They tossed Wayne on the hood of the ‘57. Faces leaned over him. Yellow teeth and toothless gums were very near. A road-kill odor washed through his nostrils. He thought: now the feeding frenzy begins. His only consolation was that there were so many dead folks, there wouldn’t be enough of him left to come back from the dead. They’d probably have his brain for dessert.
But no. They picked him up and carried him off. Next thing he knew was a clearer view of the whale-shape the ‘57 had hit, and its color. It was a yellow school bus.
The door to the bus hissed open. The dead folks dumped Wayne inside on his belly and tossed his hat after him. They stepped back and the door closed, just missing Wayne’s foot.
Wayne looked up and saw a man in the driver’s seat smiling at him. It wasn’t a dead man. Just fat and ugly. He was probably five feet tall and bald except for a fringe of hair around his shiny bald head the color of a shit ring in a toilet bowl. He had a nose so long and dark and malignant-looking it appeared as if it might fall off his face at any moment, like an overripe banana. He was wearing what Wayne first thought was a bathrobe, but proved to be a robe like that of a monk. It was old and tattered and moth-eaten and Wayne could see pale flesh through the holes. An odor wafted from the fat man that was somewhere between the smell of stale sweat, cheesy balls and an unwiped asshole.
“Good to see you,” the fat man said.
“Charmed,” Wayne said.
From the back of the bus came a strange, unidentifiable sound. Wayne poked his head around the seats for a look.
In the middle of the aisle, about halfway back, was a nun. Or sort of a nun. Her back was to him and she wore a black-and-white nun’s habit. The part that covered her head was traditional, but from there down was quite a departure from the standard attire. The outfit was cut to the middle of her thigh and she wore black fishnet stockings and thick high heels. She was slim with good legs and a high little ass that, even under the circumstances, Wayne couldn’t help but appreciate. She was moving one hand above her head as if sewing the air.
Sitting on the seats on either side of the aisle were dead folks. They all wore the round-eared hats, and they were responsible for the sound.
They were trying to sing.
He had never known dead folks to make any noise outside of grunts and groans, but here they were singing. A toneless sort of singing to be sure, some of the words garbled and some of the dead folks just opening and closing their mouths soundlessly, but, by golly, he recognized the tune. It was “Jesus Loves Me.”
Wayne looked back at the fat man, let his hand ease down to the bowie in his right boot. The fat man produced a little.32 automatic from inside his robe and pointed it at Wayne.
“It’s small caliber,” the fat man said, “but I’m a real fine shot, and it makes a nice, little hole.”
Wayne quit reaching in his boot.
“Oh, that’s all right,” said the fat man. “Take the knife out and put it on the floor in front of you and slide it to me. And while you’re at it, I think I see the hilt of one in your other boot.”
Wayne looked back. The way he had been thrown inside the bus had caused his pants legs to hike up over his boots, and the hilts of both his bowies were revealed. They might as well have had blinking lights on them.
It was shaping up to be a shitty day.
He slid the bowies to the fat man, who scooped them up nimbly and dumped them on the other side of his seat.
The bus door opened and Calhoun was tossed in on top of Wayne. Calhoun’s hat followed after.
Wayne shrugged Calhoun off, recovered his hat, and put it on. Calhoun found his hat and did the same. They were still on their knees.
“Would you gentlemen mind moving to the center of the bus?”
Wayne led the way. Calhoun took note of the nun now, said, “Man, look at that ass.”
The fat man called back to them. “Right there will do fine.”
Wayne slid into the seat the fat man was indicating with a wave of the.32, and Calhoun slid in beside him. The dead folks entered now, filled the seats up front, leaving only a few stray seats in the middle empty.
Calhoun said, “What are those fuckers back there making that noise for?”
“They’re singing,” Wayne said. “Ain’t you got no churchin’?”
“Say they are?” Calhoun turned to the nun and the dead folks and yelled, “Y’all know any Hank Williams?”
The nun did not turn and the dead folks did not quit their toneless singing.
“Guess not,” Calhoun said. “Seems like all the good music’s been forgotten.”
The noise in the back of the bus ceased and the nun came over to look at Wayne and Calhoun. She was nice in front too. The outfit was cut from throat to crotch, laced with a ribbon, and it showed a lot of tit and some tight, thin, black panties that couldn’t quite hold in her escaping pubic hair, which grew as thick and wild as kudzu. When Wayne managed to work his eyes up from that and look at her face, he saw she was dark-complected with eyes the color of coffee and lips made to chew on.
Calhoun never made it to the face. He didn’t care about faces. He sniffed, said into her crotch, “Nice snatch.”
The nun’s left hand came around and smacked Calhoun on the side of the head.
He grabbed her wrist, said, “Nice arm, too.”
The nun did a magic act with her right hand; it went behind her back and hiked up her outfit and came back with a double-barreled derringer. She pressed it against Calhoun’s head.
Wayne bent forward, hoping she wouldn’t shoot. At that range the bullet might go through Calhoun’s head and hit him too.
“Can’t miss,” the nun said.
Calhoun smiled. “No you can’t,” he said, and let go of her arm.
She sat down across from them, smiled, and crossed her legs high. Wayne felt his Levi’s snake swell and crawl against the inside of his thigh.
“Honey,” Calhoun said, “you’re almost worth taking a bullet for.”
The nun didn’t quit smiling. The bus cranked up. The sand blowers and wipers went to work, and the windshield turned blue, and a white dot moved on it between a series of smaller white dots.
Radar. Wayne had seen that sort of thing on desert vehicles. If he lived through this and got his car back, maybe he’d rig up something like that. And maybe not, he was sick of the desert.
Whatever, at the moment, future plans seemed a little out of place.
Then something else occurred to him. Radar. That meant these bastards had known they were coming and had pulled out in front of them on purpose.
He leaned over the seat and checked where he figured the ‘57 hit the bus. He didn’t see a single dent. Armored, most likely. Most school buses were these days, and that’s what this had been. It probably had bullet-proof glass and puncture-proof sand tires too. School buses had gone that way on account of the race riots and the sending of mutated calves to school just like they were humans. And because of the Codgers — old farts who believed kids ought to be fair game to adults for sexual purposes, or for knocking around when they wanted to let off some tension.
“How about unlocking this cuff?” Calhoun said. “It ain’t for shit now anyway.”
Wayne looked at the nun. “I’m going for the cuff key in my pants. Don’t shoot.”
Wayne fished it out, unlocked the cuff, and Calhoun let it slide to the floor. Wayne saw the nun was curious and he said, “I’m a bounty hunter. Help me get this man to Law Town and I could see you earn a little something for your troubles.”
The woman shook her head.
“That’s the spirit,” Calhoun said. “I like a nun that minds her own business… You a real nun?”