After the End: Survival (7 page)

"This is a cart. We use them mostly for commercials. Inside is an endless loop of recording tape. When I record a commercial the recording machine puts an inaudible tone at the very beginning of the tape. After I finish recording the message, the tape continues to run until the playback head picks up that tone. The machine stops and voila! The tape is now cued up to the beginning of the commercial. Ready to go."

"Neat."

"Yeah. Our ace engineer, Chick Barrett, tried using digital audio machines instead of this old fashioned tape stuff but the power fluctuations just kept eating up the chips. These things work just fine. Hang on a sec."

Larry reached over to the control board and touched a switch. Instantly, the room became quiet.

"KAMR and the Eagles. Eight after seven, sixty two sunny degrees, I'll have a complete forecast for you in two shakes of a lamb's tail."

The whole time he spoke, Larry's hands were busy, sliding faders on the control board and pushing a switch on a cart playback machine to start a commercial. Pete wasn't particularly fond of the man, but recognized him as being very good at what he did.

Music, and then Big Ed's voice touting the benefits of the Panhandle Battery Charging Company suddenly flooded the room from the wall speaker. Larry lowered the volume and pulled out a small cassette recorder from a shelf.

"Appreciate your coming by, Pete. I'd like to visit with you for a few minutes about the murdered girl, record the conversation and then use parts of it for newscasts throughout the day."

"What kind of questions will you be asking?"

"Oh, I'll want lots of graphic details involving nudity, rape and violence," Larry said, grinning. "Look, Pete, I sense a little distaste on your part in having to talk to me about this. I also know our mutual employer, the honorable mayor Blakely, wants full cooperation between investigators and the media. Have you identified the girl or where she's from?"

"No," Pete admitted.

"There you go. KAMR can help you. We are the one and only mass media. By keeping people informed and interested, folks will be more likely to come forward with information to help solve this thing. Maybe prevent it from happening again," he added darkly. "You know there're rumors this has happened before."

"I've heard of that possibility."

"Yeah. OK." Glancing at the clock and pushing two more switches. "What did we do the last time, how to kill a cow or something?"

"That's about right. And everything I know about the subject I got from a USDA pamphlet."

"Scary how a little knowledge can make you an expert, right? OK, here we go." Larry pushed a button on the cassette recorder and began speaking into a microphone.

"Following the grisly discovery of a young girl's body near the city of Canyon on Tuesday, the sheriff's department is concentrating their efforts on solving this murder and apprehending those responsible. With me today is Pete Wilson of the Health Department. Pete, you examined the body. What did you find?"

"Larry, the victim was a young girl, about thirteen. She was severely beaten. She was raped. She was stabbed. Death was probably due to strangulation. We really need to identify this girl and to do that we need the public's help."

"Pete, can you describe her appearance." Larry was right on cue.

"Well, like I said, she's about thirteen, Caucasian, long black hair. Five foot one inches tall, very thin. No scars or other identifying marks. Because of evidence we found at the scene we feel she had a religious background. The sheriff's department is posting copies of her portrait at public places and retail outlets. Anyone believing they recognize the girl should contact the sheriff's office."

"Pete, are there any suspects at this time?"

"Larry, the sheriff's department is exploring several avenues of inquiry. It would be inappropriate for me to comment beyond that."

Larry crossed his eyes and scrunched up his nose.

"Pete Wilson of the Health Department. KAMR will keep our listener’s updated with the latest developments in this case."

He paused a few seconds before shutting off the tape recorder.

"That'll work. Pete, I appreciate your coming by. Keep me posted, buddy."

"No problem. Thanks for your help."

Larry swiveled around in his chair and turned up the volume of the monitor speaker. He turned his head toward Pete, grinned, waved, turned back to the control board, pushed a switch and began talking into the microphone.

"KAMR and Garth Brooks. Seven-fourteen, local authorities are asking for the public's help in identifying the body of the young girl who was murdered earlier this week. I'll have that and other news at seven thirty. Right now, it's time for the weather, brought to you by Fancher's Fried Chicken. The forecast, right after this." Larry pushed a switch on a cart machine, and the sound of a rooster crowing came over the speaker.

"Tell you what, Pete. Besides the newscast, I'll cut a promo with the girl's description and air it throughout the day."

"Thanks again," Pete said, softly closing the control room door as he exited. Glad that's over with.

Morning clinic was slow and routine. The clinic building was simply a house across the street from Pete's residence. This morning he saw two cases of diarrhea and vomiting, probably food related. A six week re-check of a man’s broken wrist, and an elderly woman with uncontrolled high blood pressure who'd suffered a stroke. Two women, both in their sixties, brought her in a two-wheeled wheelbarrow.

"Ladies, it would have been a lot easier if I had just gone over to Mrs. Franklin's house." The patient, wearing a bright red sweat suit, shook her head defiantly and made a cooing noise. The right side of her face was slack and saliva covered her cheek.

"Hell, Pete, we know that. And that's what we told Eunice. Just as soon hollered down a well, all the good it done."

"She's as tough as a nickel steak," the other woman chimed in.

"OK. You're here now. Eunice, what's your problem?"

Eunice narrowed her left eye, made a grunting noise, and put her hand on her abdomen.

"She's all stove up's the problem. Can't move her bowels."

After a brief examination, Pete gave the women some elderberry syrup and an enema bag.

"Use warm water," was about all the explaining he had to do. He stood watching from the front yard of the clinic building. The women moved slowly down the street, taking turns pushing the wheelbarrow.

What a perfect picture, Pete thought. Probably just what the original planners of the Affordable Care Act had in mind to start out with.

"Hey! Hey, Doctor!"

It had been pretty good morning up to this point. Jason Owens was an IV drug abuser and had been diagnosed HIV positive before the Change. In the last six months he had developed a full blown case of AIDS. Pete’s dislike for the man had nothing to do with any social stigma. Pete's personal feelings for the man were simply that he was a flaming asshole and always had been.

Jason was still a good fifty feet away, his thin frame moving quickly across the yard. His face and arms were very pale and covered with purple blotches.

"This damn skin ointment isn't doing shit. You're a quack. And now look at me! I've got fucking fur growing on my tongue." Jason's tongue protruded now, and Pete could see it was covered with a white growth.

"Jason, you've got AIDS. I really can't do anything for you. I wish I could. Why don't you go see Dr. Flood? He's a bona fide physician. Maybe he can do something for you I can't."

I shouldn't have said that. Jay doesn't deserve this guy either.

"I did! And he told me to come to you."

Flood, you S.O.B.

"Well, come on in. I'll try and make you up some kind of solution you can gargle with, maybe help your throat out some." Red pepper and honey, Pete thought. Mix it with tomato juice.

"’Maybe help my throat?’ What kind of shit are you going to give me this time? Hey, Pete ! You got a little wifey Pete ? Maybe I could help her out some. What do you think, Pete?"

Pete turned to see Jason performing pelvic thrusts, rhythmically pulling his hands to his waist. Pete watched for several seconds and reached for an IV pole hanging from the ceiling. It was three feet long, made of half inch galvanized pipe. With a single fluid motion, he swung the pole underhand from the ceiling to Jason's crotch. Jason's knees buckled, but before he hit the floor Pete struck him again, using both hands to swing the rod like a golf club. Jason screamed and then crumpled to the floor, rolling into the fetal position, rocking slowly and making soft mewing sounds.

Watching for a moment, Pete returned the IV pole to its hook on the ceiling. Using a funnel and a small water bottle, he quickly made a mouthwash solution. Then he knelt down beside the prostrate patient.

"Jason, try gargling with this a few times a day, it may help. I have to go out back for while, so when you leave, make sure the screen door is shut all the way, we don't want any flies coming in."

Pete went out the back door to his ‘sunny’ garden, where he grew herbs and vegetables that thrived in full sunlight. Knocking on one of five connected water drums, he ascertained the barrels were still about one third full. Been a dry summer, he thought. He watered close to the roots of the plants, his hands rock steady.

When he went back inside ten minutes later, Jason was gone.

The screen door was closed all the way.

He lay in the bed on his back, hands clasped behind his head. It had been a pleasant morning. This was one of his favorite houses, with its wood frame and large front porch. He'd been up early, as was his habit, and walked silently through the grove of trees on both sides of a seasonal creek that passed nearby. It was dry now, but when it rained, torrents of water, tainted red with dirt, would flow southward to Palo Duro Canyon.

He loved the quiet here.

"Sure beats working in a shoe factory and sleeping in a damn cage," he said aloud. His horse, hobbled in the front yard, lifted its head at the voice, resumed its casual grazing.

Just three years had passed but it seemed like a lifetime. The Clements Prison Unit of the Texas Department of Criminal Justice was northeast of Amarillo, three miles north of Loop 335. Many of the inmates of the 3,150 bed maximum security facility spent their days making brogans, the high top prison boot that was de rigueur for all the inmates in the Texas prison system. It wasn't difficult, but it was tedious work, cutting the stiff cowhide from patterns day after day. At the time, he figured he could expect at least twelve more years making boots, even with good behavior and an early release to help relieve the over-crowded prison.

He frowned, reliving some of the anger he had at being incarcerated. There was no reason for me to even be there. Just because I liked to diddle the girls. That’s no crime. Hell, most of them liked it, and wouldn't hardly fight back at all. So many sweet memories. His face relaxed as he reminisced.

The first one, let's see, her name Katy, no Connie. Little girl who lived a couple houses from him in the city of Big Spring. She must have been six or seven, he was nine. He took her into an old wooden garage. Closed his eyes now, remembering. They were both barefoot, and the fine white caliche dirt was soft and cool. First they caught ants and dropped them into the funnel-like depressions in the dust made by ant lions. He enjoyed watching the little insects struggle, first as they tried to climb out of the dirt traps and then again as they were pulled beneath the soil by the jaws of the predator just under the dirt's surface. Seeing the helpless bugs fight against their inevitable death made his thighs feel kind of warm. He looked at the little girl next to him, and got an idea.

"Hey, Connie, see that storeroom over there? I saw an old doll in there. Wanna look?"

Together they went into the attached lean-to storage area. He turned around, facing her, and then struck the side of her face with his open hand as hard as he could.

"Aoww!" she wailed, surprised and dazed.

He struck her again.

"You better not make any more damn noise. You and me are gonna play ant lion."

Even then, I was careful, he thought. I didn't rip her clothes none, but I sure got her little shorts off in a hurry. Smiling at the memory. It was a good start.

"You tell anybody and I'll do it to you everyday," he said to the sniveling girl as they left the garage.

Little Connie avoided him after that, but there were others, and it was so easy! Talk to them, friendly like. Try to get them to talk about themselves some, so you'd know what was they thought was special. Like their hair, or new clothes, or maybe some argument they were having with their parents.

"My daddy says he doesn’t ever want to catch me wearing lipstick to school, so I put it on when I get on the bus."

"Well, Ruth Ann, I think you look so much older when you wear it. I bet you could pass for sixteen. What color red is that?"

Sincere. Complimentary. And how they like surprises!

"Ruth Ann, I want you to have this." Handing her the eye shadow kit he'd stolen from Walmart.

"Oh, you are just the most thoughtful person!" A kiss on the cheek.

And that night, him only fourteen, driving his mother's Pinto. Picking up the eleven year old girl a block from her house and driving her to the Big Spring State Park. Little bitch looks like a raccoon wearing lipstick, he thought, as they drove to the top of the hill overlooking Big Spring.

"Honey, you look just beautiful," he said earnestly to the beaming girl.

An hour later, and he was helping her wipe the tear streaked mascara from her cheeks.

"Now you just stop crying girl. It wasn't that bad. It had to happen sooner or later. You should just be glad it was me, and not some fool who didn't know what they were doing. Anyway, it was your fault, coming on to me that way. You know it just drives a man crazy."

"You hit me. You hurt me. I'm bleeding from down there."

"I know that, babycakes. It hurt me, too. I'm going to keep your panties, so your momma won't think you've started having your period." He liked that. Keeping their underwear. Sort of like winning a trophy.