old warehouse was draped in shadows. Stepping further in, he scanned the shelves. Boxes hung partially into the aisles. Packing material littered the floor. It looked as if a damned tornado had blown through, and Jessup's heart sank. He kicked his way down the aisles, pushing the boxes out of his way, looking for anything that might have been left behind. They'd waited too long.
On one of the back shelves a single can of beans lay canted to one side. He picked it up, tossed it in the air, and caught it. He gripped the can so hard his knuckles went white, turned, and slammed it into the wall. It dropped with a dull, impotent thud. It only took a few minutes to be certain there was nothing more, and he was back out the door. The sun had started to drop toward the horizon. Not much time before it started to get dark. There were more warehouses further up the mountain, but he'd never get there and back in time. He knew it didn't matter. If this one was empty, what would the others be like, so far from the city? How far would he have to go before the fallout worked its way into his lungs and started eating his skin?
He climbed in behind the wheel of his old pickup, slapped the rifle into the rack behind his head, and started the engine. Without waiting to see if the sound attracted anyone, he backed out and floored it, leaving a plume of dust as he wound back to the main road and turned toward the highway and down toward Wiley.
The lights were on at the perimeter when Jessup returned. Lonnie and Jack, the Cooper boys, stepped out of the shadows. Jack held a 9mm at an angle, not really ready to shoot, but following protocol. Jessup frowned. He'd rather the kid shoved it through the truck's window and into his face and that they searched the truck from one end to the other. Someone had emptied that warehouse, and that meant someone was close enough to try and empty other things. One stupid move and their homes might not be theirs any longer.
"Get that gun up," he growled.
Jack glanced at him and a lop-sided sneer split his face. The boy's hair was greasy and dangled over his face in a sloppy part. He hadn't shaved, but he also hadn't really grown a beard. Patches of soft fuzz dotted his cheeks, and his lip looked like he'd brushed it with charcoal.
"Punk," Jessup muttered. Louder, he said, "Warehouse on Water Street is empty. Someone's been through it. That's only ten miles–halfway up the mountain. Keep that gun up, boy. No one comes in. No one comes close."
Jack stared back at him, as if ready to smart off, but Lonnie cut in quickly.
"Who?" the boy asked. "Who's been through it?"
Jessup heard the fear–almost panic in the boy's tone. He shook his head.
"How the hell would I know? It's empty, that's all I know. If it's empty, someone's been through it. Ten miles is too close, and we didn't even know they were there."
"What do we do?" Lonnie asked.
"Guard the road," Jessup said, "Like you've been trained. Nothing has changed except we know someone's there."
"What about the food?" Jack said. "If they got the food from that warehouse, they probably have everything from here to Thompsonville."
"Roads go a lot of different directions," Jessup said without conviction. "There's mountains on all sides. We'll try the North side next. I'll tell Dan we need extra guards here. I don't know if they were out there today, last week, or a month ago, but I know they were there, and that means they know we're here too. When all the warehouses are empty, they're going to try and come at us. Best be ready."
"You think they're sick?" Jack asked. He still wore his sneer, but now it lacked conviction. "Like that guy came in last month? Looked like his eyes were sinking into his head. And his skin…"
"No way to know that either," Jessup said. "If they are, they may hang back. Give us a chance to spot them. Might make them desperate. Same guy you're so fascinated with could barely walk. He wasn't much of a threat. There's no way to know where they came from, what they have, or how bad off they are. Just keep your eyes open."
Jack stared at him. "Easy for you to say," he muttered. "Not all of us have a pretty wife and a house full of who knows what to get back to."
Jessup glared at the boy, but bit back his comment. He'd seen the way Jack and his brother eyed Mae every time he brought her outside the confines of their home, and he knew the danger in it. He didn't like leaving town, but someone who could be trusted had to do the scouting.
He pulled away and turned down Main St. toward his home. He knew the two were watching him go, and he knew the second he was out of sight they'd be chattering like women, trying to figure out whether to head for the hills, tell everyone in town what they'd heard, or just stand still and do what they'd been told. He knew, in the end, it would be a combination of all of it. They'd stay at their post, but they'd find a way to spread the word. It was fine with Jessup. As a matter of fact, it was about time.
He pulled into his driveway and cut off the engine, but he didn't get out immediately. The low-slung brick ranch he and Mae had built so long ago felt like a cage these days. He sat, and he thought about the empty rows of shelves out on Water Street. He thought about the single can of beans, and wondered who had left it behind. He wondered how long it had taken them to leave their homes, branching out to the roads in search of food. He wondered if they still looked human, or if they were burned. He'd seen the broadcasts near the end. He'd heard the reports. Wiley was located in a valley, mountains on all sides, and they'd missed the worst of it. A few had gotten sick, a few had even died, but most of them had gotten off pretty easily.
They'd been approached by refugees. Jessup had regular nightmares about burned skin and ravaged features. He saw eyes staring at him from the shadows out of pits that had once been healthy sockets. Every time his skin itched, his heart raced, and he wondered if it had come for him at last. None of the strangers had stayed. They weren't welcomed, and most of them died. Wiley had no medical facility capable of dealing with their condition–and despite their curiosity, they'd learned little about what was happening beyond their valley from the few encounters they'd had. Dying men and women aren't prone to storytelling.
Now Jessup had to think that if a group of refugees was out there, they wouldn't stay away. He knew it wasn't just the food, either. They'd want alcohol, and guns, maybe women. A lot depended on who they were, how they were organized, and how desperate they'd become.
He locked the truck out of habit and walked slowly to his front door, the rifle held close down beside his leg. He hadn't felt safe walking in the open for weeks. The weight of the weapon in his hand helped, but it didn't take away the odd, burning sensation on the back of his neck–the phantom brush of eyes, watching from the shadows. He knocked and waited. There was a soft scrape as Mae glanced through the peep-hole, then louder sounds as she unfastened the deadbolts and locks that kept them safe. Jessup didn't carry keys. If he were killed, he didn't want anyone getting hold of them. Not even the others in town.
The
door swung open and he slipped inside, pushing it closed and immediately reaching for the locks.
"How did it go?" Mae asked.
Jessup worked the locks slowly and methodically, ignoring her. He could have scripted the conversation to come, and he was too tired to play his part. When the final bolt slid into place, he leaned the rifle carefully against the wall inside the door and headed down the hall toward the kitchen.
"There's beer," Mae said.
Jessup spun and stared at her. Before he could speak, she went on nervously.
"Becky Springer brought it. They found a room over at the Bowling alley. You know, where they're clearing away the debris? There was a door to a cellar. The food was ruined, but there was enough beer for two cases per family."
"How'd it get in?" Jessup snapped.
She stared at him, shocked. "When Becky came, I let her in," she said. "I thought you'd be happy, the beer…"
Jessup felt a sudden blaze of anger. He turned away and leaned his head on the wall as he fought to clear his thoughts. As his mind ran over all the things that might have happened, the men and the women who might covet what he had, the anger turned to irrational fear. He bit that back as well.
"Are you stupid, woman?" he asked.
Mae laid her hand on his shoulder. It trembled.
She shook her head. "I'm sorry Jess," she said.
Jessup turned toward the kitchen. Mae's hand slipped off his shoulder. She stood and watched him go. He didn't turn back, and a moment later she followed, entering the kitchen just as the snap of a pop-top can announced the first of the beer.
"She came with Dan," Mae said softly.
Jessup shrugged. It was an old argument. The longer the city had been under what Dan called "martial law," the more critical security had become on a personal level. Homes had been looted, women had been taken. There wasn't much the community could do. Things had changed. The thin veneer of normalcy they maintained with their patrols and their meetings was wearing away.
The others looked to Jessup and Dan as leaders, but they had to create their own authority, using force, at times, and it was becoming sadly obvious that what served for civilization was crumbling to ruin all around them. Folks were either scared, or bad. Neither was a good for security.
"You remember Harry Coombs," Jessup asked. He was staring at the beer in his hand, turning the can around and around to read the label. He waited.
"Yes, baby," Mae finally answered.
"You used to play cards with his wife, isn't that right? Sarah? Was that her name?"
"Yes."
Jessup stood, grabbed two more beers, and tossed one to Mae. She was so surprised by the gesture she almost missed it. She opened it shyly and took a sip as he returned to his seat and started on his second.
"Some boys broke into their house last week. Harry's dead and Sarah…well, she isn't with Harry anymore. Dan and I talked to one of the boys responsible. Dan wanted to go after them."
Jessup paused and drained half the beer. He turned to Mae and held her gaze.
"We didn't go," he said. "We can't afford to. We can't afford to lose those boys on the watch, especially not now, so we have to let it go. Harry wasn't a close friend of mine, but he was a good man. Now he's dead, and I can't do a thing about it. Do you hear what I'm saying, Mae? Am I getting through?"
Mae's hand trembled and she gripped the beer more tightly. She didn't answer–Jessup knew she wasn't going to answer. What could she say?
"The locks on the door are there for a reason," he said. "I leave you keys so you can let me back in, and for no other reason. I lock the doors because I want to come home to my bed…and to you…and find things as I left them. You think if someone came and took you I'd be able to help? You've seen the way those Cooper boys watch you–you're a damned pretty woman, Mae. You think if they came and took everything we own, everything we have left, that Dan, or anyone else would give a damn? There's no sheriff to call. We're on our own, and now…" he hesitated.
Mae glanced up, and Jessup sighed.
"Now it may all be for nothing."
"What do you mean?"
"Warehouse was ransacked," he said shortly. "Someone's been there, and it wasn't anyone from here. We'd know. Someone would have let it slip."
"But who?" Mae asked.
"Don't know," Jessup said with a sigh. He drained the beer. "Don't know, and it doesn't matter. We can't stay here. We'll be out of food by winter, and if we wait any longer, there won't be anywhere to go. People are moving out there, and they'll want what we have. We don't know how bad it is out of the valley, not really."
Mae clutched her beer and dropped her gaze to the floor. He didn't know if she was imagining being taken by local boys, or thinking about the sick ones–the ones the radiation had gotten to–slinking around in the hills. When she finished her beer, Jessup got up and handed her another.
"Let's get some rest," he said, his voice softer. "We'll need to meet with Dan tomorrow, and the others."
"What will we do?" she asked.
"What else can we do?" he replied. "We'll have to leave. We'll have to go, like they had to go. We'll have to find food, and we may have to be ready to take it."
Mae watched him for a while, drinking her beer, as if she thought answers might flit across his face, but Jessup paid no attention. He was lost in thought, trying to plan for something no one could predict. How did you plan to leave without knowing where you were going, or what you'd find when you got there? He had a sudden, intense craving for baked beans.
They met, as usual, at the jailhouse. There was no good reason; all the equipment had long since been stripped away. The gun cabinets were open, the ammunition had been distributed. Jessup thought maybe it was the bars on the windows, or the cells in the back. They'd managed to set up four or five surveillance cameras on the main routes into town, and the monitors at the station could be run off generators. They had gas–used carefully it would outlast the food, maybe even the alcohol. The city had experimented ahead of its time. An extensive network of solar batteries handled most of the homes–at least enough for those who remained in town.
Wiley was a fortress under siege by entropy. The valley was bordered on all sides by mountains, which had blocked most of the fallout. Without road maintenance, and with more and more abandoned vehicles lining the roads in and out, Mother Nature had taken her normal course. The valley was all but sealed off from the world. Food was running out. They could get some water from a stream running down from the west, but there was no way to know if it was clean, and for the most part they'd left it alone. They couldn't do it much longer, and no one wanted to think about what happened if it was dirty.
So things crumbled. Bit by bit. Jessup, Dan, and a few others fought for stability. They tried to maintain order, forced a weak, diluted form of martial law on the town to keep it in line, but their efforts were doomed. Without laws and a government, Darwinian rule leaked into their society bit by bit, and there was no way to stop it. The city was too much like a cage to the young, and too feeble a fortress to the old.
The 'council' gathered around the conference table in the Sheriff's office. Dan sat straight and tall, his back so stiff his spine could have been a two-by-four. His hair was clipped short in the same style he'd worn in the marines, even though he had to do it himself. His eyes were flat and colorless, and he sat apart from all the others. He and Jessup had been friends for a decade, but now? Jessup would once have trusted Dan with his life but, but now there were questions. It was getting harder to trust anyone.
The rest of the group was a mixed lot. Lonnie and Jack Cooper were there, and Brian Winslow, who'd run the hardware store. The last of them was old Tish Maynard. She'd been the head nurse at the clinic–Wiley wasn't big enough for a full-blown hospital. Doc Jenkins took off early on, panicked over family back east. Tish was the doctor now; doctor, nurse, and tough as nails.
"So," Dan started them off. "We aren't alone. I didn't figure it would take long
."
Jessup nodded. "Looks that way, Dan; that warehouse was cleaned out, and it's not far out of town. Whoever it was was quiet."'
"They didn't want us catchin' them," Jack suggested. His eyes glittered with that sparkle young, stupid men get when they think about fighting, and war. "They were scared."
"Or they didn't want us to know they were coming," Brian Winslow cut in. "Don't get too full of yourself, Jack. There's folks out there a whole lot worse than you think you are, and they won't be shy about proving it when you meet. Not anymore."
Jack glared at Brian, but for once he kept his peace. He glanced at Lonnie, who met his gaze for a second, then looked away. Jessup frowned. Something had been communicated that the rest of the group wasn't privy to, and it couldn't be good. He filed the information away and cleared his throat.
"I think it's time we admitted Wiley is dead, or at least dying. We have to pack up, gather what we have, and hit the road."
"Where?" Tish asked. She met his gaze levelly.
"To somewhere else," Dan cut in. "Jessup's right and you know it. There have to be others out there, cities, military bases. We get out past the hills, we should be able to pick up some kind of broadcast. We can't stay here forever. Food is scarce, and with winter coming, sitting here on what we have left until we starve is suicide. Either we'll run out and have to leave anyway, or someone bigger and badder will come in and take it."
The silence was thick enough Jessup felt stifled.
"What do we do?" Brent Winslow asked. "What do we take, and how do we get out? The roads are bad–it'll take time to clear them, but if we don't drive out, we'll have to leave too much behind."
"We drive," Jessup said without hesitation. "We've got trucks, and we've got plenty of equipment and tools, for now. We wait too long half of it won't work, but now it does. We take a bulldozer along to the top of the ridge, cut a path through to the freeway, and we move on from there."
"To where?" Tish repeated.
"West," Dan cut in. "There's an Air Force base 100 miles west. If no one's there, we may be able to pick up some supplies, and we head on south and west, toward the gulf."
Etched Deep & Other Dark Impressions Page 4