He scoffed at the thought. There was never such a thing as “a little” alcohol with him.
He stopped the motion of sharpening and stared off into space. “How long has it been since I’ve actually had a drink?” He honestly couldn’t remember. He shrugged and went back to the task at hand.
How could he have changed so much? He was a different man; he felt it. He could remember hearing tales of people with average to below average intelligence becoming geniuses after a traumatic injury to the head. One guy was shot straight through the noodle and became a math genius. The shit just came to him; it was like he was plugged into some hidden, ancient archive of mathematical knowledge.
He’d also heard that people who were truly psychotic would be irreversibly changed with a frontal lobotomy. The quacks would take an ice pick and slide it into the orbital cavity. Tap it with a hammer and then scramble the eggs in the front of their head. These bloodthirsty, murdering, raping bastards would come out of the procedure with a slight headache but also be as calm as a Sunday School Teacher. Something about messing up the wiring in the front of the brain changed them.
He stopped dragging the knife across the stone and stared off again. “Did the Rager virus do a lobotomy on me?”
Since there was no cosmic voice answering him, he went back to the task at hand. He held up a piece of paper and the Bowie knife slid through it as if it weren’t even there.
He set the knife aside and picked up the military Ka-Bar. As he began to drag it across the stone, his mind wandered again.
What of Lana? Had she been a quiet, mousy woman before the virus got hold of her? Was she slowly changing places with who he used to be?
So many questions, not enough answers.
Simon nearly sliced his thumb when she appeared on the other side of the table. “You’re sure lost in thought.”
He nodded weakly and went back to sharpening. “Just readying my weapons.” He glanced up at her. “I have a gut feeling that Trent may try something stupid.”
“Today?” She seemed almost excited at the idea.
He shrugged. “Soon enough.”
She huffed as she stood from the table. “You sound as though you don’t want him to attack.”
Simon looked up at her and shook his head. “There are so few people left in the world.” He set the knife down and crossed his arms. “We should be finding ways of keeping as many of us alive as we can, not looking forward to killing them.”
She stood frozen in the kitchen, the coffee pot shaking in her hand. “You’re not who I thought you were, Simon.”
He watched her pour the water into the machine then turn it on. He had to agree with her. “I tried to tell you…I’ve changed.”
She barely turned, an evil glint in her eye. “Not for the better.”
27
Hatcher tried to breathe through his mouth as he walked around and between the bodies laid out in the wash. Most still had some semblance of clothing clinging to their bloated and gas filled bodies. Most were so swollen and their skin so dark that he couldn’t make out any recognizable features.
“I’m only checking the females,” Missy called from the other side.
Hatcher slowly shook his head, fighting the urge to throw up. “A lot of them—I can’t tell if they were a man or woman.”
Missy stood upright, her hands planted on her hips. “I don’t know about you, but I had to have a college degree to get this job.” She smiled at him under the bandana tied to her face. “They taught me the difference between boys and girls in biology.”
He shot her a disapproving look that she totally dismissed as she chuckled to herself. “Seriously, I’m not seeing anything that…” He paused and stepped back, his head shaking. “I see part of a uniform, but…”
Missy stood up and looked in the area where he was staring. “That’s a dude.” She squinted slightly and shook her head. “That’s also a Sheriff’s uniform.”
Hatcher stepped back and swatted at the few flies that swarmed the area. “They’re the same color, so…” He looked to her again. “Is it just me or are there a heck of a lot less flies than what you’d expect?”
She nodded. “I noticed that the last time I was here. There are a few flies, but no maggots.”
Hatcher climbed up and away from the bodies. “This makes no sense. No scavengers, no maggots… just a handful of flies…and they don’t seem to be on the bodies themselves.”
Missy shrugged. “Maybe they know something we don’t.” She climbed up the other side of the gully and pulled her bandana down. “I’m not seeing any females wearing a ranger uniform.”
Hatcher slapped the dirt from his hands as he walked around to her side. “I didn’t either.”
She smiled at him, excitement in her eyes. “That’s good though, right? That means she could still be alive.”
Hatcher nodded, but in his heart he found no joy. “You’d think she’d…I dunno. Make her way back to the station or something.”
“Why?” Missy asked as they made their way back to the ATV’s. “I mean, you asked me why I didn’t go home. I had nothing. What about her? Would she have maybe gone home?”
Hatcher sighed as he straddled the machine. “I have no idea. I know that she grew up in Texas, but I don’t know if she had any family still there.”
Missy whistled low. “You think this park is big? Texas is huge.”
Hatcher nodded in agreement. “I don’t even remember what town she said she was from.” He suddenly felt like a terrible person for not committing every tiny detail of the woman’s life to memory.
Missy gave him a sad smile. “Don’t give up hope just yet.” She started the ATV and leaned on
