“Yeah, great,” said Erin Swails hopelessly, “and then we’re off to see the Wizard.”
Once they’d crept through the tall grass to within fifty yards or so, they could see that the factory was deserted; there were no tire tracks, footprints, or other signs of human or even animal activity. The doors, from the regular-sized on up to the big loading docks, were all locked tight and the windows were almost all intact. They circled the edifice, looming like a small mountain on the grassy plain, kicking up grasshoppers and butterflies and then, arriving back at the front, paused to eye up the best way of forcing entry. Justin was staring up at the factory’s windows when he tripped over something in the knee-high grass. Stooping down, he pulled out an embossed sign, maybe three feet by two, which read “Kramer & Sons Candy Canes, Inc.”
Justin dropped the sign back into the grass and, despite himself, let out a coarse laugh.
“Wouldn’t you just know it,” he said, shaking his head. “Of all the crazy things…”
“What it say?” asked Teresa, peering down at the sign.
“This,” he said, waving at the building, “is a candy cane factory! Not a food warehouse or an outlet clothing store or an autocar plant. Not an arms depot or a medical clinic or… or anything that might be of any conceivable use to us. No, these good people, back in happier days, made candy canes.”
“What that? Some kinda stick made outta candy, heh?”
“Yes, exactly. Little red-and-white striped sticks of peppermint candy with a hook on one end so you could hang it on a Christmas tree.”
“Huh,” said Teresa dubiously. “Well, whatever. It candy, right? Ya can eat it, hey?”
“Oh, I guess so,” said Justin. “It’s just that out of all the manufacturing concerns in all of America, why did this one have to turn out to be, of all things, a candy cane factory?”
“Like I said,” she shrugged, “ya never know. Now let’s bust in there and see if they’s any candy left!”
Moving quickly and efficiently, she took a foot-long pry bar from her messenger’s bag and went over to a side door, applied the bar to a crack and, in no time, had jerked and pulled it open. Putting away the pry bar, she switched back to her shotgun and, waving him to follow, slowly advanced into the building.
It was dark and the air was warm and close inside, and from the instant Justin crossed the threshold, the scent of peppermint filled his nostrils. There were various large, open areas, most filled by huge automated machines and assembly lines, and a few smaller office-type spaces, all liberally coated in dust and shrouded in thick spider webs. They walked slowly and warily around the place until, near the back, they found what they were looking for, the absolute mother lode of candy canes. Stacked in boxes with the company name and logo emblazoned jauntily on the sides, ready to be shipped, were literally millions of the things. Teresa gave a sort of happy shout and immediately tore into the packages.
“Hey, these’re good!” she said, chomping. “Sorta minty, like you say. Real sugary, too!”
“I’m glad you like them,” said Justin wanly, sitting nearby, “but they’re really not very good for you.”
“Why not?” she asked, stopping to glare at the candy. “It ain’t like poison, hey?”
“No, nothing like that. They’re just not very nutritious. There are not a lot of good things in there, as far as food is concerned.”
Teresa shrugged and grinned. “Well I like ‘em,” she said, stuffing another into her mouth. “Real nice an’ sweet.”
Justin, lacking much else to do, went over to the boxes, took out a pack of candy, opened it up, and stuck a cane into his mouth. Instantly, his under-used salivary glands gushed at the sweetness and mint and, despite his usual dislike for sweets, he popped the rest into his mouth and crunched it up. Then he grabbed another. And another. He was reaching for a fourth when he realized that he shouldn’t eat too many at once or risk getting sick to his stomach and put it back. Besides, they had tons of the things.
“Better watch out,” he told Teresa. “You don’t want to eat too many of those or you’ll get a stomach ache.”
“Yeah, yeah,” she said disdainfully, crunching happily away. “Don’ worry about me, Case.”
“Yes, well,” said Justin, “if you don’t mind, I think I’ll go get the others.”
“Huh?” she said. “Oh yeah… them.” She shrugged. “Suit yerself. Jus’ keep an eye open, hey? Don’ forget, we got some greep on our ass, right?”
“Yes, I remember,” he said. “And I’ll be right back.”
On the walk back to the others, for a split second he thought of collecting them and running away, of taking the opportunity to escape Teresa while she was busy gorging on candy canes, but then gave it up as hopelessly useless; with Mr. Lampert, they wouldn’t make it two miles before Teresa would figure out they were gone and come after them. And besides, how would they survive without her? No, now was not the time to try that.
Needless to say, none of the others was too thrilled that they’d found a huge cache of candy canes—as opposed to something like a fully-stocked supermarket—but the prospect of something—anything—other than soy paste and pet food to eat somewhat made up for it.
Mr. Lampert insisted on making the walk down to the factory by himself and did so, albeit slowly and carefully, and within another ten minutes, they were all together again in the dusty, cobwebbed, barn-like building. Along the way, there was no sign that Justin could see of anyone following or spying on them.
He led the others to the storeroom, where they found Teresa still gorging herself on refined sugar. Cass and Swails immediately fell upon the candy, but the Old Man stood back with Justin and watched the carnage.
“Candy canes,” said Lampert. “What a weird-ass fuckin’ thing to stumble across. Well, I suppose they had to make the things somewhere. Me? I could never stand ‘em. Even when I was a kid.”
Justin tried to imagine Howard Lampert as a child, some sort of little, wizened, miniature version, perhaps, but some fundamental part of his brain was either too tired or too unimaginative to even begin picturing it and he quickly gave up and smiled down at the Old Man.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m not especially fond of them, either. But they are essentially raw sucrose and, in lieu of anything else, do provide some much-needed calories.”
“Yeah, I ‘spose,” said Lampert, looking around the place. “Makes ya wonder, though, don’t it? All these candy canes, just sittin’ here like this?”
“What do you mean, sir? What’s to wonder about?”
“Well, look at ‘em all,” said the Old Man. “All stacked up on pallets, shrink-wrapped and everything, all ready to go. I mean, what happened here? Just one day nobody showed up for work? Or the truck line that was supposed to pick ‘em up didn’t show? I dunno, I guess maybe it just gives me the creeps.”
“Hmm,” said Justin. “Yes, it does have a sort of ghostly feel to, it doesn’t it? But maybe that’s just because most of the buildings we find are wrecked or burned. Here there are still all the signs of, well, of humans at work. Signs of life.”
“Guess you’re right, Doc,” nodded Lampert. “Got sort of a Mary Celeste feel to it.”
Justin was learning about this purportedly famous ghost ship from the 19th century, in Lampert’s roundabout way, when he noticed Teresa abruptly drop the candy cane she’d been about to eat and then, emitting a low groan, clutch her stomach.