The World's End Series Book One: Dymond's World (5 page)

The sounds stopped right behind him.  Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the square toe of one giant boot on the ground beside him.  "Like the looks of her, huh?  Well, you ain't getting none of that.  Now get in your car and leave.  Me and her wants to be alone."

Fallon felt sweat pop out on his forehead.  The nice little buzz he'd had on had disappeared.  God wasn't around.

He continued to stare at the lake.  "I . . . I can't.  You see . . ."

He saw the boot lift and then it disappeared.  A half second later, Fallon felt it on his back.  It shoved and he fell to the earth, face up. The biker was standing over him. From this angle, he looked eight feet tall.

"Watching her pee getting you off, is that it?  Well, cocksucker, I gave you a chance to get in your fucking car and leave, but if you like seeing someone pee so much, then I'll let you see it real close up."

He reached to his crotch and unzipped his fly.  He pulled out his dick.  Fallon was surprised; it wasn't very big.

The biker looked up towards the heavens as he made the internal adjustments necessary to start his flow.

Fallon tried to wiggle out of the way even though he knew it was too late.  His hand struggled to find a purchase on the ground when it closed around a large rock.  Without thinking, Fallon threw the rock with all his strength.

It hit the biker right in the dick.

For a moment, there was no sound.  It was as if God had hit the world's mute button.  The biker looked down at his crotch in surprise. His knees slowly gave way and he sank to the ground.  He looked at his hand in surprise - it had blood on it.

Fallon sprang to his feet.  He had been peed on his whole life - by his wife, by his boss, by the fuckers at district, by just about everyone.  But today, at this spot in the universe, he would not get peed on.  Not by this biker, not by anyone.  His pent up anger exploded in rage.

He picked up another rock and hit the biker a glancing blow to his head.  He fell over, his eyes still open.  His mouth opened and a tooth dropped out.  Fallon's anger intensified and he kicked him again in the stomach but it was like he'd kicked a fat pillow.  The biker groaned and rolled over, unconscious.  Fallon kicked him in the balls.

He was just about to work his way back to the head, when he felt hands pulling him away.  "Please Mister, we've got to leave.  He'll kill us when he wakes up if we don't."

It was the peeing girl.  "Take me away, please!  He owns me and he's mean.  Oh God, Mister, he'll kill both of us for sure.  Take me with you, please!  I'll do anything, I promise!  Oh God!"

She started to cry and pull him towards the Escort.

"Wait," he said.  He took a second to calm down and think.

"That's not my car.  Come with me."

He picked up his tackle and the fish and led her, still crying, to his lake house.

If Mary didn't drop by the garage with lunch for Victor, the odds were good he wouldn't take the time to eat.  She walked into the office at one p.m. and Samantha Davis smiled at her.

"I was thinking you might not come in today.  He hasn't even taken a break all morning.  I told him I'd get him some KFC, but you know how he is."

Mary certainly knew how he was - their ten years of being married to each other was proof of that.  To say that Victor was a hard worker would be a severe understatement.  Five days a week, he left their house at 6:30 every morning and drove to Missoula to his "Fix it Right Garage."  He did just that for the next ten hours, before returning home to chores around the house and to spend time with her and the kids.  On Saturdays, he only worked in the shop until noon.

"Sam, would you set out the lunch? I'll go make the big lug get washed up."

"Sure Mary, he's stubborn today though.  He's got a bad one."

A "bad one" was a problem car that didn't want to be fixed.  Victor had been in charge of a vehicle shop in the army until he volunteered for Ranger school.  If any of his mechanics failed to fix something right the first time, Victor made them stay on the job until they got it right.  After Ranger school, he no longer worked on vehicles; he was assigned to do other jobs – things he was never allowed to talk about.

But he never lost his love of being a mechanic, of solving problems and making things work right.

So when a "bad one" appeared in his garage, he tended to obsess over it until he discovered and repaired the problem.  Normally, it didn't take long - Victor was very good at diagnosing.  He could see in his mind how one part fit into another, how the energy flowed through a machine.  He charged less than most shops, but had the best equipment and was the most efficient.  He repaired roughly twice as many cars as a normal mechanic.  Mary knew he worked hard for her and for the kids - and for himself.  She knew how he was.

When she walked into the garage, she didn't see him at first, but she heard a tapping sound behind an older looking SUV.  She walked around the side of the vehicle and smiled at the sight of him - seated on a little stool, just staring into the wheel well, tapping parts with a small hammer.  It reminded her of how she could test the reflexes of a patient by hitting their knee with a little rubber hammer.

"What so interesting?" she said.

He turned and looked at her in mild surprise.  "It's the damnedest thing.  I think I figured it out though."

He rose and walked toward her.  "Get yourself washed up before you touch me, Grease Monkey," she said.  She was wearing her white lab coat over a set of blue scrubs.  Above her breast pocket was embroidered, "Mary Hammel, PA-C" and below it, "Physician's Assistant."

He laughed and walked toward the bathroom.  As he did, Victor lifted his right hand above his head and inscribed a circle in the air - kind of like a halo.  It was their private signal, it meant, "Everything's okay.  I love you."  Mary went to make sure his lunch was ready.

***

Mary walked back to the break room.  "You look great today, Samantha."  As expected, she'd set three places at the table.  Their break room was spotless and so was the garage - Samantha saw to that.

"I thought I'd let my Indian flag fly."  She had her thick dark hair in two braids that were tied with beaded leather thongs she'd made herself.  Her long face with its brown eyes and high cheekbones made her heritage obvious.  She wore a western shirt and jeans.

Samantha's mother had been Chippewa. Sam’s father was white, but he had abandoned his family before she was even born.

***

Four years ago, when she was fifteen, Samantha and her mom had brought their beat up Subaru in for repair.  Victor knew immediately that it needed an expensive head gasket replacement.  Even at his rates, that was over a thousand dollars.

That night, he'd told Mary the story.  "I looked at them out of the corner of my eye.  I could tell the woman was nervous, expecting bad news.  You know how it is, times are tough and with some people their car means they can work and earn and live.  Without it . . . well, you know."

Mary understood.  She saw it in the schools and in the free clinic practically every day; kids whose parents had nothing, who were on welfare, who had given up.  It made it very easy for the kids to give up too.

"All the time the damned phone kept ringing.  I tell everyone that if I don't answer, I'm busy and to try back later.  But it kept ringing until the daughter picked it up.  'Fix It Right,' she said like she owned the place, 'How can I help?'  I was surprised, but she seemed to know what she was doing.  I heard her say, 'Yes ma'am.  I'm Sam.  I'm just helping out.  Okay, I'll ask him.'

"She put her hand over the phone and said, ‘It's a Mrs. Mosby.  She wants to bring in the Buick for a tune up on the twenty third.  Got an appointment book?'  Mary, I laughed.  I told her to just tell her that date was fine.

"The mother seemed to be embarrassed, like her daughter had stepped over some type of line.  She tried to explain, 'I work at the desk of a motel.  She helps me sometimes, answering the phone when I'm busy.'

"Darned if the girl didn't say, 'I can help you too.  Looks like you need it.  I could come over after school; it's only a couple of blocks.  I could answer the phone, get you organized.'  Before I knew it, Mary, we had an employee.”

There was one part of the story he'd left out.  Mary asked, "What did you tell them about the car?"

He looked sheepish.  "Ah . . . well, I told them it would be seventy five bucks.  You should have seen the mother, Mary.  She was so relieved.  She looked like she was almost crying.  She said, 'I thought it was going to be bad, real bad.'  Samantha was watching me, Mary.  I think she knew what was going on.”

Three years later, Samantha's mother died of cancer.  It was mercifully quick.  At the end, Mary was with the two of them every day, offering comfort and a shoulder to cry on.  Samantha was on her own now and going to junior college.  She also was a part of their family.

***

Samantha normally set the topic of conversation at lunch, but today there was only one thing everyone was discussing - the attack yesterday in Chicago.  The radio had been broadcasting the story all morning.

"I just heard there are a hundred twenty four confirmed dead, but they expect that number to rise."

Victor nodded, "Yeah, it's an old trick.  They plant a bomb and then a second one where they figure people will gather to try and help the first victims."

Mary handed them each a wrapped Reuben sandwich.  She knew it was Sam's favorite for lunch.  "I just don't get it. How can people do such things?  They must be evil, deep down inside."

"Lots of people are," said Victor.

They ate in silence for a while.  Samantha took a giant bite of her sandwich.  Mary was amazed at how much that girl could eat and never put on an ounce.

"So Vic, what happens to the airports now?  Will they move security outside the building?  Will they make everyone go in naked?"

Sam was serious in her questions.  She figured that Victor would know just about everything about terrorists - he'd been in the Middle East.  Her cousin was in the Army and when she told him that her boss was a Ranger, he was really impressed, "Those are some bad ass dudes, Sam - actually, more than bad ass. They only accept bad ass dudes into their Ranger school and almost sixty percent of them fail.  The ones that make it are super bad ass."

"I don't know, Sam.  It's a big problem.  If they move security to the entrance of the terminal that would just create another choke point where people will gather and terrorists can target.  If I had to guess, I'd say they'll not allow any type of baggage to be taken into the airport.  It'll all have to be shipped via FedEx or something.  It'll still be on the plane, but passengers will have to drop it off somewhere other than the airport a few days in advance."

"Well, that sucks," said Samantha.  "Why keep going after airports, Vic?"  She finished her sandwich and was eyeing the uneaten half of Mary's.  Mary slid it over to her and smiled.

"Because the ability to go just about anywhere we want, just about anytime we want is a symbol of our civilization.  It's a symbol of our freedom.  They want that to crumble."

Mary took Samantha's hand and squeezed it.  "How close are we, Vic - to when the shit hits the fan?"

"Closer today than yesterday."  He face showed his certainty.  "But it's probably a year or two or three away.  Things will get worse though.  You can feel that.  It's like it's in the air."

They knew what he meant.  The slow decline of their civilization was accelerating.  Sooner or later, things would hit a tipping point and all hell would break loose.  Everyone could feel something was just not right.

Mary looked Samantha directly in the eye, "You have your bug out bag all ready, right?"

Samantha smiled.  Sometimes Mary seemed to act like a mother, but most of the time they were close like sisters.  Either way, it felt good to have someone who loved you.

"Yes, of course.  It's all ready.  I sleep with it every night," she said sarcastically.

"Maybe you ought to think about moving in with us.  I don't like the idea of you being God knows where when things get bad."

They'd had this discussion before.  "Mary, I'm nineteen.  I want to sow some wild oats.  I want to see the world before it turns to crap.  I want to go to college and date boys and stay out late."

Mary looked at Victor.  He shrugged his shoulders as if to say, "You're on your own."

"And besides, if things get bad, I'll find a way to get out to your place.  Or maybe I'll just go to the rez.  I'll call myself Twin Feathers and I'll ride ponies and they'll make me chief.  Maybe the Indians will finally get the land back."

They both smiled at her.  "And you two are welcome to join us and be honorary Indians.  I'll call Vic 'Mighty Warrior' and Mary will be ‘Squaw Who Brings Lunch.'  We'll live primitive lives, hunting and fishing.  Zack and Zoe will grow up on the land, but we'll be happy like a family should be."

For just a moment, Mary thought that didn't sound so bad.

As soon as they left the trail and entered the woods, the peeing girl stopped crying.  Fallon knew she was following him because he could hear her footsteps behind him.  She didn't say a word as they walked uphill.

When they got to the clearing, he heard her stop right at the edge - she'd seen his home.  He put his gear away under the Airstream and went inside to get a pot and some water.  When he returned, she hadn't moved.

"You hungry?" he asked.  She looked thin, her knees were bony.

She thought for a second and then answered simply, "Yes."

Fallon put dried wood in the grill and lit it.  He went to work cleaning the crappie.  Each would provide two small fillets.  He'd done this many times before, so he was good at it.

"You like your fish grilled or fried?"

This time the delay lasted longer.  It was as if she was searching her memory.  Finally, she said, "I don't know."

He shrugged and went inside to get a pan and oil and flour.  Normally, he would just toss the fillets on the grill, but for the first time in years, he had a guest to dinner.  He would fry this fish - it was his favorite method.  Inside, he realized that God was back, studying the events down below intently.

When Fallon first returned, he didn't see her.  She had moved to the uphill side of the clearing.  She was squatting Indian style, her arms crossed in front of her knees.  She was right beside the Piece of Shit.  She watched him intently.

He put the pan on the fire and thought of the bottle in his pocket.  He took it out and gauged that it was over two thirds full.  He started to take a drink, but instead he moved slowly towards her and offered the bottle with his arm fully outstretched.

Before she could react, he withdrew his arm slightly.  "How old are you?"  He didn't want to get into trouble by giving liquor to a minor.  As soon as he thought that, he smiled to himself at his naïveté - a sip of liquor was probably one of the mildest things this girl had done.  He thought of that biker, Ax, and wondered what had brought her to this place in her life.

This time, she answered without any hesitation, "I'm eighteen."

In fact, she did look at least that old.  In some ways she looked a lot older - it was her eyes, mostly.  Eighteen was too young to legally have liquor, but her hand was still in the air, reaching for the bottle. 
To heck with it.

He offered her the bottle and she took it.  She took a tiny sip and handled it back.

He continued his preparations.  The fillets were pretty small.  "When's the last time you ate?"

Now she was obviously studying her memory.  "Yesterday.  They all got drunk and passed out.  I found some chips and a candy bar.  They never noticed."

Fallon had lived through some lean times, but he always kept a good supply of canned goods and staples like flour and sugar and salt in the Airstream.  When he was broke and payday wasn't until next week, he'd always managed to get by without being truly hungry.  The feeling that he was better off than one of his fellow human beings was a strange one to him.

He went inside and brought out a can of baked beans and put them on to warm.  They exchanged the bottle a few more times until the sound of sirens in the distance brought her quickly to her feet.  She had alarm on her face.

"Don't worry.  I would guess the hiker that owns the Escort returned from his walk around the lake and found that fat bastard lying there in the parking lot.  He probably called 911.  The cops will take care of things; maybe take your boyfriend to the hospital."  Fallon had a vision of the fat turd having to undergo some type of dick surgery.  He hoped it hurt.

"They don't know this place is here - I guess few people do."

She mumbled something, but he couldn't hear.  He asked her to repeat and she said, "Mister, he's not my boyfriend."  She resumed squatting.

***

When the food was ready, Fallon divided it equally on two chipped plates of the four he had left.  He'd started years ago with a brand new set of eight complete place settings, but his china was a lot like his life - it had dwindled over the years; cracking and chipping and finally breaking so that many of the original pieces had been discarded.

He took both plates and sat on the ground about six feet away from her.  He handed her one of the plates and then put the bottle midway between them.  It was about one third full.

She looked at the food very closely as if she was trying to decide if it was real.  She closed her eyes and Fallon wondered if she was offering thanks.  He checked, but God's ledge was empty so He wouldn't hear even if she was praying.

If it was a prayer, it didn't last long.  She put a full fork of beans in her mouth and seemed to start swallowing almost before she had time to chew.  She did it again and then she noticed him watching.  For the first time ever, she smiled at him.  It was just a little one, just a hint, but it was there.  "I guess I forgot my manners," she said.

They ate in silence and finished the bottle.  The late afternoon sun deserted them and the twilight was augmented by the red coals in the stone grill.  In the forest, they could hear the sounds of insects calling to each other.

***

Just as Fallon finished eating, his phone chirped to indicate he had a text.  It was an old style flip phone that Patti had given him from the dollar store.  He figured it showed up on some inventory list as "shrinkage" meaning it had been shoplifted.  But he knew that Patti gave it to him so she could call him into work when one of the other employees didn't manage to drag themselves in on time.  She also gave him a sixty minute calling card every month, but he guessed that was over now - he'd have to buy his own.

The message was from a car dealer.  They wanted him to drive a car to York tomorrow and then drive another one back.  That was a little town west of Philly, a bit over three hours away.  They would pay him a hundred bucks for the job because it was last minute, but the car had to be there before 10 a.m.  He'd have to get an early start.

He thumbed his agreement and pressed the green "Send" button.  Things were looking up.

He looked at the peeing girl.  She was studying him, wondering what the message was all about.  She looked wary.

"It's good news.  I've got a job for tomorrow, but I have to leave early - like before dawn.  I'm driving a car across the state.  I can drop you off somewhere in Pittsburgh or along the way, I guess.  Where do you want me to take you?"

He was strictly prohibited from having a passenger in the cars, but he'd just drop the girl somewhere safe and be off.  No one would know.

She looked worried.  "Mister, can't I say with you?"

He hadn't expected this.  "Do you have relatives nearby?  Parents?  Friends?"

"No Mister, I don't."  Her voice had a note of sadness in it, of shame.

Fallon knew how it felt to be truly alone; to have no one.  He also knew how it hurt to admit it.

She crawled on all fours over to him.  "Don't make me go, Mister."

She reached between his legs and started to massage him.  He took her hand and gently pushed it away.

"It's okay, Mister.  There's no problem."  She was slurring her words.

Fallon stood up and offered his hand to help her.  She took it. "I'm not thinking straight right now and you aren't either.  I guess you can ride with me tomorrow and we'll figure out what to do."

***

He went into the Airstream and started to wash the dishes.  He saw her peek inside from the corner of his eye.  Cautiously, she entered.  He'd been nice to her, but that was on the outside where she could run if she had to.  This little house would be harder to escape from if he turned out to be some type of maniac.  It paid to be careful with men you didn't know - she had learned that lesson well over the last few years.

Once she was fully inside, she looked over the layout.  It only took a second because the place was so small.  There was a couch that ran the full width of the trailer across the back.  In front of her was another couch set at a ninety degree angle to the first.  To her left she saw the man working in a tiny kitchen.  It had a sink and a stove and a couple of cabinets.  There was a door as well.  It was partially open.  She could see a toilet and what looked like a shower.  Suddenly, she felt dirty.  She sat on the couch directly across from the entrance.

He looked over at her, "What's your name?"

She started to tell him it was Rhonda or Amelia or some of the other names she gave johns, but she told him the truth, "It's Dymond."

"Diamond?  Like the ring?"

"Sounds like it, but it's spelled with a "Y" instead of an "IA."

"So, do people call you Dy?"

She shook her head in resignation.  "Yeah, they do."  Men also called her Princess and Lady Dy and Duchess.  Ax called her "your fucking highness."

She began to think he was actually harmless.  "Mister, what's your name?"

"It's Fallon."

"Fallon?  But that's a . . ."

He cut her off, "Girl's name.  I know.  However, my mother didn't know.  She just thought it sounded Irish.  She loved everything about Ireland even though she never went there in her whole life."

She wanted to ask if his mother was still alive, but she stopped herself.  Why did she care?

"Dy, I'm going to make a cup of coffee.  I'm a little light headed.  You want one?"

Ever since she'd been with the bikers, they kept all the booze to themselves.  She was feeling the few ounces she'd had tonight.  "It’s been a while, but sure, if it's okay, I mean."

"I've got to boil some water.  It'll take a few minutes."

She looked around more carefully.  There were no strange pictures on the walls, no knives or other weapons lying around.  No handcuffs.  The place looked kind of run down, but it was neat with everything in its place.  She relaxed and felt she was probably safe here with him.  Certainly safer than if she'd been back with Ax.

"Mister, while you're doing that, can I take a shower?  I haven't had one in a few days."

He looked quickly in the bathroom and then at her.  "There's a clean towel on the hanger.  Go ahead.  It's small though."

She pulled off her boots and wiggled her toes.  When she rose, her balance wavered for a second.  The buzz from the liquor felt good.

There was barely room from her to get undressed in the little bathroom.  She guessed he did it before he entered.  She turned on the water and first washed her skirt and top.  They were filthy.

She put them on the rack to dry and then entered the little glass enclosed shower stall.  The water felt cool and good.  She used his soap - he didn't seem like he'd mind.  There was a bottle of Old Spice shampoo on the ledge.  She used it on her hair.

She got done quickly so as not to waste his water and wrapped the towel around her.  It wasn't quite big enough, but she didn't care.  She was clean and well fed and had a little buzz on.  She felt better than she had in a long time.  She stepped out of the bathroom.

***

Fallon felt his breath catch when he saw her.  For the first time, he realized just how skinny she was.  He wondered if she was just naturally that way, or if she was malnourished.

She held the towel so that it covered her breasts and hung down from there.  He saw a large bruise on her side.  She saw him looking at it.  "Ax did that.  Hit me with a stick.  It's about healed now."

He passed her and went to open the sliding drawer below the back couch.  He took out a long sleeved green shirt and handed it to her. "Put this on," he said.

She nodded and took the shirt.  With no hesitation or warning, she dropped the towel and started to put it on.  Her nakedness almost startled him.  Her hip bones were prominent, her crotch not shaved for some time, but her breasts were full and round.  Her nipples protruded.  She was the first naked woman who had ever been in the Airstream with him.

"For God's sake, Dy, don't just parade around in the nude."

"I don't mind, Mister," she said.

"Well, I mind.  It's just not right."  Patti had always promised "to show him the goods" and to "screw his balls off" in the back room of the dollar store, but that was just talk.  The few women he knew would never show themselves to strangers like this; he knew they would feel degraded.

"You're not gay or anything are you?" she asked as she buttoned a couple of the shirt’s buttons.

So, if you tried to help someone without fucking them, you were gay
.  His voice was icy, "No, I'm not.  You're at least half drunk; I'm not sure you know what you are doing."

She must have sensed that he didn't appreciate that comment.  They sat side by side on the couch with their coffee.  "I'm sorry, Mister," she said quietly.

They drank in silence until their cups were empty.  Fallon took them to the kitchen and washed them.  When he returned, she was sitting cross legged on the couch.

"I need to get some sleep.  If you're going with me, you do too."  He set the wake up time on his phone.  Even cheap phones had an alarm clock.

Normally, he would pull both couches together so they made a regular full sized bed, but tonight he handed her a blanket and took one for himself.  He turned off the lights and sat on the other couch.  He took off his pants and lay down.  He could feel her watching him.