“As long as there’s food,” Mia said. Chewy barked, letting us know he felt the same way, and it was pretty difficult to say no to Chewy. So we followed Ramsey Cobb. Hell, even Stone, the perpetual pessimist, tagged along.
The cafe was cozy. A dozen or so tables dotted the main dining area, and parked on each side were canvas directors’ chairs. They looked cool, but I doubted they were comfortable. The booths running along the left and back wall seemed a safer bet for both lumbar and butt support. Above these booths were more film posters and Ramsey’s DIY lights, though not as many as in the lobby due to the smaller size of the room.
On my immediate left stood an old-timey jukebox, like something out of a fifties themed diner. This, however, remained dark and most likely would for the foreseeable future. Ramsey ambled along the carpet, designed with pastel colored movie reels and cameras, toward the middle of the room. He pushed two tables together. I offered to help, about to hand Ell the rifle, in case things turned bad, but he waved me away.
“Nah, you’re my guests—not to mention I probably had y’all close to shittin’ your britches when I ran at you with that gun there—so it’s the least I can do.”
“That’s an understatement,” Stone mumbled. He held his lone crutch in his right hand while his left elbow rested on the hostess’ stand.
Ramsey obviously heard this, but instead of retorting or making a big deal of it, he pointed by Stone and said, “Hey man, there’s a first-aid kid under that table there. Could you grab it for me?”
Stone laughed. “Wait, you serious?”
“Yeah, man, my head is killin’ me. Wanna clean this up before we start eatin’. Y’all probably don’t wanna stare at somethin’ this ugly while you’re shoveling down candy and beef jerky. It’ll make ya lose your appetite.”
“I’ve got an iron stomach after looking at Stone over so many meals,” I joked. Stone rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. No chance of laughter there. A swing and a miss, Grady. “Oh, I see how it is,” I continued, “you can make fun of me all day, but when I get in on the action, you get pouty. Dish it, but can’t take it.” I shook my head.
“That’s because you’re such an easy target, Grady,” he replied.
“Wait a second,” Mia interrupted, face alight with excitement as she looked at Ramsey. “Did you say candy and beef jerky?”
Now we all rolled our eyes
“I did,” Ramsey answered. He smirked slightly and tilted his head. “Not exactly a five-star dining experience, I know, but—”
“Do you have Skittles?”
“I think so…I’ll have to check, and they’re probably a tad on the expired side—”
“You son of a bitch, you’ve just become my favorite person.”
This time, we all laughed—Stone included.
There were Skittles and a little beef jerky. I followed Ramsey into the kitchen of the cafe. It was smaller than the dining area, and towers of boxes stood on a stainless steel table. This was his store of food, which mostly consisted of junk: candy, small bags of chips, and twenty-ounce bottles of pop. Watching as he pulled Snickers and Butterfingers out, I could almost feel the cavities eating away at my enamel.
“Ah, here we go,” Ramsey said. He set a big bag of Skittles next to a couple bags of off-brand jerky. Last I remembered, Mia had wrapped her Skittles in Jack Links, but I didn’t think she’d mind the change.
Ramsey said, “Help yourself, Grady.”
“Got any Reese’s?”
“I see you’re a fella with good taste.” He winked. “Box right there. There ain’t much left, because I fuckin’ love ‘em, but there should be enough for a taste.”
“A taste is all I need.” I blinked a few times, realizing how addicted I’d become to sweets. “Geez, I sound like a drug addict.”
“You ain’t far off, I think. My momma always said sugar was neck-and-neck with meth. Both keep you awake a while and rot your teeth. ‘Course, sugar’s legal.”
I chuckled. “Your mom’s a smart lady.”
“Was a smart lady, yeah.”
“Shit, I’m sorry.”
“Don’t sweat it. She died when I was a kiddo. I barely remember her.”
“So did my mom,” I said.
“Sorry to hear that, pal.” He grabbed an empty box and started loading it with various snacks, and then he motioned to a freezer behind me. “If you wanna save your teeth some trouble, there’s other junk in the ice chest. Don’t know why I keep it in there, seeing how it’s about thirty degrees in the cafe. Guess it’s just a habit. Anyway, there’s some hot dogs and pretzel nuggets you can microwave. Ain’t no nacho cheese, but I got packets of mustard I can thaw out.”
“You have a microwave?” The word sounded almost alien as it left my lips and reached my ears. Microwaves were one of the old world luxuries I’d nearly forgotten about. When we mostly ate prepackaged food and warmed stuff up over the fire, it was easy to forget.
Ramsey nodded. “Runs same way all the lights do. On car batteries and a couple of gas generators. Kinda funny, actually. When people started freakin’ out and hoardin’ food, it never crossed their minds on how they was gonna cook once the power went off—seeing as how most people can’t even roast a marshmallow over a campfire the right way. So I raided a Walmart on my way out here, and most of the shelves were empty—except Fig Newtons because nobody likes those—but I ain’t let that get me down. I moseyed on over to the car and tire section and loaded up a cart full of batteries. It was a helluva job draggin’ those heavy bastards through the snow, and I was sore for about five days after, but shit, it was worth it.”
“I guess so.” I grabbed one of the plastic packages of salted pretzel bites. “If it’s any consolation, you’re pretty much my hero. I
