the counter, when a scurrying noise came from his right. He pivoted one foot and blasted the shotgun, filling the room with the sound of thunder. Bits of plastic and wood burst in every direction. A rat squealed in agony, giving a long-winded squeak of surrender.
Burk’s pulse pounded, and he lowered the shotgun, panting.
As he stared at his vanquished foe, feeling a trifle paranoid, another noise came from the counter behind him.
The pumping of barrel.
5
“Don’t even bother turnin’ round fella. You jus drop dat dere scadder-shot and put yer hands up.”
Burk hesitated. How well could his assailant see him in the dark?
“I know you heard me, fella. Do it, or ole Kenny’s gonna blast a hole in ya so big, he’ll be able to pit his head right through it.”
Burk put up one hand, and dropped the shotgun with the other. It clattered noisily to the linoleum.
“Good boa.” Even through the smoke, Burk could smell the man’s rancid body odor; could feel his breath on his neck. Behind him, the man – self-proclaimed Kenny – struck a match and relit the candle. Soft orange light flooded the room around Burk, causing his shadow to stand tall along the wall. “Yer a handsome one, aincha?”
Burk didn’t reply. Kenny shoved the barrel against the back of Burk’s head. “Didn’t hear me, boa? Or don’t wanna answer? Turn round, pretty boa, but keep your hands up. Or I’ll blow yer gawd-damn brains out.”
Burk turned slowly. The man on the other side of the counter was a scrawny, swallow thing, barely over five feet. He reminded Burk of an old miner: Scraggly strands of hair matted his face, and a ripped shirt hung around his neck.
Kenny brandished a double-barrel shotgun, sawed off partly down the barrel. Could be useful.
Burk’s captor looked him over, licking his lips. “You’ll do jes fine. Tha las one that ended up he-yer wuz fatter than ole Lenny. Took up the whole gawd-damn dumpstuh.” He snorted. “But you know what they say, don’cha?”
Burk only stared.
“More cushion for the pushin’.” Burk had to stifle a throat-full of vomit from coming up. “When my brother gets back from takin’ a shit, we’ll have ourselves some fun.”
As Kenny looked over his prey, his eyes fell to the revolver. He suddenly tensed up. He frantically raised the shotgun to shoulder level. “Who the hell are you, fella? A vigilante? You bes be tellin’ me the truth, or I’ll blow your ass right to hell.”
Burk laughed. “Go right ahead, you sadistic prick.”
The man let out a growl, and pushed the barrel into Burk’s brow. “Say something like that aghin, and I’ll cutcher balls off and feed ‘em to ya.”
“Before or after you’ve had your fill?”
Kenny screamed and brought the gun up to bash him with it. Burk dodged out of arm’s reach, and drew his revolver. Before he could shoot, Kenny had retrained the gun and said, “Pull the trigger, and I’ll spill these aisles withcher guts.” The hick was fast, Burk would give him that.
They stared at each other in the dim light, accompanied only by the sound of breathing. A shadow passed in front of the building.
“Why don’t you go ‘head n’ be a gud boa n’ put that lil’ pea shooter down.” Burk didn’t flinch. “I’m gonna give ya til three before I shoot this damn thing.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“Wun.”
“Hopefully you can count that high.”
“Tuh.”
“Almost there.”
Kenny pulled back the hammer.
“Thr-”
6
The bell over the door jingled. A large, doughy man of almost seven feet entered the room, zipping up his fly as he did so. “Damn Kenny, that coyote gave me the runs somethin’ awful-”
The room exploded with noise. Old miner Kenny flew backwards, smashing into the window, blood popping out the hole in his chest.
“What in the hell-” Lenny began, but did not finish. His eyeball had grown a hunting knife right in the middle of it. Lenny groaned and dropped to the ground. He squirmed about, crying, “mama, mama, mama!”
“Sshh.” Burk heaved Lenny onto his back, retrieved the knife - sticking his boot on Lenny’s face for leverage - and yanked the entire eyeball out with it. He used the man’s shirt to pull the eyeball off, and tossed it aside.
“You bastard!” Lenny swung wildly, missing Burk’s shirt by a few inches, and to end the nonsense, Burk put a revolver slug in the other eye – to make it even – spilling blood all over the floor and his boots. Silence returned to the gas station.
Burk crossed the room, and cautiously made his way around the counter to where Kenny’s body had slumped against the wall. Blood had splattered across the window above him, and even in the dim candlelight, Burk could see the shirt around his throat had become a dark crimson inkblot.
Old Kenny was still alive, and rasping for breath, his hand coming up to the hole in the base of his throat, then falling away. Burk stepped on his hand, crushing it and being rewarded with the sound of crunching bone. Kenny moaned, though it came from the gut and not the throat.
Burk squatted down so their eyes met. Kenny watched him. “I need to know something,” Burk whispered.
“Go… ta Hell…” Kenny rasped.
“I’ve been in Hell since the Wrath. Besides, you’ll reach it before me. Now, I’m looking for Nod, but need to know: Did Flagstone survive?”
Kenny attempted to laugh, but coughed and hacked instead. Blood trickled from the wound. “Fuck you. You’re a fool… Ain’t nuthin’ left in Nod…”
Burk jammed his finger into Kenny’s wound. Kenny howled in pain and his arms writhed at his sides. “There is, and I will get there. Whatever it takes.”
“Be damned then…You’ll die…along the way.”
“Been more than a year, and I’ve come this far. I won’t stop until I make it.”
Kenny attempted to laugh again. This time he was successful, but it took his last breath to do so.
Burk spat to the side, stood, and looked around. His stomach rumbled. It had been three days since he last ate – truly ate – cactus not included. He needed nourishment. The barren shelves and empty fridges were of no use to him. The only thing left was to check the storage room.
7
Burk clicked on a dangling bulb, which cast a swinging, dingy light upon the room. The room only had three major items: a large cherry wood desk, a cot and a piles of clothes; some women’s, some children’s, and on top, an extra-large shirt. On the desk was a pile of miscellaneous silver objects.
Burk went to the desk and opened the drawers. The top drawers were empty. He checked the bottom-left drawer, and was rewarded with a box of shotgun shells. They wouldn’t fit the one he’d brought, but surely the double barrel. No revolver shells, which was unfortunate, because he was down to his last ten shells (four loaded, six in the pouch of the holster). In the other drawer, he found a cache of dollar bills. Burk ignored them, and slammed the drawer shut.
Using the large shirt, Burk made a bindle and tossed all of the metal objects into it, deigning to sort them later. The extra few pounds would be cumbersome, but the value of the items might balance it. Hopefully Flagstone would trade with him, if it was still around. More than that, hopefully they were friendly enough to trade in the first place.
Outside, in the near distance, a coyote howled; a sound that both surprised and chilled him. They yielded little meat, but the prospect of actually having meat trumped that fact. If only he had a way to draw them in…
Burk wrapped the objects up, and hefted the bindle back to the front door, stepping over Lenny’s body. The sight of the body gave him an idea for dinner.
8
Lenny was ridiculously heavy, as heavy as he looked. Burk struggled with his weight, even dragging him along the ground. Weariness, hunger and thirst – the trio of energy sapping – had worn him down, and made dragging the corpse a tiresome chore.
Burk held the door
open with one foot, and pulled with all of his might, making little progress with every succeeding tug. After a few minutes of excruciating work, he managed to get half of the man outside the building.
His initial idea was to pull Lenny’s corpse out to the side of the building, next to the coyote that he’d devoured (which ironically enough had killed him), but it proved too prodigious a task.
Instead, Burk managed to pull Lenny a whopping five feet from the door, then retreated back inside to rest.
9
Sore all over, Burk sat down for the first time all day, setting aside his pocket radio. He removed his boots, his sweat drenched socks and laid them out to dry. He massaged his calloused feet, the blisters having long dried and toughened, and found that it brought little relief. He could barely feel his fingers.
He glanced down at the radio. Would he be able to hear it again? Were there towers close enough that worked? He picked up the little radio, and twisted the dial. The radio’s digital screen lit a dim turquoise, revealing two sets of numbers: The station and the time. The battery signal flashed. He cranked up the volume, that glimmer of hope rising again.
All he heard was static.
He twisted the tuning dial slightly, both clockwise, then counter-clockwise, but got the same results. Having no luck, he quickly turned it back off, preserving as much precious battery life as possible. His hope snuffed out like the candle on the counter.
He sat back against the wall, feeling physically exhausted and emotionally defeated. He closed his eyes, trying to think straight,