to field well, yet even up to a couple of years ago he still had the power and coordination to put a softball over the fence once or twice a game.
He stepped back with his right foot and swung with all his power at the onrushing kid's head striking the boy's forehead with the sweet spot of the bat. The hit felt wrong, like hitting a watermelon. He looked down and saw the boy crumpled in a heap at his feet, his head no longer recognizable.
He looked up at the police and the one who had met his eyes earlier moved his cigarette to his mouth and gave Sam a polite and silent golf clap. Sam dropped the bat and threw up all over the wet pavement. The refugee bubble was already starting to close back up around them, and people stepped over the still warm body of the teenager.
Sam picked up his pack and the bat and kept moving, his disgust and loathing masked by the cold rain. It was not the last man he would have to kill in the days to come.
*******
They found an RV park that afternoon. Sam liked RV parks because they had plenty of propane and clean water. Additionally, getting bodies out of an RV was easier than out of a house. It also seemed less personal, less invasive to the corpses' lives and memories somehow.
He probably could have continued on a little farther, but wanted to make sure Scotch got plenty of rest and sleep. The big wolfhound never slept while riding in a vehicle unlike the other dogs.
Sam found the biggest and nicest camper and discovered the door unlocked, a good sign. There were no bodies i nside, it appeared to be a mess but un-looted. He checked the gas and water level and found them both at least half full. Sam took a shower and put on new clothes he had procured earlier that day. He then went outside and cranked open the big awning on the side of the camper and started a fire, more for comfort and light than cooking since he could use the camper's stove. He set out a lawn chair and enjoyed the fading sunlight while smoking a stale cigar. Scotch rested on a blanket nearby while the rest of the pack sniffed around the perimeter.
As the last rays of sun faded from the sky, Sam heard mosquitoes buzzing and ate a couple of match heads. The sulfur that was coming out of his pores was from the match heads he had eaten the previous night, but the mosquitoes always reminded him.
He went into the camper and rummaged around in the cabinets until he found several plastic bowls and then went out to the SUV. He pulled out four cans of dog food he'd found at the vet's and plopped one into each plastic bowl, setting Scotch's next to him on the blanket. Sam also filled up a larger metal bowl with clear water out of the faucet and set it out beside the big wolfhound.
Now it was time for Sam's dinner, one he had been anticipating all day. Back in the very rear of the vet's cabinet, Sam had found an extra large can of chili. It had literally been years since he had chili and it was one of his favorite meals. Before The End he wouldn't have dreamed of eating the slop that came out of a can, but now he bet it would taste just exactly like heaven.
He put the chili in a pan and on the gas stove to heat. He'd also found a sleeve of crackers at the vet's he planned to have with the chili. Sam opened the plastic and smelled. It smelled off and he popped one in his mouth experimentally, but almost immediately spit it out. The cracker tasted like it had been mixed with some sort of chemical. How could crackers go bad, he asked himself? Weren't they just stale bread? He tossed the sleeve of crackers outside onto the fire, not wanting to attract rodents.
Sam dug through the cabinets for another bowl and in the back found a nearly half-full bottle of real Jamaican rum. He pulled it out and was tempted to try it, stopped himself, and instead pulled out a large red glass Pyrex dish. Sam spooned some of the bubbling chili into the bowl and then turned the stove eye to low. He grabbed a spoon and went outside to sit by the
He stepped back with his right foot and swung with all his power at the onrushing kid's head striking the boy's forehead with the sweet spot of the bat. The hit felt wrong, like hitting a watermelon. He looked down and saw the boy crumpled in a heap at his feet, his head no longer recognizable.
He looked up at the police and the one who had met his eyes earlier moved his cigarette to his mouth and gave Sam a polite and silent golf clap. Sam dropped the bat and threw up all over the wet pavement. The refugee bubble was already starting to close back up around them, and people stepped over the still warm body of the teenager.
Sam picked up his pack and the bat and kept moving, his disgust and loathing masked by the cold rain. It was not the last man he would have to kill in the days to come.
*******
They found an RV park that afternoon. Sam liked RV parks because they had plenty of propane and clean water. Additionally, getting bodies out of an RV was easier than out of a house. It also seemed less personal, less invasive to the corpses' lives and memories somehow.
He probably could have continued on a little farther, but wanted to make sure Scotch got plenty of rest and sleep. The big wolfhound never slept while riding in a vehicle unlike the other dogs.
Sam found the biggest and nicest camper and discovered the door unlocked, a good sign. There were no bodies i nside, it appeared to be a mess but un-looted. He checked the gas and water level and found them both at least half full. Sam took a shower and put on new clothes he had procured earlier that day. He then went outside and cranked open the big awning on the side of the camper and started a fire, more for comfort and light than cooking since he could use the camper's stove. He set out a lawn chair and enjoyed the fading sunlight while smoking a stale cigar. Scotch rested on a blanket nearby while the rest of the pack sniffed around the perimeter.
As the last rays of sun faded from the sky, Sam heard mosquitoes buzzing and ate a couple of match heads. The sulfur that was coming out of his pores was from the match heads he had eaten the previous night, but the mosquitoes always reminded him.
He went into the camper and rummaged around in the cabinets until he found several plastic bowls and then went out to the SUV. He pulled out four cans of dog food he'd found at the vet's and plopped one into each plastic bowl, setting Scotch's next to him on the blanket. Sam also filled up a larger metal bowl with clear water out of the faucet and set it out beside the big wolfhound.
Now it was time for Sam's dinner, one he had been anticipating all day. Back in the very rear of the vet's cabinet, Sam had found an extra large can of chili. It had literally been years since he had chili and it was one of his favorite meals. Before The End he wouldn't have dreamed of eating the slop that came out of a can, but now he bet it would taste just exactly like heaven.
He put the chili in a pan and on the gas stove to heat. He'd also found a sleeve of crackers at the vet's he planned to have with the chili. Sam opened the plastic and smelled. It smelled off and he popped one in his mouth experimentally, but almost immediately spit it out. The cracker tasted like it had been mixed with some sort of chemical. How could crackers go bad, he asked himself? Weren't they just stale bread? He tossed the sleeve of crackers outside onto the fire, not wanting to attract rodents.
Sam dug through the cabinets for another bowl and in the back found a nearly half-full bottle of real Jamaican rum. He pulled it out and was tempted to try it, stopped himself, and instead pulled out a large red glass Pyrex dish. Sam spooned some of the bubbling chili into the bowl and then turned the stove eye to low. He grabbed a spoon and went outside to sit by the
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