by David Wayne
Finally, she answered, “Go away. I’m not decent.” I could hear her stifling giggles, as if she were laughing into a pillow.
“Don’t give me that crap. You sleep with your clothes on. Open.”
“Hang on.” I heard the lock click, and she opened the door a crack, peeping out. “What do you want, Maxie-poo?”
I barged in. The pungent smell and wavering smoke was all I needed. “You smoked my… Did you smoke that weed, Sister?”
She was sheepish. “No,” she laughed.
“This is outrageous behavior—”
“Shhh, Maxie, don’t tell anyone…but I sprouted a penis and became entitled. Isn’t that funny?” She balled over in laughter, slapping me on the arm.
“Hardy har har. You’re stoned. Look at you.”
“I’m hungry. Let’s go get the Pop-Tarts from the MREs. Want to?” She gave me a wicked smile.
I blocked the doorway. “No, we’re not going to raid our food stash just because you smoked pot and got the munchies.” We heard a noise outside, which freaked her out.
“Oh, no, what was that?" she said, grabbing my arm and moving in close. “Are we being attacked?”
“It was a cat or something,” I said.
Her panic turned quickly to laughter. “Attack of the killer cats!”
One minute she was paranoid, the next a ball of uncontrollable laughter. I spent the next two hours babysitting a stoned nun and guarding our food. What had the world come to?
Chapter 47
The next morning, I decided not to lecture her—it didn’t do any good and only served to piss her off. I wasn’t in the mood for one of her rants, so we ate in silence and got ready to go. We loaded the Bug, but she sat there, hesitating.
“I’ve got a slight confession to make,” she said. “I’ve never driven a stick shift before.” She gave me an innocent smile, the one designed to melt my anger or frustration whenever she was being sneaky or tricky.
It didn’t work. “All right, then let's trade places, I’ll drive.”
“It’s not that complicated. Just show me how to do it. You can be the big man who teaches the little woman to drive. The hero who—”
I held up my hand. “Save it and listen up.” I gave her a quick rundown, and she did a few dry runs of shifting and letting out the clutch—with the car turned off.
“Looks easy enough. Let’s get this show on the road. You ready for takeoff, lieutenant?”
“Just don’t kill us,” I said.
“Roger that, command. This is Sister Susan, preparing for blastoff.” She said this using a squeaky voice, and I smiled despite myself, looking out the side window to hide it from her. She cranked the Bug up, and a big billow of smoke puffed out the back, followed by a large bang and several sputters.
“Why don’t you pull up first. It will make it easier to back out around that big bush hanging in your way,” I said.
“I’ll navigate, if you please. Now shut up and go get me some coffee,” she said.
“If you’re done with the jokes, I’d suggest you pay attention. You’re giving it too much gas and—”
She popped the clutch and mashed the gas too hard. We lurched forward, causing her to cut hard left. The quick jerk threw off her balance, and she pressed down on the gas, thrusting us forward like a shooting bullet. We were heading for a direct collision with the garage wall. At the last minute, she turned hard left, ramming into the carport support column. The abrupt halt threw us into the dash. Then the carport roof came crashing down. It collapsed with great force on the front trunk, smashing it completely in. The car rattled back and forth, shook, sputtered, and then conked out. My heart was pounding. She was laughing.
“Whoa, horsy, slow down here. Was that wild or what?” she said.
“No, it was attempted murder. Are you crazy?” My hands were shaking, the blood drained from my face. I got out and looked at the mangled front end. “It’s a good thing the motor's in the back, or we’d really be jammed up. Looks like the wheel well is crushed down onto the tire, so we need to find something to bend it back up.” I looked at the carport lying on the hood. Another foot over and we would have been crushed by it.
We found an old tire iron and sledgehammer in the garage. It took an hour of hard beating and prying to free the wheel from the crushed metal. “Okay, we broke it free enough to back out from under the trash heap. Let’s pull out, and then we’ll tie a chain around a tree and use the force of the car to bend it the rest of the way off the tire.” All we could find was an old rope and the twine I’d found at the small country store. I looped them both around a tree and then around the bent hunk of metal. I backed up slowly until the rope was taut and then slammed the gas. The rope and twine snapped immediately.
“Looks like we’ll have to limp along until we can find a chain,” I said. We drove at five miles an hour. Anything more and the slightest bump caused the tire to scrub against the wheel wall. Still, it beat walking.
It was almost three hours before we came upon the next house. At the speed we were traveling, that equated to about thirteen miles. The farther east we went, the more houses we saw. Still, there were long stretches of road with nothing but big pastures and patches of woods. I was worried about our gas; a quarter tank would give us some good miles in the small Bug but wouldn’t carry us to Atlanta.
We pulled slowly up the bumpy drive, trying to avoid further damage to the tire. The faded white house was surrounded by a wraparound wood deck and massive oak trees. There was a man standing by the front door, leaning casually against a cedar porch beam. He waved, which was a good sign. As we got out of the car, I subtly tucked a handgun into the back of my pants. The effort was futile, because he wasn’t looking in my direction; he was staring at the sister.
“Hi, neighbor, my name's Max Ryker, and this is Sister Susan. How you doing?”
“Doing good, real good. I’m Doug. What brings you folks out this way?” His manner was easy and friendly, but his body was rigid and tense. He wasn’t a big fella, just under six feet and on the thin side. He had a wiry build, the physique of a farm worker—no bulk but plenty of strength. His eyes were drifting over toward the sister and then darting back in my direction. It gave him a shifty feel, the kind of guy who would sucker-punch you. I decided to keep my distance.
“We’re looking for a chain to bend the dent out of our car.” I kept my tone unassuming and my body relaxed—but was ready to snatch my pistol. If he was going to make a move, I’d pick up the signals in the next few minutes. It would be the last mistake he ever made.
He glanced over at the car. “That’s Peterson's Bug. You a friend?” He sounded nervous but kept his arms crossed against his chest. I was trying to figure what he was hiding there; it couldn’t be a gun—maybe a knife. He must have caught my questioning look, because he shoved both hands into his pockets.
“No, we’re not. We stopped there, found the place abandoned, and figured they headed to Atlanta like everyone else. We didn’t think they’d miss the car,” I answered honestly.
He seemed to think that was fair enough. “I got a chain out back. I’ll give you a hand.” I heard a rustle in the bushes and figured this was the ambush. Just before I pulled my weapon, I realized it was a dog—a big, fat one.
“Betsy, come out of there, you hear? Get your tail up on the porch.” The animal was big and exceedingly fat—but it wasn’t a dog; it was a pet pig. “This here’s Betsy. She don’t bite or nothin’. She’s like her owner, a lover, not a fighter,” he said, running his eyes over the sister before bending down and petting the pig. “That’s a girl. Say hello to our new friends.” I was surprised to see the pig look over at us and grunt. “She’s smart, way smarter than a dog.”
“I see that,” I said. “Doug, any chance you might have some gas? We’re running a little short of petrol. We probably only need three gallons to make Atlanta.”
He was quiet for a second and then appeared to make a decision. “Tell ya what, I just mad
e some biscuits, and I’ve got homemade peach jam. Anyone hungry?”
“Sounds great,” we answered in unison.
The biscuits were big, fluffy, and hot, the sweet jam melting over them. It tasted like peach cobbler. He didn’t offer coffee, which I noticed in the cabinet, but why look a gift horse in the mouth?
“The chain, I can let you use free—the gas ain’t free,” he said, cleaning up the breakfast mess.
“I’ve got some bucks. What would three gallons cost us?” I asked, happy to be full from real food. I liked the direction the conversation was heading.
“Hey, Susan, I’ve got a garden patch out yonder, plenty of fresh vegetables. If you want to take a sack and pick some for the road, you’re welcome to it.” He walked over to the sink and got a small plastic grocery sack from one of the drawers. He handed it to her.
She looked at me, and I nodded. If he was going to start any trouble, it’d be better if she were gone. That way, I could be proactive and then spin the story more to her liking.
As soon as the back door slammed shut, he got straight down to business. “Dollars don’t do me no good, Ryker, not in this day and age. I’ve got to have something more tangible. I reckon barter's the new money.” Not surprisingly, once Sister left, he dropped the friendly country boy routine and became gruff.
“Well, Doug, we don’t have much, and what we’ve got we need. Just camping gear and such,” I said, countrifying my words a little but not overdoing it. “I ’spose we could work it off, help do some things around here?”
He was shaking his head. He leaned up on the table, folding his hands together. “I wanna fuck the girl.”
Chapter 48
I’d been waiting for him to get at what he wanted, but that’s not what I’d expected. It took all my willpower not to show my astonishment—but I kept my face emotionless. The harder thing was not slamming my fist into his mouth. I recognized my rage was over-the-top, was surprised at its ferocity. Why did I want to kill a guy for wanting to get laid?
“Maybe you didn’t catch it, but Susan’s a nun. Sorry,” I said.
“That don’t matter none to me. I’m not religious. I figure she’s got a cooter between her legs, right?” he said with a grin. “Besides, it’s a new world out there. Everybody’s got to adapt and do what they gotta do to survive. Even nuns,” he said, matching my emphasis on the word. The little bastard was getting cockier, causing me to get madder. This was not good. Just as I was about to say thanks but no thanks, he continued.
“Here’s the deal. You need three gallons of gas; I figure that’s worth all the sex I can manage between now and when you leave in the morning. I can tell you’re a bit put off, but you done said she ain’t your woman; you’re just escorting her to Atlanta, right? Shouldn’t be no skin off your back.” He was expressionless. No shucking of the shoulders, nothing. Just dead, beady eyes staring at me. His body language was becoming more aggressive, his voice more forceful. Almost like he wasn’t asking.
I felt the zone coming on. Violence would be the inevitable outcome. I had to leave now, immediately, or I would hurt this piece of shit. I wouldn’t take him out just for the sake of satiating my anger. But to avoid it, I had to go right now.
“I’m sorry, but no can do. We’ll just be on our way,” I said, rising from the chair. He grabbed my arm, squeezing it hard.
“What a second here, fella. You’re being a bit rude to ole Dougie—we ain’t done doin’ bidness.” He let his hand linger, making sure I got his message. “Now, I’m gonna get me some of that ass, so let’s sit and talk. Work this out like men,” he said, giving my arm a hard squeeze before releasing it and pointing at my chair.
I didn’t sit. I’d tried to do the right thing, but really just for the sister’s sake. Maybe she was making me a little too soft. I walked over to the window above the sink, opened the drapes, and looked out. “Tell you what. How’d you like to buy her?” This caused him to sit straight up, a toothy grin spreading rapidly across his face.
“Depends. That depends on what you want. I’m interested, though, that’s for damn sure.”
“Truth is, I’ve been wanting to ditch her anyway. Before I give you my price, take a look at the goods. She’s bent over picking vegetables. Mighty fine rear on her, that’s for sure.” I stepped away from the window and pointed out. His eyes narrowed at my suggestion. I stepped back several feet, putting more distance between us, trying to ease his suspicion. I maintained the timid voice and cranked up the twang. “She ain’t cheap, and you ain’t got no good look yet. She’s got her tail end jacked up in the air. Check it out,” I said, raising my eyebrows and nodding toward the window. He was still a little uncomfortable, but I was a good eight feet away. I slouched down, minimizing myself. I watched his sense of danger lessen. Finally, he couldn’t resist and walked over to peer out the window.
“Lean in there, and take a good look, Doug. You gotta know what you’re getting.” He smiled and leaned farther in. He was off balance, having to bridge the sink to get a good view out the window. With two swift, long strides, I was directly behind him, arms raised high as I moved in. I saw his body stiffen at my sudden movement, but he was bent over and couldn’t react quick enough. My arms came down fast, slamming his head hard into the windowsill. As expected, his noodle bounced after impact, his body slinging backwards. I could have caught him easily, but moved aside and watched him hit the floor instead. He was conked out cold. I glanced out the window and saw the sister heading back, her sack full of veggies.
I went to the back door, to prevent her entry. “I have to work him a little longer to get the gas. Go down to the barn and see if you can find the chain, okay?” She started to argue, but I pushed her out of the doorway. She swatted my hand, frowned deeply, and walked toward the barn. I latched the door lock and went back into the kitchen. Doug was still sleeping on the floor.
I looked around for something to bind his hands with, locating gray duct tape in the cabinet drawers. He was coming to, so I propped him up on a chair, pulled his arms behind his back, and triple-taped them together. I wrapped his ankles to the metal legs and wrapped the tape several times around his abdomen and the chair’s back support. I grabbed a glass of tap water and threw it in his face. He had a monster-size bruise that covered his entire forehead and was bleeding profusely from the nose. After the second cup of water, he was awake, hurting, and very pissed. He started struggling against his bindings.
“Now, Dougie, let’s negotiate like men. You want a drink or anything?”
“Fuck you, asshole, you ain’t gettin’ no gas. You won’t find it either, ’cause it’s not on the property.”
I smacked him hard. “The next one is a closed fist,” I said, grabbing my gun and placing it on the table, “And then you get to meet my little friend," I said, using my Scarface voice.
“Nice try, but if you kill me, you don’t get the gas. You can beat me up, but I still ain’t gonna tell ya. Like I said, it ain’t free, and I’ll take an ass whoopin’ if I gotta. Besides, the sister won’t let you torture or kill me, and I ’spect she’ll be back ’bout anytime now.” Daggers were flying from his eyes, which went along great with the nasty snarl. Basically, he was pissed—a smug little bastard, but he did seem resolute. He was right about Sis; she would be back shortly and wouldn’t allow me to beat it out of him. The question was, what to do now?
Then I heard my plan, in the form of clicking noises on the tile floor. “Come here, Betsy. Good girl,” I whispered, petting the friendly pig while Doug glared at me. “I love ham roasted over an open fire, fried bacon sizzling in the frying pan at dawn, don’t you, Dougie?”
“That ain’t gonna work neither. Nice try,” he said, sputtering his words, veins pulsing on his neck.
He forgot to hide the fear in his eyes, which I was trained at finding in people. I reached under my pant leg and pulled out Mr. Bowie. He was long and sharp. “Betsy, you make a fine pet, but in my book, you’d make a better meal. Especially in these
hard times, right, Dougie? Like you said, everyone needs to sacrifice, even pets. It’s up to you. What’s it going to be?”
He looked straight ahead, ignoring me.
“All righty then. Let’s have us some lunch. Maybe we make pigs in a blanket with those excellent biscuits of yours?” I put the blade to her throat. “Last call. Either tell me where the gas is or I bleed the pig.” I gave the sow a slight poke with the tip of the blade, and she let out a major oink—causing Doug to break and spill his guts.
After he finished, I gave him some parting advice. “Tell ya what, Douglas, if you want to change your story, do it now. If the gas isn’t there, we’ll keep going and you’ll starve to death tied to that chair. If everything is as you say, I’ll come back and free you.”
“It’s where I said it is. If you don’t come back, you’ll be damned to hell for killing an honest man.”
“I thought you said you weren’t a religious man, Doug?”
Chapter 49
We worked the chain and were able to pull the wheel well a little farther off the tire, but not all the way. We retrieved the gas from a burned-down barn two farms up; it was stashed exactly where Pig Man said it would be. I helped myself to five gallons rather than three. I went back to Doug’s place, leaving him semi-taped to the chair—enough that he’d have to fight for hours to work free. It was late afternoon before we hit the road, and since the Bug still limped along, we only racked up five miles by nightfall. We found an empty farmhouse and stayed the night. The next morning, we ate our breakfast MREs with fresh tomatoes, courtesy of our friend and his garden patch. The thought of fried bacon still sounded better to me.
“I don’t understand why we didn’t stay at Doug’s place last night. I mean, we drove, what, five miles or something?” she said.