Biohazard

2

We stood around by the river watching the woman burn for maybe a half hour or so, the stink of cremated flesh hot in our faces. Long after it was done and she was nothing but a smoldering skeleton, we stared at the flames licking from her ribcage and the hollows of her skull. It was morbid, but we were fascinated, unable to look away as a child cannot look away from a roaring campfire. Something about the mystical call of the flames, I suppose, as transfixing and hypnotic now as they’d been to our ancestors huddled in an Ice Age cave.

The smell was sickening.

You would think after all the incinerated bodies we’d come across-and, yes, produced-the smell would be something we wouldn’t even notice anymore like a guard at Belzec feeding corpses into the ovens. But we did notice. All of us. The burnt scarecrow tied to the blackened tree was something we’d see in our minds for days. And smell. Because the smell of burnt hair, roasted flesh, and oxidized bones would stay with us, haunting us, coming into our dreams until we’d wake, sweating and terrified, certain that a charred and grinning skull would be on the pillow next to our own.

“I think she’s done,” Carl finally said, lighting a twig off the burning corpse and firing his cigarette with it.

Texas Slim chuckled. “A little honey sauce, some taters and beans, we got ourselves a barbecue.”

I laughed; so did Sean. It was funny. Even funnier the way the human mind works. In the worst of situations there is some kind of psychological trigger or safety valve in the brain that overrides all else, releasing stress by making us joke about the most horrible things. I suppose it’s the same thing that made soldiers in the trenches of World War I adopt human skulls as pets, giving them silly names like “Mr. Jingles” and “Lippy” and the same thing that made people burst out laughing at funerals.

“That’s enough,” Janie said, standing far and away and downwind from the burning woman. “I won’t listen to it.”

“Sure, Janie,” I said. “We were just kidding.”

Janie didn’t like that kind of shit. She saw nothing funny in the dead even though they were scattered everywhere now. The cities were graveyards and the streets were littered with remains. To her, a body was still a body. To the rest of us a body was of no more importance than a bag of leaves or a cardboard box. But that was Janie. The last of the bleeding hearts. An endangered species.

It had been nearly two months since we rolled out of Cleveland with Carl and Texas Slim in tow. And a hard two months they had been, fighting with the Hatchet Clans, hiding from radioactive dust storms, searching for vehicles and finding food. The days went by in a blur.

And now, there I was, staring at the remains of another offering for The Shape.

Janie stomped off.

Texas Slim and Sean kind of eyed me warily as friends will do when your girlfriend is in a mood. I bummed a cigarette from Carl and stood there, uncomfortably, smoking and watching the St. Joseph River roll on by.

“Hey, Nash,” Sean said. “I ever tell you about the time I sold my wife for a dollar?”

Texas Slim giggled. “This is a good one.”

Sean smiled in the moonlight, his teeth crooked and missing. “We were in Sturgis, man, you know, the biker rally? Well, sure as shit, me and the old lady were at each other’s throats. All day long. It was always like that with us. That’s why I got this scar on my forehead, you see. We was at this hop-and-grind joint and she passed out. So things being what they were, I started making out with her sister who was sitting next to me. She’d fuck anything with a third leg. Well, Trixie wakes up and I’m tongue-fucking her sister and she yells something and hits me in the face with a beer bottle. One mean bitch, that Trixie.” He laughed. “Anyway, there we was in Sturgis. We’d been drinking and smoking Cee all day long. We’re sitting at this bar putting back shots of Wild Turkey, just tearing into each other as was our way. This big dude, think he might have been with the Outlaws or the Pagans, he says, Hey, how much for your wife? I say, you want to buy that shit? He says, Sure I do. How much? A dollar, I tell him. He hands me a dollar and takes hold of Trixie and she screams something at me and that’s the last I saw of her.”

“Well, what happened?” Texas Slim wanted to know. “He kill her?”

Sean pulled off his cigarette. “No, nothing like that. She shows up back at the hotel about three in the morning, all dirty, clothes torn, and I say, Hey babe, how was it? She near beat the shit out of me. Next day, that big biker comes up to me, says, I want that dollar back. I say, That bad, eh? He don’t think it’s funny, says, You ought to have a license to sell poisonous snakes, you asshole.” Sean sighed. “Yeah, that Trixie. She was something. She was doing a nickel at Utah State Penn for possession last I heard of her.”

We all laughed again. But not Janie. She did not like stories like that. Things had changed so much now. You had to stick tight to survive these days, not like the old days where you and the boys went out to the man-cave to swap the salt and talk tit. You had a woman these days, you had to keep her by your side and she had to keep you by her side.

Carl said, “We best be on our way, Nash. I don’t like being out here in the dark.”

“All right,” I said. “Let’s get gone.”

We crossed Island Park, guns in our hands and packs on our backs, keeping an eye on the shadows and the things that might be hiding there. We saw nothing. We got on Jackson Boulevard, went over the bridge and Waterfall Drive, cutting down South Main. We needed a place to sleep for the night. We were all dead tired. Usually, well before sunset, we had a place. But today had been busy.

“Start checking some doors,” I told Texas Slim as we walked. “We gotta lay up somewhere.”

He did so, but door after door after door was locked. We could have blasted our way in, but I didn’t want to make all that racket and draw attention to ourselves. Besides, what good is a door that’s been blown off its hinges? I wanted a place with some security against what was outside, hiding in the dark.

“Too bad none of us can fly a plane,” Sean said. “Lots of planes at the airport. Maybe I should give it a try, Nash.”

“Oh, shut up,” Janie told him.

The full moon above was very bright. Main looked like a glowing ribbon of ether as it stretched away into the distance. Everything was silent and surreal. All those empty buildings and shops crowding each side of the street, the abandoned cars at the curbs. If it hadn’t been for the skeletons in the gutters and that unearthly quiet, you could have fooled yourself that there was still life here. Still people sleeping in beds and little kids dreaming little kid dreams, all charging up for another day in the life.

But it wasn’t that way anymore.

Those buildings were monuments to a way of life that had vanished now. Main Street, Elkhart, was like something kept under glass in a museum: carefully preserved but long dead and gone. As we walked, Carl out front with his rifle looking for trouble, I felt at ease with things. What we had done this night wasn’t something I was proud of, but we were alive, we were breathing. We would live to fight another day and another day after that.

I was wondering where we were going to hole up for the night and where in the hell we were going to get a vehicle come tomorrow. Most were either smashed-up or their batteries were dead, engine parts salvaged. But we needed a ride. We needed one bad. We had to get moving west.

“Open door,” Texas finally called out, standing in front of a tattoo parlor called INKED AND DANGEROUS.

It was good as any.

“C’mon, Carl,” I said, waiting for him as he scanned the streets with the barrel of his AK-47, looking for trouble, always looking for trouble.

We filed inside and I locked the door, pulled down the shade on the window. It was a tight little place, but it had a backdoor leading out into the alley in case we needed to make a quick escape. We rolled out our sleeping bags and the boys had a smoke while I tried to get Janie to act civil.

But after what had happened in the park she wasn’t speaking to me. She had retreated into herself, offended at every conceivable level by what we had done to the woman and what we had offered her up to. But I didn’t much care. All I knew was that it was done. It was over with. We’d made sacrifice and we were safe now. At least until the next cycle of the full moon.

Because that’s when The Shape would come knocking at the door again with an empty belly.