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A splash of red co-ve-red the eg-gshell-whi-te plas-ter at wa-ist le-vel.
I knew what it was, but my own mor-bid cu-ri-osity got the best of me, and I
drew clo-ser to ma-ke su-re. Blo-od. My kne-es pop-ped as I knelt down and
exa-mi-ned the flo-or. Nancy's wed-ding ring spark-led in the dim light. It
too was co-ve-red in blo-od.
"That's Nancy's isn't it?" Carl as-ked me, and for a mo-ment I wasn't
su-re if he was as-king abo-ut the ring or the blo-od. But I gu-ess they both
we-re.
"Yeah," I whis-pe-red, "I think it is."
"What do we do now?"
I sto-od up. "Let's get out of he-re. The-re's re-al-ly not-hing we can
do."
"But they might be hurt. Nancy co-uld still be aro-und he-re so-mew-he-re.
All that blo-od& "
"It's dri-ed. Be-en he-re for a whi-le, by the lo-oks of things. And see
how wet the li-ving ro-om flo-or is, from all the ra-in blo-wing in? Mold is
gro-wing on the walls. The ho-use has be-en wi-de open for so-me ti-me."
Carl frow-ned. "That still don't tell us what hap-pe-ned he-re."
"I don't know. But it lo-oks li-ke they ig-no-red the eva-cu-ati-on or-der
and sta-yed be-hind."
"What ma-kes you so su-re?"
"Dave wo-uld ha-ve ne-ver left his truck be-hind. You know how much he
lo-ved that Chevy. So that tells me that they we-re he-re af-ter the
Na-ti-onal Gu-ard eva-cu-ated every-body, at le-ast. But so-met-hing's
hap-pe-ned sin-ce then. Wha-te-ver it was, it do-esn't lo-ok go-od."
"Could Earl ha-ve do-ne this? Or sca-ven-gers? May-be tho-se no go-od
Perry kids?"
"I rec-kon anyt-hing's pos-sib-le." But de-ep down, I didn't be-li-eve any
of tho-se things had hap-pe-ned. A ro-ving band of lo-oters didn't le-ave
be-hind a tra-il of sli-me. Ne-it-her did the Perry kids, or even Earl
Har-per. The Perry kids did things li-ke blow up ma-il-bo-xes with M-80s and
catch sun-fish at the pond and then put them in yo-ur swim-ming po-ol. This
was be-yond them. And Earl& well, much as I dis-li-ked the man, I co-uldn't
see him do-ing this. The ran-sac-king of the ho-me was po-int-less and
shoc-king. Not even Earl Har-per wo-uld ha-ve go-ne that far.
We se-arc-hed the rest of the ho-use, but it was mo-re of the sa-me. Every
ro-om was dest-ro-yed and co-ve-red with tra-ils of sli-me, li-ke a herd of
gi-ant sna-ils had slit-he-red over it. The-re was no sign of Da-ve or Nancy,
nor was the-re any mo-re blo-od.
I tho-ught abo-ut my dwind-ling sup-pli-es back at the ho-use, fo-und a
card-bo-ard box in the clo-set, and lo-aded it up with can-ned go-ods from
Nancy's pantry: ap-ple-sa-uce, gre-en be-ans, corn, pe-as, pe-ac-hes,
to-ma-to-es, pick-les, re-lish, squ-ash, be-ets, and de-er me-at (I'd ne-ver
much ca-red for the tas-te of can-ned ve-ni-son, but at this po-int, beg-gars
co-uldn't be cho-osers). She'd can-ned them all her-self, as most folks in
the-se parts did. I al-so to-ok so-me dri-ed go-ods that hadn't be-en ope-ned,
a co-up-le bo-xes of wo-oden matc-hes, a few dog-eared pa-per-backs, and a
six-pack of bot-tled spring wa-ter. The-re was plenty of fresh wa-ter fal-ling
from the sky, but I didn't re-lish the tho-ught of drin-king it just yet.
Carl fo-und the key to Da-ve's gun ca-bi-net and to-ok a box of 30.06
shells.
I se-arc-hed for so-me to-bac-co- ci-ga-ret-tes, ci-gars, chew-it didn't
mat-ter what, or a pack of that gum for pe-op-le who want to qu-it smo-king,
but the ho-use was ni-co-ti-ne free, and I ga-ve up in frust-ra-ti-on,
cur-sing a blue stre-ak.
I fis-hed out my wal-let and left so-me crump-led bills on the kitc-hen
co-un-ter, along with a no-te exp-la-ining what we'd ta-ken, but I didn't
re-al-ly ex-pect that Da-ve or Nancy wo-uld ever re-turn to find it.
My eyes kept co-ming back to that stark splash of blo-od.
Page 28
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
We clo-sed the do-or be-hind us as we left. Then we plod-ded back to the
truck, clim-bed in, wi-ped the wa-ter from our fa-ces, and con-ti-nu-ed on our
way.
The dirt la-ne le-ading to Earl's shanty was a ri-ver of mud. Carl
de-ci-ded not to chan-ce it. Ins-te-ad, we par-ked the truck and got out.
Bar-bed wi-re in-di-ca-ted the pro-perty li-ne. An old, we-at-her-be-aten
fen-ce post had a ho-me-ma-de sign na-iled to it that sa-id:
THIS IS PRIVAT PROPTERY KEEP OUT!! THAT MEANS YOU TRESSPASSERS WILL BE SHOT ON
SITE
Earl was ne-ver much for spel-ling or gram-mar. Wasn't much for so-ci-al
skills, eit-her. I re-mem-ber abo-ut ten ye-ars ago, when he sud-denly
de-ci-ded to get him-self so-me re-li-gi-on. Ro-se used to te-ach Bib-le study
every Thurs-day night at the church, and Earl star-ted sho-wing up, sit-ting
in the back and glo-we-ring at ever-yo-ne. Most of us just ig-no-red him, but
Ro-se was de-ligh-ted. She vi-ewed him as anot-her one of God's lost lambs
co-ming in from the cold and ma-de it her per-so-nal mis-si-on to tell Earl
Har-per the go-od news of Christ's sac-ri-fi-ce.
One night, we we-re tal-king abo-ut lo-ve and how the Bib-le com-mands us
to lo-ve every-body and of-fer each a chan-ce to wors-hip the Lord. Earl, who
hadn't sa-id a word for we-eks, sto-od up and dec-la-red, "I'll tell you folks
so-met-hing. The-re's three types of pe-op-le in this world that I won't
lo-ve. The first is the qu-e-ers. The se-cond is the nig-gers. And the third
is the Jews." Then he sat back down aga-in, ha-ving sa-id his pi-ece.
Apparently, he re-ali-zed that his cont-ri-bu-ti-on to the di-alo-gue
might ha-ve ruf-fled so-me fe-at-hers, be-ca-use the next we-ek, he sho-wed up
aga-in and cla-ri-fi-ed his sta-te-ment. "I rec-kon I sho-uld exp-la-in myself
a lit-tle bet-ter. I got to thin-king abo-ut it this we-ek, and I gu-ess I
don't be-li-eve that we sho-uld for-bid folks from co-ming to church. But
may-be we co-uld ha-ve a pink row of pews in the back, and the qu-e-ers co-uld
sit the-re. Then we co-uld ha-ve a row in front of that one, pa-in-ted black,
for the nig-gers. And one pa-in-ted gre-en for the Jews, sin-ce they lo-ve
mo-ney. I rec-kon that wo-uld be okay, and that way, I wo-uldn't ha-ve to sit
with them if I didn't want to."
After that, we as-ked Earl not to co-me to Bib-le study any-mo-re. He
didn't ta-ke that very well. See, whi-le you might be chuck-ling at his
ig-no-ran-ce, or sha-king yo-ur he-ad, Earl had be-en se-ri-o-us. He re-al-ly
tho-ught his re-com-men-da-ti-ons wo-uld be ac-cep-tab-le.
But now I've go-ne and star-ted ramb-ling aga-in. I'm we-aring this
pen-cil down to a nub (I ke-ep shar-pe-ning it with my poc-ketk-ni-fe) and
we're not even half-way do-ne yet. And the pa-in is get-ting wor-se.
Anyway, Carl and I sto-od the-re on Earl's pro-perty, sta-ring at that
hand-let-te-red sign. Splotc-hes of the whi-te fun-gus I'd se-en in the
hol-low grew on the tre-es along the la-ne. Carl re-ac-hed out with his
fin-ger.
"Don't to-uch that stuff," I war-ned. "You don't want to get it on yo-ur
skin."
"What is it?"
"I'm not su-re, but I saw it gro-wing on a de-er this mor-ning. Can't
ima-gi-ne it's too he-althy."
Carl shud-de-red. "No, I don't rec-kon it is. Ho-pe it's not air-bor-ne."
We tur-ned away from the fun-gus and sta-red up at Earl's shack.
"I still don't think this is such a go-od idea," Carl whis-pe-red.
I didn't reply. I was thin-king abo-ut that blo-ods-ta-in on Da-ve and
Nancy's wall, and the we-ird sli-me that had co-ve-red everyt-hing.
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