Sometimes We Ran (Book 3): Rescue (21 page)

Larry looked at my hand like he'd forgotten what a handshake looked like. After a few moments, he took my hand, and we shook. “It's nothing. We're kind of an open society here. Anybody can come inside. Just got to keep out the infected ones. Come on.” Larry waved us inside.

We followed him into a much different world than what was outside. The streets of the enclosed fort were free of debris and dead vehicles. The stores and buildings on Main Street still had their windows, but some were protected with sheets of old plywood. Even with the sun setting and the cold of night approaching, people still roamed the streets. Some walked along the sidewalk and road alone or in small groups. Metal drums with crackling fires inside were arranged in a neat line on the sidewalk, and groups of Fort residents crowded around them, warming their hands. Nothing much seemed to be happening, but it was a dry place to stay out of the way of the Red-Eyes.

Claire and I started to walk down the street. “You can keep your weapons. There's food and water, and maybe a bed down the street. Don't cause any trouble,” Larry called after us.

“Okay. Thanks,” I said. Larry turned away to return to his post.

Claire and I took the scenic route, walking down the center of Main Street taking in the sights. The Fort looked a little barren. There were no crops, or any evidence of farming anywhere I could see. Most of the stores and old brick buildings were intact, but empty. The residents shuffled along the sidewalk or road with no apparent destination. Others sat in benches or on the curbs, talking in small groups. Once in a while, someone would appear in a window of one of the buildings, gazing out with a blank stare. As the newest people in town, we drew some stares but no confrontation. I would say about half the Fort's occupants had some sort of weapon on their belt or draped on their shoulder.

Claire and I stopped at one of the fires burning in a drum to warm our hands and take a quick breather. We took off our gloves, and rubbed our hands over the flames. The fire had been started with lighter fluid or diesel fuel. The fiery drum, the ground, and even the air itself had an oily feel about them. Claire and I looked in all directions, looking for anyone who looked familiar and to make sure no one came up behind us. I caught the eye of a middle-aged woman walking on the sidewalk. She narrowed her eyes at me, but didn't raise any alarm. No one seemed too concerned to have two armed strangers in their midst. The woman shook her head, and walked away.

“Not exactly a garden spot,” Claire said. “Looks a little depressed.”

“No evidence of food production. Looks like they're still living off the land. Maybe they have crews out looking for supplies as well as cars,” I said. I looked around, scanning various groups as they waked around us. “See anyone who looks like Lyle?”

Claire took a quick look around. “No. Maybe they're holding him somewhere else.”

I put my gloves back on and resumed my walk down the street. Claire followed. “We need information,” I said. Down the street a few hundred feet was a sign with a arrow that said “Bar.” It was pointing at a quaint small-town style brick building. “There,” I said, showing Claire the sign. “We'll ask a few people in there. The regulars in the neighborhood bar always know what's going on in town, right?”

“Looks kind of rough,” Claire said. She was referring to the various armed gentlemen hanging around the front door. They were already staring at us as we walked up.

“It'll be okay.” I said. As we got closer, the men around the door looked bigger and scarier. They all had rifles on their shoulders, and handguns and large knives on their belts. Some began to stand and face us as we got to the front door. I adjusted my holster to put my gun in plain sight. I turned to Claire, and whispered, “Just in case...make sure they can see your bat.”

“Right.” She took the bat, and rested it on her shoulder as we walked.

Claire and I passed through the silent crowd to the front door of the bar. It served as a gathering place for the locals to gossip, cut up, and get their drink on. I reached out and took hold of the knob, with about a dozen pairs of eyes looking at me. A rough, bearded man with very dark eyes stood and blocked my way. Claire stepped up, bat ready. Things looked to be getting serious.

Our eyes met. He looked to be sizing me up, gauging whether or not I was a threat. I returned his creepy stare, trying to look mean and wondering if a gunfight was about to start.

“Just wanted to give you a heads up,” the bearded stranger said in a voice that sounded like he had swallowed a cup of gravel. “Keep an eye on your girl in there. Some of our people can be rude to the ladies.” He stepped back, and made way into the bar.

“Thanks,” I said. “Much obliged.” I stepped into the dark bar, dragging Claire along with me.

It took a few minutes for our eyes to adjust to the darkness of the bar. When I could finally see, several round lunchroom tables were in the middle of the room, full of men and women drinking some sort of dark liquid. A small make-shift bar had been set up against another wall. An older man was serving drinks to patrons sitting on mismatched wooden stools. Every so often, a waitress in a skimpy shirt and extra-tight blue jean shorts would take a more dangerous-looking dark liquid to the customers at the round tables. Music was playing from an ancient jukebox. The whole place smelled of diesel fuel, sweat, wood flooring, cheap homemade alcohol, and cooking meat.

It was a nice little post-apocalyptic bar and grill.

Claire and I stepped across the floor and made for one of the empty tables at the back of the room. It would be a good place to sit down, rest, interview a few locals, and plan our next move. As we walked, our shoes made noise on the old, beat-up wooden plank floor. Several of the residents of the bar stopped drinking and stared at us as we tried to look inconspicuous. The conversation, which at one time had been loud and boisterous, went silent. Claire and I stopped in the center of the room, the main attraction at the moment. 

“Get back to your drinks! You think you guys have never seen anyone come off the road, for Christ's sake,” the bartender bellowed from behind the bar. “You two want a table?” Claire and I nodded in unison.

The bartender waved at a young girl talking to one of the patrons. “Laney! Move your ass, and show these two to a table.”

The waitress finished her conversation and showed us to a nice table in the back. I sat with my back to the wall, facing the door. Claire took a seat to my right. Sitting down felt good. I hadn't realized how tired I'd become.

“You want something to drink?” Laney asked. “We got alcohol. Made it ourselves in the back room. I think they use mouthwash or something to give it some flavor.”

The place reeked of the homemade hooch she had described. Most of the bar's customers were enjoying the evil brew, but I didn't relish the thought of joining them. “Maybe just some water, if you have any.”

“Yeah. Just water sounds good,” Claire said.

“Water. Suit yourself,” Laney said, as she walked away.

I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes for a second. I was a little bit weary. Claire stifled a yawn. Some of the mouthwash-booze-swilling men in the bar were still staring, and she shivered. I didn't know if it was out of being scared or because the bar was freezing. “So, should we start asking questions, or let the locals come to us?” Claire whispered.

I looked around at the rough characters gathered in the bar. “Don't see the welcome wagon. Maybe we should just sit here quietly for a while.” I said.” We shared a laugh, causing the barflies to look at us like we were road weary or loopy. After some heavy staring, they went back to their drinks.

Laney the waitress brought us two somewhat clean glasses and a pitcher of cloudy water. She poured us each a glass, then gave Claire a handwritten menu. “You guys want anything to eat? The kitchen is closing up soon. Gotta shut off the lights and jukebox to preserve a little power for the morning. I think we have some meat left.”

“What kind of meat?” asked Claire.

Laney made a face like her brain hurt. “Don't know. I think it might be deer or something.”

Claire handed back her menu. “Thanks. I'll pass.” I nodded in agreement. We knew better than to eat mystery meat while on the road. You never knew what you could be eating. It could be a former survivor, for instance.

Laney went back to the bar to continue her deep conversation with one of the customers. “When should we start looking for Lyle?” Claire asked.

I took a sip of the gray water. It had a slight metallic taste, but it was okay to drink. “Tomorrow. We'll rest here a while, and then see if we can get a room or a place to stay. I'll ask a few people in town, if they're friendly.”

“I hope he's here. Hate to think they dumped him on the road somewhere,” Claire said.

I took another sip of water, then put the glass aside. The taste was giving me a headache. “If he's here, we'll find him. Somehow.” I glanced at the customers at the tables all around us. Some were still staring, mostly at Claire. “Till then, we need to watch out.” Claire nodded, and placed her bat on the table.

A man in a dark coat and a floppy, sun-bleached hat walked up to the bar. The collar of his jacket was up against the cold, so it hid his face. I sat up in my chair to get a better look. The man looked a little familiar, but I couldn't place him.

He went in close to talk to the bartender for a while, then placed his hand in the air at about Claire's height. The barkeep looked over at us, and pointed. The mystery man nodded to the bartender, and started coming over to our table. His boots made menacing thumping noises on the old wooden floor.

“John...,” Claire said, grabbing her bat.

“I see him.” I sat back in my chair, and put my gun in sight. Maybe the stranger would get the point and move on to someone else.

The Mysterious Man in Black stopped at our table and stood there silently. His head was down, and his hands were in the pockets of the well-worn jacket he wore. In the darkened bar, I still couldn't make out his face. He just stood there, not saying anything. The rough, bearded men swilling drinks went silent. The whole bar seemed to be holding its breath at what was to happen next.

Whatever you're selling, friend. I'm not buying,” I said to the dark apparition before us.

The man in the black jacket took his hands out of his pocket, and removed his hat revealing a certain toothy grin, long gray hair, and a matching cheesy mustache. It was Lyle.

Claire and I didn't have to look for him. He had somehow found us first.

“I
'll be damned,” Claire said. She pulled out a chair so Lyle could join us. He calmly sat down, placing his old hat on the table. We all played it cool. No sense letting the entire population of the bar know that we were acquainted.

I leaned in, and said, “Good to see you.”

Shaking both of our hands at the same time, he said, “Good to see you guys, too. I hated to think what happened after we got separated.”

The events of the last few days, most notably the things that went down at Nate's house, played in my mind like a bad movie. My jaw tightened a bit with the stress. “We had a delay. What happened with the van?”

Lyle lowered his head. “After you told your story, you went to get Claire in the house. I got cold, so I went into the van to try and find another blanket. I sat down and closed my eyes for a second. Next thing I knew, it was being jacked and run out of the yard. Didn't have time to jump out. I locked the back doors and held on for dear life. Decided to stay with the van to see if I could get it back.” He looked at me with two sad, woeful eyes. “I'm sorry, John. I screwed up.”

Lyle had fallen asleep while watching our van. Happens to the best of us.

I tried to reassure him. “It's okay. Could have happened to any one of us. They never checked in the back?”

“No,” Lyle said. “They just drove like maniacs getting back here. Several times during the trip I thought the van was going to roll over, they were going so fast. Stealing cars and trucks off the road must be a quantity business. I guess they wanted to drop our van off and get back out.”

Claire leaned in so that the bar's patrons couldn't hear her easily. “So you know where our van is, don't you?”

A sly smile broke out on Lyle's face, like a kid with a secret. “It's down the road, toward the other side of the Fort. Down Main Street, I mean. The Junkmen left it down there, and when it got quiet I popped out.” He smoothed down the collar of his black jacket. “I traded for this coat and the hat to blend in a little and joined the residents. I waited for you guys, figuring you might come this way.”

“You did good.” I said. “Now all we have to do is get the van, and somehow get out of here.”

Laney returned to our table carrying a few steaming bowls. She placed them on the table, and said, “I found some vegetables and rice that looked okay. The rice came from storage, and the vegetables were grown outside behind the bar. You guys want it?”

The bowls were small, but full of hot food. It looked to be in good shape, cooked well in somewhat clean water. “Looks good,” I said taking a bowl off the tray. “Thanks.”

Laney smiled. “No problem. You and your sidekick looked hungry.” She nodded towards Claire.

“Sidekick?” Claire said, raising an eyebrow. Lyle and I couldn't help it and started laughing at poor Claire drawing a few strange looks from the other bar patrons. I guess people didn't laugh much at the Fort.

We ate with gusto. Claire and I were especially hungry. The vegetables were cooked to perfection, and no mystery meats or sauces were present. Just homegrown products of the earth. There was a lot of okra in the vegetable medley, and for good reason. Okra grew like a weed even in the tough clay soil in this part of the South.

I resisted the temptation to lick the last few morsels of rice off the rim of the bowl, and sat back in my chair. I felt the hot food filling my empty stomach and warming my blood. Lyle and Claire did the same. “Pretty good food,” Claire said.

With the jukebox off and the lights beginning to dim, the inhabitants of the bar at the end of the world began to drift out. Some waved to the bartender as they left. Others helped their more inebriated companions to the door. Very soon, the bar would be empty. I leaned in to converse with Lyle and Claire.