Pray To Stay Dead (42 page)

Misty waited for him with a pair of large yellow rubber gloves. They were a tight fit. Stacy had already vanished into the back, and Cardo, also wearing rubber gloves, stood near the dead man’s feet.

“
You ready?” he said.

“
Sure.”

Reggie took the hands. Rigor mortis had set in, and it was a chore just prying the fat bastard from the floor. Something inside the body’s massive bulk sloshed, and when they got it off the ground, a long and noxious fart bubbled out.

“
Ack,” Cardo said, dropping the feet and stepping away, waving his hands in front of his face.

“
Come on,” Reggie said, motioning for Cardo to join him. “Let’s just drag the bitch.”

Misty opened the door wide, jingling the bell. She stood holding it, blocked from their view by the blinds. The each took a hand and, grunting, dragged the body to the threshold.

“
Can’t both fit,” Reggie said. “Get the feet.”

Cardo hopped over the body, grabbed its feet once more. They got it through the door and dragged it the rest of the way. Their guns were in the store. If Misty was going to act, she’d do it now, and when Crate returned they’d have two more bodies for the heap.

Within five minutes, their job was done. They were winded and sweaty, and the massive corpse sat with its back to the burn pile. Its right eye gazed heavenward. Its left was gone.

“
Damn,” Reggie said, peeling the gloves away from his hands and tossing them at the burn pile. One of them landed on the fat corpse’s head, the empty fingers draped down across its good eye.

“
Heavy son of a bitch,” Cardo said, leaning against Reggie’s truck and peeling away his own gloves and tossing them atop the corpse heap. “Maybe we should have waited for the chainsaw.”

They washed their hands more than they needed to, and when Misty offered them beer, they accepted. Stacy returned, said a few words, and then went about mopping up the last of the blood.

“
Anything to eat?” Misty asked him.

“
No,” Reggie said, smiling. “You hold on to your food. I have more than enough in the truck.”

“
Oh?”

“
Yeah,” he said. “I stocked up before leaving town.”

“
Cardo?”

“
Reggie is right—we really shouldn’t be eating your food.”

“
That may be, but I have about five pounds of deli meat left in that case, more than we can eat before it goes bad, so…”

“
Good point,” Cardo said. “I’ll take a chicken sandwich.”

“
I’m all out of chicken,” she said. “One ham and cheese.”

Reggie got up and walked over to Stacy, who flashed the shy smile again.

“
Hey,” he said.

“
Hey.”

“
You want a hand with that?”

“
Nope,” she said. “Thanks. You really save Officer Cardo’s life?”

“
I guess so, yeah.”

“
That’s amazing,” she said, and now her smile was a little less shy.

“
I was in the right place at the right time. That’s all.”

“
Wow.” She shook her head, eyes wide and distant. He knew the look. Next she’d be stroking the crystal around her neck and going on about the karmic wheel of life.

He went around the check-out counter and turned on the television. With the exception of the leering CBS eye on channel 4, there was nothing to see, only snow.

“
It’s been like that since last night,” Misty said, who sidled up to the counter and stared at the television screen. “The eye. Bad shit going down.”

“
There was something about a nuke going off in the Middle East,” Reggie said, remembering the crowd of corpses gathered around the TV display in Beistle.

“
They said it might not have been nuclear,” Misty said.

“
Really?”

“
Yeah, but I don’t think anyone knows what they’re talking about. And I don’t think they’re coming back on.”

No one had anything to say to that. Stacy rolled the mop bucket into the deli.

“
Do you have a radio?” He asked Misty.

“
Yeah,” she said. “In the deli. What are you hoping to hear?”

“
I don’t know,” he said. “Good news, I guess.”

Reggie left the television on and returned to the table, where Cardo sat finishing up his sandwich.

“
They’ve got to come back on,” Cardo said around a mouthful of food. “I mean, it’s only been, how many days now? Damn, I’ve lost track of time.”

“
We all have,” Misty said.

“
They’ve got to come back on. I mean, we’re still here, right? They must be too.”

“
I don’t know,” Reggie said, looking closely at his new friend. Cardo’s face was red from the sun, but his eyes weren’t as glassy as they’d been when he crawled into the truck. “How are you?”

“
I’m good,” Cardo said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “I’m better.”

“
You look better.”

“
This was good.” He tapped his paper plate.

“
You eat like a pig.”

“
Ha,” Cardo said. “You should have one.”

“
I might,” Reggie said, looking at the scrap of sandwich on Cardo’s plate and feeling his stomach twist.

“
How long are you staying?”

“
I don’t know. Not long. You coming?”

Cardo frowned, looked down at his plate. “I need some sleep.”

“
You can sleep in the back while I drive.”

“
You’re going to need some sleep, too.”

“
I’ll be okay,” Reggie said.

“
Molly going to get you through?”

“
When I need her to, yeah.”

Cardo finished his sandwich, and when Misty swooped by and asked Reggie if he was ready for one yet, he said sure, thank you, he was. Stacy stepped out of the deli and walked past them, head low, eyes downcast, the fingers of her right hand touching her crystal. She vanished into the back, and both men watched her go. A minute later, Misty brought his sandwich. He’d taken his first bite when someone pulled into the parking lot. A car door slammed. A dog barked.

“
Shit,” Reggie said, grabbing his shotgun and putting the canned goods shelf between himself and the entrance.

Cardo stood, gun raised.

“
It’s just Crate,” Misty said and walked to the door. She looked through the blinds and disengaged the lock.

“
Crate,” she said, and a wiry old man carrying a chainsaw in one hand and a gun in the other stepped into the store. A dog—a shaggy mixed-breed—padded in behind him, sniffing the floor and sneezing once. Frowning, the old man placed the chainsaw on the counter and looked from Reggie and Cardo to Misty and back again. Sitting at his feet, the dog sneezed again.

“
Ah,” Crate said, recognition relaxing his face. “Officer Cardo.”

“
Hey, Crate.”

“
How the hell are you?” the old man said.

“
I could be better,” Cardo said.

“
Yeah. A little too much sun, huh?”

“
I was stuck on a roof for over thirty hours, until this guy saved me.” Cardo nodded toward Reggie.

“
Oh,” the old man said, barely glancing at Reggie. “You two boys get that whale out of here?”

“
Yeah,” Cardo said. “It wasn’t easy.”

“
No shit,” Crate said, opening the door and whistling once. “Out, you.”

Tail slowly wagging back and forth, ears down, the dog listened to its master. The bell jingled, and Crate locked the door.

“
What’s his name?” Reggie asked.

The old man looked at Reggie, his smile barely visible within his wooly beard.

“
Bilbo Baggins.”

“
Good one,” Reggie said, laughing. He didn’t know what the hell a Bilbo Baggins was, but he didn’t really care enough to ask. They were making a good impression, or so it seemed, and he was beginning to allow himself to relax.

Crate extended a long-fingered hand. It was thin-skinned and covered in veins, and the nails needed to be clipped. Reggie shook it, and was surprised by the old man’s strength.

“
Creighton Mumsford,” he said. “But you can call me Crate.” This close, Reggie could smell the old man—the sour stink of an unwashed body beneath the clinging herbal aroma of grass.

“
Reggie Turner.”

“
That your rig out there?”

“
Yes, sir, it is.”

“
Nice.” His eyes flashed down to the tags hanging from Reggie’s neck. “You were over there?”

“
Yes.”

“
I’m sorry to hear it,” Crate said, walking away. “Bullshit war.”

“
How was it?” Misty asked, and for a second Reggie thought that Misty was talking to him—that she was actually asking him about ‘Nam.

“
How was what?” Crate said.

“
Did you see any more?”

“
Not a single one,” the old man said, shaking his head. He got a beer out of the cooler and sat down where Misty had been sitting. “I saw Lester Coleson and his wife and kid. They’re all doing fine. Didn’t see anyone else.”

“
What about Tommy Cornwell?”

“
He wasn’t home,” Crate said, annoyed. “Car’s gone. Shed was unlocked.”

No one spoke for a few minutes. Crate vanished into the back, and Misty went into the deli and returned with a radio, which she plugged into an outlet behind the counter. On the television, the CBS eye stared and stared, and on the radio voices crackled in the static. Misty worked her way through the dial: preachers declaring the imminent return of the Lord and Savior, radicals calling for their surviving comrades to take to the streets and use the chaos to their advantage. On one of the few stations with clear reception, a scientist discussed the rapidity with which the phenomenon was spreading and recited dire extrapolations.

“
No, no,” someone said, infuriated. “Jesus, why don’t you understand this? It’s simple. Everyone who dies gets up, not just those who are bitten. The infection from the bite kills you, yes, but it’s not the bite that—”

A familiar-sounding voice on the NBC station discussed the Middle East news blackout and what it might mean. On the CBS station, a White House official insisted that the President would soon be addressing the nation and that he had not been killed, despite the ridiculous rumors stating otherwise.

“
No good news,” Misty said.

“
No,” Reggie said, and knew: Nef was dead. She had to be. Part of him hoped she was, and that it had been quick, because he’d never make it, he would never find her. Both of them would die wondering if the other was alive.

“
I guess I always expected to be around when it all went to shit,” Misty said. “I just never expected it to be like this.”

“
We never expect it to be the way it is,” Reggie said, walking away. A little radio went a long way—he’d heard enough. He grabbed another beer from the cooler and sat down. He downed half within seconds and told himself that now was probably the time to take it easy. Things could go south fast, and he’d pretty much been drinking off and on throughout the entire day. His eyes felt heavy, his movements sluggish. The beginnings of a headache crawled between his brain and his skull.

Crate crept out, carrying his rifle. He wore a different shirt and his long hair was wet and brushed back from his haggard face. He brought the stink of cheap cologne splashed upon days-old filth, and Reggie was grateful when the old man excused himself. The bell jingled, and he was gone, though his memory lingered upon the air.

Stacy emerged from the back, got a beer from the cooler, and sat at the middle table, next to Reggie. At this rate, they’d all have no choice but to stop drinking. Or to keep on knocking it back until the bloody end.

They exchanged small talk, and Reggie tried to fight it, but there it was: he wanted Stacy, plain and simple, just like that. He barely knew her, he had no idea if he’d even be able to tolerate her for more than a day, but already the gears were turning deep down within his mind—it was a new world, a dangerous one, and she needed someone to protect her. Not a very Women’s Lib idea, he realized, but it wasn’t a very Women’s Lib world anymore.

Hell—maybe he just needed something to take his mind off of Nef. If that was the case, fucking was about as good a distraction as he could hope for.

“…
about you saving this guy’s life.” Sitting across from Cardo, Misty stared at him, blinking.

“
What?”

“
Let’s hear it. Your story.”

They spent the next hour swapping stories, starting with Cardo, who told of the riot at Proust’s, the gassing of the town, and the nearly two days he spent on the roof while the dead residents of Beistle moved like ghosts through the streets. Reggie wasn’t sure if Cardo had left out any details, but when his own turn came, he didn’t mention the dumb kid or shooting the asshole and looting his kitchen.

He suspected Cardo had indeed left out a few things, and that was his right. Misty’s apparent lie, too, was probably just that—a willfully omitted detail, a terrible little something no one need ever know. He suspected they all had their own terrible little somethings, each and every one of them, and before long, they’d probably have more.