Chapter Ten

 

 

At first glance it seemed as if they'd made a time jump. The holiday resort of Glenwood Springs looked just like it did before skydark and the long winters the main streets with their stores and motels, the freeway scything through the town from east to west, running alongside the frothing Colorado River, with the railway line also following along the bottom of the deep gorge.

 

It was only when your eyes became focused that you saw that the ville was actually a ruin.

 

Most of the buildings were roofless, and no automobiles or trucks rumbled along the streets. Only a handful of people could be seen, moving slowly around.

 

The freeway had become riven and corrugated by quakes and the passing of time. By looking toward the east, it was possible to see where a big elevated section had totally collapsed, permanently blocking old I-70. The railway line was forked and buckled, and long stretches of the iron rails were missing.

 

Only the river remained, virtually unchanged.

 

"Must've been a nice ville once," Dean commented, sitting on a convenient rock and peering out over the urban ruins. "Might find some food down there."

 

"You ever think about anything beyond your stomach?" Mildred asked.

 

The boy considered that for several seconds. "No," he said finally. "Guess not."

 

 

 

THE TWO-LANE BLACKTOP that led from the redoubt vanished in less than fifty paces in a sheer scarp face, where the land had dropped away for a mile or more, taking all of the pavement with it. The friends scouted around for an alternate route.

 

"Plenty game here," Jak said as they picked their way along a narrow deer trail that seemed as if it would take them to the bottom of the valley.

 

They'd seen two separate herds of deer during the four miles or so they'd covered since leaving the redoubt. Ryan had been tempted to bring the Steyr to his shoulder and bag one for the pot, but he didn't want to risk drawing anyone's attention.

 

They passed a couple of children, a boy and a girl roughly eleven years old, and exchanged greetings with them, though the guarded faces told their own story of suspicion of outlanders.

 

"That long building must've been the hot pools and bathhouse," Mildred said, as they paused again. This time they were within a quarter mile of the edge of Glenwood Springs.

 

"I was here just the once, fishing with my father," Doc stated, lying back on the sun-warmed turf. "Must have been in '87 or so, when I was in my late teens. The thing I remember best is that the town seemed to be still in mourning for the recent death of Doc Holliday, part-time dentist and full-time shootist."

 

"One who rode with the Earps?" J.B. asked. "Dark night, Doc! You mean you were within a few months of actually meeting up with Doc Holliday?"

 

"I do indeed. It had been devilishly cold and they couldn't get him up the hill to the cemetery, so they buried him down below. Grave marker tells us that he died in his bed, which I believe to be true. Him being consumptive and all."

 

The conversation stopped and everyone turned to watch a six-wheel wag, its bodywork a patchwork of rust and green and blue paint, grinding its way into the ville from the north. Black smoke poured from its exhaust, and the engine was a cacophony of hideous metallic noises.

 

"Give it about twenty miles before the pistons come out through the side of the engine," J.B. said.

 

"Mebbe we can get hold of a wag to transport us to the school," Ryan said.

 

"To transport us to Harmony ville," Krysty added. "And what does 'get hold of mean? Steal?"

 

"Probably," Ryan agreed. "Let's go and scout the ville."

 

 

 

THE HIKE FROM THE REDOUBT had taken longer than Ryan had anticipated, and it was close to noon when they eventually found themselves in the center of the ville.

 

Most of the damage to the buildings appeared to have come from the passing of time rather than any nuking.

 

"Could've used neutrons," J.B. suggested. "Just taken out all the life-forms and left most of the ville standing."

 

Ryan nodded. "Makes sense."

 

From above it looked as if the old resort town of Glenwood Springs had once held a population of around seven thousand. From street level, Ryan doubted more than a hundred people lived there.

 

Most of them looked like hunters and trappers, dressed in untreated skins and furs, despite the warmth of the day, hurrying by, often crossing the street when they saw the group of strangers. Most of them were armed with long-barreled muskets and bowie knives sheathed at their belts.

 

Ryan called to one of them, a limping man with a sallow complexion. "Good place to eat in the ville?"

 

"Only one place to eat in the ville, outlander." He looked at their array of weapons. "Do you a good trade deal for a few of your bullets."

 

"Where?"

 

"Ma's Place. Block down to the north along that blacktop. Past the Happy Trails store."

 

Happy Trails advertised itself in faded, sun-blistered lettering as being the Roy Rogers Emporium for all Western memorabilia. Its windows were long smashed in, and its empty doorway gaped like a toothless mouth.

 

Across the road from them was the wrecked frontage of the Sombrero Eatery, which still carried a faded poster in the unbroken corner of its window proclaiming that it was the hottest plateful in all Colorado.

 

Western Books was the last store on the opposite side of the wide highway. Like all the others, it had been smashed open and all of its stock long taken.

 

"Who in all Deathlands would want to steal books?" Mildred asked, shading her eyes against the bright sun to peer into the dark interior.

 

"Burn well," Jak replied as laconic as ever.

 

"The Nazis discovered that about one hundred and fifty years ago," Doc said bitterly.

 

"There's Ma's Place," Dean told them eagerly. "Boy, I can smell good food already."

 

It was food, but it wasn't that good.

 

 

 

"JUST SIT YOURSELVES DOWN at the big table. Plenty of room here right now. Not many folks care to eat their big meal at the mid of the day."

 

Ma was a three-hundred-pound transvestite who looked as if she hadn't shaved for a week, thick black stubble breaking through the layer of caked powder. She was wearing a short black dress with a hem and collar of yellow-brown lace that could possibly once have been white. Clouds of crimson sequins were scattered around the shoulders and bosom of the dress. Ma's shoes looked as if she'd rescued them from The Wizard of Oz . More red sequins decorated the high heels.

 

"You outlanders got some good jack, or are you aiming to trade with me?"

 

Her mouth was a tiny cupid's bow of scarlet, and her eyes dripped mascara down her dimpled cheeks. It was difficult to tell if Ma was wearing a wig or whether her hair had been dyed the coppery blue color.

 

"Trade," Ryan said, sitting at one end of the scarred and scratched table, pushing away a brimming ashtray and a plate smeared with grease and shreds of bacon rind.

 

"Bullets?" Ma asked hungrily.

 

"Could be."

 

"You guys got some 9 mill fmjs on you?"

 

"Could be," Ryan replied.

 

Now everyone was sitting around the table, with Krysty peering doubtfully out the filthy, fly-specked window. "We sure about this?" she asked the others. "Could always go and catch or shoot something."

 

"I'm hungry now," Dean insisted.

 

"I'll feed you allmuch as you like of anythingfor fifty rounds."

 

Ryan pushed back his chair, the legs grating on the worn linoleum. "We'll be going, thanks, ma'am."

 

"Thirty rounds?"

 

"Don't believe so." He looked at her. "We both know what full-metal-jacket rounds from predark are worth. One's worth more than a meal."

 

"Gimme ten rounds and I'll throw in beer."

 

"Getting closer."

 

"Seven. One each. That's my bestest and lastest offer."

 

Ryan nodded, sitting again. "What you offering?"

 

"Anything you like, stranger." She giggled and patted her meaty hands together.

 

"Food."

 

"Menu's on the board over there. And there's today's brunch special."

 

"What's that?" J.B. asked.

 

"Venison."

 

"How's it cooked? What with?" Krysty asked.

 

"Picky bitch!"

 

"Watch your mouth," the redhead warned. "I asked a fair question."

 

"Oh, did you? Well, it's cooked by being roasted, and it's served with whatever vegetables and bread we happen to have out in the kitchen. That satisfy you, lady?"

 

Dean was struggling to read the ill-scrawled menu. "Writing's hard to make out," he said.

 

Ma looked at him as if he were something she'd just spotted on the bottom of her Dorothy-red shoes. "Well, kiddo, you wanna catch up on your reading and writing. I can read the board easy enough. It says meat and fish and deer." She looked sideways at Krysty. "And all of them's roasted."

 

"What is the soup of the day?" Doc asked.

 

"It's whatever flavor's in the pot, old-timer. Last time I looked it was kind of vegetable with peas and corn and tomatoes in it. Doubt it's changed since the day before yesterday. Not without someone telling me."

 

"We'll have the deer," Ryan stated. "With vegetables and bread and some beers and a pitcher of water."

 

"Let's have the bullets first," Ma said, gloating. "No pay, no eat."

 

Ryan stared at the immensely fat transvestite. "After the meal," he said. "No good, no pay."

 

Grumbling to herself, Ma lumbered off into the kitchen, through a battered pair of bat-wing doors, returning in a couple of minutes with a dozen dark brown bottles of beer that she banged, foaming and frothing, on the table. In her other hand she held a wooden platter of bread with some rancid unsalted butter.

 

"Meat'll be along later," she informed them, scowling at Ryan.

 

"Fine," he said.

 

 

 

"NEVER PLAY CARDS with a man called Doc, and never eat at a restaurant called Ma's Place," Mildred said, after they'd been waiting for nearly a half hour. "I knew the first bit of the old saying was true after trying a few hands of strip jack with that old goat. Now it looks like the second part of the saying's true, as well."

 

There were no other customers, and no sign of life in the street outside the eatery.

 

"We could go some other place," Dean suggested.

 

Ryan sniffed. "No. We've waited long enough here. Can't be too much longer. We go elsewhere and start this business all over again. No thanks, son."

 

There had been a coil of black, greasy smoke from the kitchen a few minutes earlier, which had promised much.

 

And delivered nothing.

 

There had also been a rapid burst of Spanish from what sounded like a young girl, then the deeper voice of Ma, followed by the meaty thump of a roundhouse right finding its target. A flurry of tears followed.

 

"Won't be long, strangers," Ma called, poking her head above the door. "Figure you're all getting a mite hungered."

 

"We were mite hungered before got here," Jak said. "Now all very hungry."

 

"Take care, you white-head freak. Boy gets too sharp and he cuts hisself."

 

Less than five minutes later Ma waddled into the room carrying the seven helpings of meat with the promised assortment of vegetables.

 

She dumped the platters in front of each of the party, then started back toward the kitchen.

 

She stopped in the doorway when Ryan called her.

 

 

"This it?" he asked.

 

"Sure it is. Roast venison and sweet potatoes and honeyed cabbage with peas and carrots. What the fuck does it look like, outlander?"

 

"I'm not that sure. Meat looks like parts of it have been flame-grilled and parts haven't seen any heat at all. And it looks more like horse than deer to me. And the vegetables look to be either over- or undercooked."

 

She pointed a hand at him, the fingers sticking out as if they were contained in an inflated red glove. "Best not use such details as an excuse for not completing the trade, mister!"

 

Ryan didn't answer her, and she disappeared into the kitchen.

 

 

 

THE FOOD WAS AS AWFUL as it looked.

 

"I can only eat about a quarter of the meat, Dad," Dean moaned. "The rest's either raw or burned."

 

"My carrots were quite pleasant," Doc offered. "But I confess that the rest of the so-called 'special' meal falls rather short of adequacy."

 

"I think the potatoes were actually past their eat-by-if-you're-starving date," Mildred said. "I might have eaten worse, but I can't remember when."

 

"Beer's warm." Jak sipped at a second bottle, leaving it unfinished. "And flat."

 

Krysty glanced at Ryan, sitting next to her. "What do we do, lover?"

 

"Easy. No eat, no pay."

 

"Ma doesn't look the sort of man, or woman, who'll listen to a reasoned argument," J.B. said as he polished his glasses on a torn napkin.

 

At that moment the door flew open and Ma erupted into the restaurant. "I heard that, you shitters!" she screamed. "Well, you pay me or you'll all get to eat this!"

 

She held a sawn-down 12-gauge.