choice.”
CHAPTER 8
I was very familiar with the welcome center. Being the director of the museum, a possible destination for visitors, I was in there at least every other month for meetings. I’d never really looked at their brochure rack, except to make sure the museum was represented. If Sara had seen county maps in there, then I’d have to take her word for it.
She pulled up in front of the building.
“Wait here with the engine running. Let me know if any infected come around,” I said.
“No, I’m going in,” she said. “You’re still sick.”
“It’s just a map,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
We’d seen a lot of sick and undead out that day. They seemed to like the warmer weather. They’d all been infected for a little more than a month by that time, and it showed. Many of them were emaciated. Their clothes were rags. Also, there was a stench in the air to which I could not get accustomed.
I went into the visitors’ welcome center with the .22 in one hand and the machete in the other. I was still a little light-headed and tired, and I really needed for this to be a quick in-and -out. Of course, it wouldn’t be.
Alan was in there.
Alan ran the welcome center. He had been a nice enough guy, I suppose, but he was cursed with a tendency to over think simple things and overlook the obvious. He’d always done a good job of running the office itself, but he didn’t have much of a vision for what out-of-town visitors could do for Clayfield. He liked to stick with safe and mediocre, and for the most part no one ever questioned it because the town–both citizens and government–had be en content with the status quo.
Knowing the history of the town, I had attempted to get him to focus on some of our more colorful past events and some the landmarks that went with them. “Everyone likes a good story,” I’d told him. But he was never interested in taking a chance. He felt those events would put Clayfield in a bad light, and he thought it would be best if they remained hidden.
He stood in front of me now, bloated and dirty. A clump of his sandy hair had fallen out, and though it was difficult to tell in the dim light, it looked like maggots were working on his face. His mouth dropped open, and he made a gurgling sound.
“Hey, Alan,” I said.
“Gaaaahh,” he replied.
“ We’ve got some newcomers in town this week,” I said, pushing the .22 down in the front of my pants and gripping the machete with both hands. ”It looks like that clever ‘Clayfield is Cool’ campaign of yours is finally paying off. Thanks for including the museum in that, by the way. Oh wait…you didn’t.”
“Heeeeehhh.”
“You were probably right to ignore Clayfield’s history. I mean, it was just the only thing that made the town interesting.”
“Gahhggg.”
“It turns out we have some new attractions. The visitors are coming into town for guns, food, and…let’s see, what did they call it ? …oh yeah, ‘healthy pussy.’”
“Ggggeehh.”
“We should try to work ‘healthy pussy’ into the town’s slogan at our next meeting.”
“Are you about done?” the voice startled me. I turned around and Sara was standing behind me, rifle in hand. She brushed her bangs away from her eyes and looked at me expectantly.
“I told you to wait in the car,” I said, embarrassed.
She rolled her eyes, “Just take care of him and get the damn map. Or do you need to vent some more over things that don’t matter?”
“You just said ‘damn,’” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you cuss before. What would Jesus think?”
“I’m tired,” she said. “Leave me alone, and stop with the Jesus jokes. You know how I feel about that.”
“Gaaagh,” Alan chimed in.
Sara lifted her rifle and blew Alan’s head apart.
“Me and my healthy pussy will be in the car. Don’t take all day.”
She left the building without looking back. I stood at the glass door and watched her walk
CHAPTER 8
I was very familiar with the welcome center. Being the director of the museum, a possible destination for visitors, I was in there at least every other month for meetings. I’d never really looked at their brochure rack, except to make sure the museum was represented. If Sara had seen county maps in there, then I’d have to take her word for it.
She pulled up in front of the building.
“Wait here with the engine running. Let me know if any infected come around,” I said.
“No, I’m going in,” she said. “You’re still sick.”
“It’s just a map,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”
We’d seen a lot of sick and undead out that day. They seemed to like the warmer weather. They’d all been infected for a little more than a month by that time, and it showed. Many of them were emaciated. Their clothes were rags. Also, there was a stench in the air to which I could not get accustomed.
I went into the visitors’ welcome center with the .22 in one hand and the machete in the other. I was still a little light-headed and tired, and I really needed for this to be a quick in-and -out. Of course, it wouldn’t be.
Alan was in there.
Alan ran the welcome center. He had been a nice enough guy, I suppose, but he was cursed with a tendency to over think simple things and overlook the obvious. He’d always done a good job of running the office itself, but he didn’t have much of a vision for what out-of-town visitors could do for Clayfield. He liked to stick with safe and mediocre, and for the most part no one ever questioned it because the town–both citizens and government–had be en content with the status quo.
Knowing the history of the town, I had attempted to get him to focus on some of our more colorful past events and some the landmarks that went with them. “Everyone likes a good story,” I’d told him. But he was never interested in taking a chance. He felt those events would put Clayfield in a bad light, and he thought it would be best if they remained hidden.
He stood in front of me now, bloated and dirty. A clump of his sandy hair had fallen out, and though it was difficult to tell in the dim light, it looked like maggots were working on his face. His mouth dropped open, and he made a gurgling sound.
“Hey, Alan,” I said.
“Gaaaahh,” he replied.
“ We’ve got some newcomers in town this week,” I said, pushing the .22 down in the front of my pants and gripping the machete with both hands. ”It looks like that clever ‘Clayfield is Cool’ campaign of yours is finally paying off. Thanks for including the museum in that, by the way. Oh wait…you didn’t.”
“Heeeeehhh.”
“You were probably right to ignore Clayfield’s history. I mean, it was just the only thing that made the town interesting.”
“Gahhggg.”
“It turns out we have some new attractions. The visitors are coming into town for guns, food, and…let’s see, what did they call it ? …oh yeah, ‘healthy pussy.’”
“Ggggeehh.”
“We should try to work ‘healthy pussy’ into the town’s slogan at our next meeting.”
“Are you about done?” the voice startled me. I turned around and Sara was standing behind me, rifle in hand. She brushed her bangs away from her eyes and looked at me expectantly.
“I told you to wait in the car,” I said, embarrassed.
She rolled her eyes, “Just take care of him and get the damn map. Or do you need to vent some more over things that don’t matter?”
“You just said ‘damn,’” I said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you cuss before. What would Jesus think?”
“I’m tired,” she said. “Leave me alone, and stop with the Jesus jokes. You know how I feel about that.”
“Gaaagh,” Alan chimed in.
Sara lifted her rifle and blew Alan’s head apart.
“Me and my healthy pussy will be in the car. Don’t take all day.”
She left the building without looking back. I stood at the glass door and watched her walk
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