Empire Of Salt (15 page)

Then of course there was Frank. Good old loveable, drunken Frank. He'd tried more than once to reintroduce romance to Abigail's life, occasionally bringing her stolen flowers and offering to share what booze he had left. Abigail always declined these invitations, but couldn't help but be a little flattered that there was someone out there who wanted her in that way.

Even if it was Frank.

No, Frank would survive because of the old adage that
God watches out for drunks and fools
. Frank so perfectly fulfilled both categories, he was sure to be the last man standing on the planet.

Abigail wished she had either the fortitude of Gerald and Kristov, or even the pure dumb luck of Frank. Anything. Anything other than starving to death or being ripped apart by the creature, but those seemed to be her current options.

Then she remembered something.

Roger had died the day before Valentine's Day four years ago. While going through his things, she'd found a box of chocolates with a card, her name scrawled across the envelope in his handwriting. She glanced around the room. She hadn't thought about that in more than a year. She'd meant to keep it as a souvenir and had never been able to bring herself to actually eat the candies.

But now... now things were completely different. Now the chocolates might just save her if she could only remember where she'd put them.

She went to the dresser and fell on her knees, flinging open the drawers. She searched through her clothes, discovering old purses she hadn't seen in ages, and silken scarves she'd never wear again. But no chocolates.

Then she rememebered the closet. She'd put a box of Roger's things on the shelf, things she'd never wanted to get rid of. His favorite fedora, his pipes still smelling of vanilla tobacco, and other personal things, each with their own special memory.

She scrambled to her feet, jerked open the closet door and pushed aside a pile of blankets and several pillows to get to the box. It wasn't heavy, but she lost her balance as she pulled it off the shelf and fell into an end table, her hip screaming in pain as she fell to her knees.

She got back to her feet and threw open the top of the box. And there it was. Right beneath the fedora, with the words
Fannie Mae Candies
scrawled across the top
.
She tore the lid off, and removed the top layer of foil, revealing twelve pieces of chocolate, only slightly graying with age. She immediately shoved two candies into her mouth - hazelnut and dark chocolate - and they tasted like heaven.

Her dog leaped atop the bed beside her and sat wagging its tail.

She was about to give it a piece when she remembered that dogs were allergic to chocolate. So instead she turned away from Trudie, holding the food close to her breast lest the dog see her.

She ate another piece, this one filled with coconut.

Trudie changed positions and moved into Abigail's lap.

Abigail pushed the dog away and walked to the corner of the room by the closet. She stood, eating the chocolate, watching the dog out of the corner of her eye.

Trudie growled low in her throat.

She wanted some chocolate.

She growled again.

E
veryone met at the restaurant when they finished examining the Beachy place. All were present with the exception of Kristov, Jose and some of the other locals. The restaurant was open for dessert and drinks only; Maude had taken off, mentioning something about Gertie, and was nowhere to be found. So Auntie Lin took orders for cake, pies and ice cream and, with Natasha's help, ensured that everyone was taken care of.

Will and Sam Hopkins had stayed behind at the Beachy place, calling the crime into central dispatch and submitting requests for the state to get involved.

Now inside the Space Station Restaurant, Patrick listened as the residents of Bombay Beach propounded a host of unlikely explanations, including alien abductions, government conspiracies and doomsday cultists run amok.

Kim Johnson talked about Fred and Rosemary West, a British couple who'd killed a dozen people - including their own daughter - and postulated that there might be a similar group in the Imperial Valley area who targeted Amish people.

Carrie Loughnane reminded everyone about the Manson Family.

Frank murmured about little green men from outer space, then slid into a diatribe about
Mork and Mindy
re-runs and how the show had really been a dissertation on the failure of capitalism. He was soon ignored, though, as everyone began to talk amongst themselves.

Patrick called Natasha and Derrick to him. They agreed something was going on that they didn't understand. So far Gertie and an entire family had gone missing. The rumors of aliens and monsters notwithstanding, they agreed that it was possible that someone in this dying town might have snapped. Wasn't it a fact that serial killers always seemed to be normal, law-abiding neighbors?

So they came to a decision.

Patrick stood and gestured for quiet. It took a moment, but with the help of Kim Johnson whistling through her teeth, soon everyone had stopped talking.

The attention made him uncomfortable.

"I don't know what's going on. I have the safety of my kids to think about. Probably nothing's going on, but I have to be sure. Bottom line is that I'm going to stay home with the kids for a few days. I don't expect Maude to run the restaurant alone, so..." He held his hands higher as protests began. "Anyway, we'll reopen as soon as all of this... subsides. We're going to stay home. Until then, we think it might be a good idea if you all do the same."

As he sat back down a chorus of complaints and pleas arose, but Patrick ignored them.

Rico Duvall stood and proclaimed that he and his brother weren't going anywhere. As one of the only employers in town, he stressed that they were still looking for three to four people a day and that they would pay in cash during this emergency if people so desired.

Columbus Williams - a retired Navy officer - unfolded himself to his full height and told the folks that they were all crazy, because anything could have happened. Even now the Beachys could be at the hospital because of an accidental gunshot or from getting cut on flying glass. He stressed that not all answers have to be far-fetched and that most things could be explained using rational, intelligent deduction.

Everyone gave him a moment's serious consideration then returned to their musings. The clamor of their conversations only halted when the missing Kristov and Jose, followed by several others, entered the restaurant with hunting rifles in hand and bandoliers crisscrossing their chests like banditos.

As the room fell silent, Kristov belted out a few verses of an old Soviet marching song. No one knew the words, but soon all eyes were on him. The song did its trick.

Clearly having changed from his previous garish outfit into another for the occasion, the cut-price Elvis now wore a robin's-egg-blue leisure suit with an open-collared French-cuffed white shirt. On his feet were black platform shoes. Silver reflective glasses covered his eyes. His hair had been raised into an impressive black Elvis pompadour. The belts that crossed his chest held more than a dozen shotgun shells. In his hands was a 12 gauge shotgun.

Patrick and Natasha exchanged glances. Patrick was once again reminded what a collection of misfits they had living in Bombay Beach. The notion that an Romanian freedom fighter turned Elvis Impersonator could be the voice of the people was something no one could have predicted.

When Kristov stopped singing he marched to the counter and climbed up on it, ignoring Auntie Lin's glare. Kristov then sought Patrick in the crowd and pointed at him.

"I am here to speak with Olivers. I want to say what needs to be said and it is what I am here to say. I want everyone to know that Kristov Constantinescu and his friends are heavily armed and know how to use their weapons. There is no need to close down the Space Station. We have you protected."

Patrick glanced around and saw his confusion reflected on the face of those gathered before him.

"The monsters," Kristov said. "We will shoot the monsters with our big fucking guns." When he heard a few chitters of laughter from the crowd, he turned and aimed the barrel of the gun across the tops of everyone's heads. "We are not being jokesters. We are being serious. We will protect you. We will kill the monsters; so eat, drink, and be merry. We will protect you because we are the Bombay Beach Brigade."

Patrick peered at Natasha, who had a bemused look on her face. She mouthed the word "monsters" and raised her eyebrows.

Someone in the crowd began to laugh. It turned into a titter as several others joined in. Finally Patrick couldn't help himself as he imagined the Elvis Impersonator at the head of the newly-formed Bombay Beach Brigade, protecting the town's residents from monsters that didn't really exist.

Natasha and Derrick escaped the restaurant at about five in the afternoon. Patrick had decided to keep the place open for one more night. He hadn't taken much convincing, once he'd started drinking with the others. Maude had returned from another exhaustive yet uneventful search for Gertie and had begun getting the dinner service ready, working listlessly and automatically. It was clear that Gertie's absence was affecting her, but Natasha didn't know what else to do other than go from trailer to trailer knocking on doors.

Derrick followed her as she went in search of Veronica's trailer. Although the trailers looked nothing alike, they were of a kind, all just this side of a
Mad Max
movie.

She stood in the street for a good minute. The heat of the day had dissipated and a cool but foul breeze brushed past them. Once again there wasn't a cloud or bird in the sky. Natasha realized that the stillness had been bothering her since she'd arrived. In every neighborhood she'd ever been in, there had always been movement, the sounds of life during the daytime. But here in Bombay Beach no kids played outside, no pets scampered about, no people walked along the roads. Except for the flies, there were no insects: no lightning bugs, ants, beetles, roaches, nothing. Everywhere she looked there was nothing moving, as if the entire town had been abandoned but no one knew it yet.

Suddenly the ground began to shake.

Derrick stumbled and fell to one knee. Natasha held out her arms and spread her legs for balance as everything shook and trembled. It took a moment to register that she was in an actual earthquake. The palm trees quivered, dead leaves rattling like
papier-mâchÈ
skeletons. The trailers screeched on their foundations, trash containers and beer cans fell from porches, chain link fences rattled.

And then it stopped.

As suddenly as it had begun it stopped. Once again the world returned to its former stillness, with only a few beer cans rolling back and forth on the ground to prove that anything had actually happened.

A screen door swung open as Natasha helped Derrick to his feet. Veronica shot out of a trailer, jumped from the porch and ran to the chain link fence that surrounded her home.

"Did you feel that?" She took a look at Derrick. "Never been in one of those before, have you?"

Derrick smiled weakly and shook his head.

"Do they always last so long?" Natasha asked.

"Long?" Veronica giggled. "Wasn't more than five seconds."

Natasha doubted that could be true. It had felt much longer.