Heartland Junk Part I: The End: A ZOMBIE Apocalypse Serial (14 page)

"It was nothing."
I tried to change the subject. "So what do we do now?"

"I could fit a
kickin' hog in my belly, for one thing," Dinkins said, rubbing his
stomach. "You punks grab any grub, or were my narcotics too
heavy?"

"Hope you like
canned," Jennie said.

Rivet joined us
halfway through a cold breakfast of sweet corn and peaches, eyes
bloodshot as hell and still woozy from the last oxy he'd palmed
before passing out. He eyed Dinkins with obvious distrust before
clumping into an empty chair at the kitchen table. Titan, nose-deep
in a bowl of kibble on the table, turned to him sharply.

"Clean that bowl,
old man. You're out of here before noon."

"Rivet!" Jennie
admonished. "Be nice to our guest."

"Rayman might have
a 14-karat heart, but we're on survival rations around here and we
don't have enough to feed an extra mouth. Especially one that might
keel at any moment." He stared at Dinkins coldly.

"Jesus, Rivet," I
said. "What the fuck did you sleep on? A mattress made of dicks?
Calm the fuck down and eat something. Dinkins is with us now."

"No, no. That's
okay. I wasn't planning on staying anyway," Dinkins said, eyes on
Rivet. "I've got to get over to my son's to see how he's doing.
Besides, I got allergies."

"Allergies?"
Jennie looked confused.

"Yeah," said the
old man, still watching Rivet. "I'm allergic to cocksuckers."

Rivet erupted and
lunged across the table, upending a bowl of creamy corn and sending
Titan wheeling out of the room. "The fuck you say to me?" he
shouted. I leaped up and grabbed Rivet by the shoulders and hauled
him off the table before he could hit Dinkins. Dinkins didn't
flinch a muscle. "Big words from the king of cock himself," Rivet
yelled. "Go on and get out. We don't want you here." He grabbed a
can of peaches and stomped out of the room.

"Mr. Dinkins,"
Jennie ignored Rivet. "It's not safe to go out by yourself. Rivet
had a long day yesterday. We all did. He'll come around. Stay here
with us for awhile."

Dinkins smiled at
her. "I got a grandbaby needs checking up on. She'll be missing her
pappy if I don't stop in."

"Mr. Dinkins..." I
began. I didn't know what to say. "Stay until afternoon, at least.
Think about it a bit. They might not be..." Again, my mind came up
blank.

"Might not be
human?" Dinkins finished for me. "Don't need to go soft around me,
son. I'm tougher than most. I know the chance of them being fine
aren't much. But if I don't check, well, what kind of pappy does
that make me? It's decided. Besides, the only other option is
sitting around getting high with a group of douchebags," he
finished, still smiling. I found myself liking the old guy more and
more.

"Bullshit," said Jennie. "You're not going.
That's
decided."

"Pack up any supplies you need." I understood that Mr.
Dinkins wouldn't change his mind, and worse, I understood why. "Go
find them. Your car's out back. We sort of stole it to get you back
here, so, uh, sorry I guess." Dinkins chuckled. Jennie glared at
me. "But listen," I continued. "You get there and don't find what
you're looking for, come back here. We'll wait for you here for a
couple days. If you
do
find
it, bring them with you. There's safety in numbers, Mr. Dinkins.
Either way, we'll expect you back."

Dinkins chuckled
again. "Wish my son had turned out like you, Raymond. You got a
better heart than most. Call me Torrance." He held out his hand. I
shook it. His grip was surprisingly firm.

"We shouldn't let
him go, Ray." Jennie said.

"We can't stop
him," I replied. "Come on, Mr...Torrance. I'll help you get packed
up."

I gave him my
backpack from Janet Wazowski's house. He refused to take any food,
but relented to two bottles of water and a dozen Percocets. Rivet
was somewhere else in the house, so Jennie and I were able to bid
Dinkins goodbye at the back door in the kitchen without much ado.
He grabbed the bayonet rifle, too, and when Jennie explained that
it was out of ammo, he said, "Always did like the wetwork better,"
and slapped Jennie lightly on the ass. Jennie looked like she might
try to strangle him, but I corralled Dinkins quickly out the
door.

"Remember what I
said about the oxycodone," I said as we walked to his car. "Every
four hours, and better take two at once if you're going to sleep.
Don't fuck that up. That's only enough for two days. You sure you
don't want to take more with you? After all, it's yours."

"Two days is
aplenty, Raymond," Dinkins said, turning to me as we reached to
dusty old Impala parked in the middle of the yard. "I'll be back,
you can count on that. You never did tell me how you know what you
do about medicine. That's a story I aim to hear." He tossed the
backpack and the rifle into passenger seat and climbed inside. He
rolled down the window and brushed a shock of gray hair off his
forehead. "You told me to think about this earlier, and I'm going
to say the same thing to you now. Think about this, son. Start
thinking for the future. You can't steal drugs from old men
forever."

Without another
word, Torrance Dinkins drove off, leaving a plume of dust across
the dry lawn.

I thought he might
just be the last human I ever saw alive. I couldn't have been more
wrong.

The end of the
world had just begun.

THE
DREAMS
OF FEAR
SERIES
CONTINUES