Maybe I can work the ghost town into the scavenger idea, he thought as they entered the narrow pass.
“Thar she blows!” Pete announced.
Two
Along the road leading into Sagebrush Flat were the remains of shacks that had been picked apart by the desert winds. Houses of stone, adobe, and brick had fared better, but even those looked battered, their doors hanging open or gone, their windows smashed. Here and there boards lay scattered on the ground near doorways and windows. Larry supposed that the lumber had once been used to seal the dwellings.
The weathered walls of the old houses were pocked with bullet holes, scribbled with sketches and messages in spray paint. Contributions from visitors to this dead town, making a playground of its carcass.
Many of the yards were bordered by broken-down fences. Along with cactus and brush, Larry saw pieces of old furniture in front of some houses: a sofa, a couple of cane chairs, an aluminum lawn chair with its frame twisted crooked. One house had a bathtub off to the side. Another had an overturned bathroom toilet that looked as if it had been the subject of target practice. The rusted hood of a car was leaning against a porch. Nearby lay a couple of tires, and Larry recalled the abandoned, tireless car he’d seen a few minutes ago.
“Isn’t exactly Beverly Hills, huh?” Pete remarked.
“Love it,” Larry said.
“Gee, and we forgot our spray cans,” Jean said. “How can we properly deface the place without our paint?”
“We could shoot it up some.” Pete reached beneath his seat and came up with a revolver. It was sheathed in a beltless holster. Larry recognized it as the .357 Smith & Wesson that he’d fired a few times when they’d gone shooting last month. A beauty.
“Put that away,” Barbara said. “For godsake.”
“Just kidding around. Don’t get your balls in an uproar.”
As he concealed the handgun under his seat, Barbara said, “Men and their toys.”
Pete swung the van off the road and stopped beside a pair of gasoline pumps. He beeped the horn a couple of times as if signaling for service.
“God,” Barbara muttered.
“Hey, wouldn’t it be something if a guy
Larry gazed past the pumps. The porch stairs led up to a country store with a screen door hanging by a single hinge. A faded wooden sign above the doorway identified the place as Holman’s. A row of windows faced the road. Not a single pane was still intact. The window openings looked like mouths with sharp glass teeth.
“Might as well start here,” Pete said.
“Great,” Larry said. He thought it might be interesting to go through some of the houses they’d passed on the way in, but those could wait for another day. He was more eager to explore the downtown area.
He climbed out of the van. The wind and heat hit him. Jean grimaced when she stepped down. The wind blew her hair back, made her blouse and skirt cling to the front of her slim body as if they were wet.
“Better lock up,” Pete called.
“There’s nobody around to steal anything,” Barbara said.
“Would you rather I take the magnum along?”
“Okay, okay, we’ll lock the doors.”
Larry took care of their side. They met Pete and Barbara in front of the van.
“I would feel better if we took the gun with us,” Pete said.
“Well, I wouldn’t.”
“You never know about a place like this.”
“If you think it’s dangerous, we shouldn’t be here.” Barbara tossed her head to clear her face of blowing blond hair. The wind parted her untucked blouse below the last button, and Larry glimpsed a triangle of tanned belly.
“Might be rattlers,” Pete said.
“We’ll watch our step,” Jean told him. Like Larry, she was no doubt eager to end the gun debate before it could escalate into a quarrel.
“Yeah,” Larry said. “And if we run into any bad guys, we’ll send you back here for the artillery.”
“Oh, thanks. While you guys hide.”
“You wouldn’t mind, would you, honey?”
He answered by clamping a hand on Barbara’s rump. The way she flinched and jumped away, he must’ve done it hard. She whirled toward him. “Just watch it, huh?”
“Let’s see what’s in Holman’s,” Jean said, and hurried toward the stairs.
Larry went after her. “Careful,” he said. The boards, bleached pale, were warped and threaded with splits. The one before the top was broken in the middle, half gone and half hanging down by rusty nails.
Jean held the railing, stepped over the demolished stair and made it safely across the porch. While she dragged the screen door open, Larry climbed the stairs. They creaked under his weight but held him.
“You better not try it,” Pete warned Barbara, looking back at her as he trotted up the old planks. “You’ll snap ‘em like matchsticks.”
“Give it a rest,” she said.
Larry admired her restraint. It seemed so damn stupid of Pete to poke fun at his wife’s size. She was big, probably a shade over six feet tall. Though not a beanpole, like many tall women, she certainly wasn’t overweight. Larry had seen her in all kinds of attire, including swimsuits and nightgowns, and considered her body terrific. He knew that Pete was proud of her appearance. Pete was compact and powerful, but lifting all the weights in the world wouldn’t give him the six inches of height he would need to meet Barbara eye to eye.
Instead of calling him “short stuff” or “pip-squeak,” she’d simply told him to give it a break. Admirable.
She climbed the stairs without bursting any of them.
Inside, Holman’s smelled of dry, ancient wood. Larry expected the place to be stifling, but the shade and the breeze from the broken windows kept it bearable. A thin layer of sand coated the hardwood floor. It had blown into small drifts against the walls, the foot of the L — shaped lunch counter, and the metal bases of the swivel stools along the counter.
The eating area occupied about a third of the room. There had probably once been tables between the counter and the wall, but they were long gone.
“Bet they served great cheeseburgers,” Jean said. She was very fond of diners with character. To Jean, dumpy old places that many people would disparage as “greasy spoons” promised delights unattainable in clean and modern fast-food chains.
“Shakes,” Barbara said. “I could go for one about now.”
“I could go for a beer,” Pete said.
“I think I saw a saloon up the road,” Jean told him.
“But they only serve Ghost-Light,” Larry said.
“Let’s break a few out of the van before we move on.”
“You’ve got a beer?” Larry could
“Surely you jest. The desert’s one dry mother. You think I’d brave her without my survival stash?”
“All
Pete headed for the door.
“Aren’t you going to look around?” Barbara asked.
“What’s to see?” He hurried outside.
“I guess he’s right,” Jean said, scanning the room.
“The rest of it must’ve been a general store,” Larry said. “I bet they carried everything.”
Nothing remained, not even shelves. Except for the lunch counter and stools, the room was bare. Behind
