“You were about to hit me.” Bending, Diana grabbed the tire iron and skipped out of his reach. “I was defending myself.”
Stiggims couldn’t stop shedding tears. Hiking his dirty shirt up around his scrawny chest, he daubed at his eyes. “Are you loco?” he demanded between swipes. “I was taking that inside is” all.”
“Sure you were. You need to change the tires on your couch. Is that how it goes?”
“Damn, you’ve got a suspicious nature. My freezer jams sometimes and that iron is how I pry it open.” Diana refused to take him at his word. “Why would you want to open your freezer?” Stiggims stopped blinking long enough to glare. “I was thinking of inviting you to supper. But you can starve for all I care.”
“I’d like to believe you. I really would.” Diana was awash in a distinct sense of the absurd. “Here.” She slid a hand under his arm and hoisted him to his feet. The skin-and-bones old goat was lighter than a feather.
Stiggims tore loose and moved toward the house. His face pressed to his shirt, he muttered under his breath.
Diana caught a few of his comments; they weren’t flattering. Snatching her backpack, she ran ahead of him onto a dilapidated porch. “Here. Let me.” She pulled on a screen door with more holes than screen.
“I don’t want your help.” Stiggims sulked. “Go back to the road and find someone else to pick on.”
“I’m sorry.” Diana followed him in and almost gagged. “What’s that terrible smell?” Stiggims stopped wiping and sniffed. “I don’t smell anything but that stuff you sprayed me with. If I go blind it’ll be your fault.”
“You won’t lose your sight,” Diana assured him. She was so concerned about misjudging him that she hadn’t paid much attention to her surroundings. Now she did, and she inwardly recoiled. The place was a pigsty. The floor was inches deep in trash and the walls were spattered with grime and food stains. “How can you live like this?”
“Like what? Alone? I don’t cotton to people much.”
Diana turned and something cracked under her foot. It was a chicken bone, partially chewed, the meat shriveled and moldy. Suddenly she needed out of there. She went onto the porch and gulped deep lungfuls of hot air. She was still holding the tire iron in one hand and her back-pack and the mace in the other. Setting the pack down, she slid the mace into her pocket and went to lean the tire iron against the wall.
A growl brought her up short.
Out of the depths of the barn came a mongrel. A huge dog, mostly black but speckled with white, it had the build of a St. Bernard. Blocky head hung low, it stalked toward her and bared its fangs.
“Mr. Stiggims!” Diana called. “Can you come out here, please? Your dog isn’t happy to see me.” The old farmer didn’t answer. Diana slowly backed to the screen door and opened it. “Mr. Stiggims?” The dog was still advancing so she backed inside.
Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in the small of her back.
“Drop that iron, dearie, and do it quick. If’n you don’t, I’ll cut you.” Diana glanced over her shoulder. Tears still streamed from Stiggims’ eyes, but he had stopped blinking and was holding a knife to her spine. “What is this?”
The farmer jabbed harder. “I won’t tell you again.”
The dog was almost to the porch. It had stopped at the sound of Stiggims’ voice but its hackles were up and it was snarling.
Diana let go of the tire iron and held her arms out from her sides. “There. Don’t do anything hasty.”
“I never do, girlie.” Stiggims chuckled and came around in front of her. A spot of red was on the tip of the blade. “You had me worried for a bit. But now I can take you out to the barn.” He jerked a thumb at the dog. “Hercules, there, will keep you company.”
“Wait,” Diana said, stalling. “Why are you doing this? What is it you want with me?”
“It’s the end of the world, dearie. Armageddon. Just like in Scripture. Pretty soon the angels will sound their trumpets.”
“But that doesn’t explain what you want with me.”
“I want your company is all. A man shouldn’t have to face the end times alone.” Stiggims did a double take. “Oh. Was you thinking I had ideas? Dearie, I’m too old for such tomfoolery. We’ll talk, and maybe play dominos, or cards if you like.”
Diana thought he was insane.
Squaring his slim shoulders and drawing himself up to his full height, Stiggims solemnly declared, “‘For the great day of His wrath has come, and who is able to stand?’”
“What was that? From the Bible?”
“You don’t know the Good Book when you hear it? Of course it’s from the Bible. Revelation 6:17 I know it front to back and back to front.” Stiggims grew solemn again. “‘And I looked, and behold, a pale horse. And the name of him who sat on it was Death, and Hell followed with him.’”
“Mr. Stiggims,” Diana said, and caught herself. “Amos. Please. Listen to me. Holding me here against my will is illegal.”
“There are none so blind,” Stiggims said sadly.
Diana tried another tack. “It’s not the end of the world. It’s a war. World War Three. Millions will perish, but the world will go on. People will survive. You stand a good chance of living through it, living where you do.”
“It’s no use. I have my mind made up. I was sitting in that rocking chair thinking about how awful it was to go to perdition by my lonesome when you dropped out of the sky into my lap. I took that as a sign.”
“Please. I have somewhere I need to be.”
“You’re darn right you do. My barn.” Stiggims wagged the knife. “There’s a small room in the back I use for tools and such. I can bar it, and there ain’t any windows.” He paused. “Or better yet, maybe I should put you in the root cellar.”
“What about you? Where will you be?”
“I’ll stay up here until the missiles start to fly. Then I’ll join you.”
“I’m sorry,” Diana said. “That’s unacceptable.” She lunged, shoving him hard enough to spill him onto his backside on the porch. Whirling, she ran through the living room and into a small kitchen. The stench of rotten food assailed her as she raced to a back door and flung it open. Beyond was a yard and a cornfield, the stalks as tall as she was. Leaping down a short flight of steps, she sped toward them.
“Get her, boy! Attack! Attack!” Diana looked back. Hercules was after her.
9. Eve of Destruction
Ben Thomas’s idea was to take Interstate 90 all the way across Washington and Idaho into Montana and then take Interstate 94 into northern Minnesota.
Things went fine as far as Spokane. They were able to get gas. He was careful not to let his fuel drop below half so he always had plenty to spare. Traffic wasn’t the pain he expected it to be. A lot of folks were holed up in their homes, awaiting the next development in the spreading global conflict. Space drove him nuts using the radio. She was constantly running up and down the dial looking for stations with the latest news. He almost told her to stop—but when she was playing with the radio she was usually preoccupied and quiet, and there was only so much of her chatter he could take. The girl about talked his head off.
It was as they were pulling out of Ellensburg that Space told Ben about her parents. Her father had been an alcoholic, her mother a druggie. When they hadn’t been abusing each other, they had been abusing her. She had taken it until she was twelve and then she skipped. She had gone to live with an aunt who had always treated her nicely, but the aunt had a son her age who thought she was the hottest treat on two legs and couldn’t keep his hands off her. So Space had skipped again and wound up living on the street.
“It wasn’t bad at first. I had a little money so I could eat. I found a condemned building and lived in a room with a lock on the door so I could sleep safe at night. I stayed away from other street people. The few who knew I was hiding there left me alone. But the good vibes didn’t last. They never do.”