Cooper stopped, palms up, “I’m just here to help. I know this man.” He pointed at Buck, who was now lying on the ground, groaning.
“Well, then. You can do us all a favor. You get him up and out of here in two minutes, I don’t care if you got a contract to kill ‘im,” the first guard said, relief in his voice.
Cooper nodded and took the final steps to kneel at Buck’s feet. The second guard stepped back to give him room as he did so. Buck saw Cooper’s approach and pulled back, curling his legs and arms into a defensive posture. His face had a gash across his left cheek and, although they were covered by clothes, he was likely bruised from the beating that had just been administered.
“Donnnn’t hu-rr-t mme…” he stammered.
“Buck, I’m here to help you.”
Buck shook his head, trying to clear it, “Whhaa…whoooo?”
He leaned in to whisper in his ear, “Cooper Adams.” Buck reeked so badly, he had to fight his urge to recoil backwards. The first odor to assault him was the rank of too much alcohol, but the foul body odor of a man who hasn’t bathed for a long time quickly piled on. The wafting smell of dried vomit joined the fray. Cooper brought the crook of his elbow to shield his nose from the affront.
Cobwebs hung on in Buck’s mind, “Cooopp…who?”
With the guard so close by, Cooper didn’t want to yell out his name and he struggled to find a way to help Buck remember him. Then, it hit him.
“Sicilian omelet, double helping of wheat toast!” Cooper exclaimed with the glee one has when they figure out the key to a puzzle. If anything sparks him, it will be my unusual order!
A smile started in the corner of Buck’s mouth, but quickly took over, “Coop—! Doubb-llle the wh—eat! Healthy Portl-landers,” he finished with a disdain-ridden muttering. His eyes had some clarity now, drilling into Cooper’s.
Cooper smiled and clapped him on the shoulder, “Yup, you got it! The one and the same.”
“You lovebirds gonna get moving or not?” The second guard said, prodding Cooper with the butt stock of his rifle. He stifled his anger, but not before his right hand moved a few inches back toward his pistol. Luckily, the guard did not notice the movement.
“Yup, we’ll be moving along,” was what he said instead. “Can you move?”
Buck moaned as he sat up, “Sure. Jusss-t might n-need help.”
Cooper grasped him under the arm and helped lift him to his feet. Buck was unsteady and nearly stumbled. Cooper righted him. As he turned him towards the vehicle, Dranko was waiting, arms crossed. The vicious frown plastered on his face as he shook his head slowly from the side to side, made his statement unmistakable.
Cooper rebuffed him, “It’s happening. One, I know him. Two, remember that homeless man from Hawthorne?” The reference to the man they had met in the first days of the Plague, who was teaching about the value of generosity while the world fell apart, deflated Dranko in an instant.
The frown turned into a sheepish smile, “Sure.” Dranko moved to gather up Buck’s belongings and throw them into the back of the Jeep. Meanwhile, Cooper manhandled Buck into the backseat, opposite of where he was sitting.
“Buck, this is Angela… Angela, Buck Floy, best cook east of Mount Hood.”
Buck gallantly offered her a sloppy smile, “P…pl-eeased to meet you,” and a dirty palm. Angela took it and shook.
“Pleased to meet you, sir!” She offered an awkward smile, but her nose involuntarily curled up.
Cooper closed the door on Buck and made his way around the back of the Jeep. He tipped his hand from his forehead to the guards, who pretended not to see him. Instead, they turned and walked away, dismissing him.
“He’s a solid man,” he said to Dranko as they met up at the rear of the vehicle.
“Sure looks like it,” he smirked.
They opened their doors simultaneously as they got back in.
“Buck Floy, this is Paul Dranko. A very good friend of mine. And, Dranko, this is Buck Floy, a good man and a great cook from Redmond.”
The other two men exchanged nods.
“You stink. Roll down a window,” Dranko grunted. The stench was indeed that bad and Cooper wasn’t annoyed at Dranko’s blunt command. Buck fumbled with the window handle for several tries before getting the window down. Dranko didn’t wait for him and resumed driving towards the store, a few blocks further up.
Cooper rolled his own window down and turned back towards Buck, “What happened? How’d you end up here?”
Buck looked more alert now, his green eyes looking much more like how Cooper remembered them from the restaurant, “Drove. Then, w-walked. Last bit.”
“Why’d you come here?”
“Ex-x-w-ife and my son. Livv-ed he-rre.”
“Lived,” Cooper asked, mustering sympathy.
Buck’s face tightened, “Yeah. P-l-ague got ‘em. Both. ‘Fore I got here. Got he-rre ye-ssterday and f-found out.”
Cooper’s eyes shot wide open, “Oh, Buck.” He recovered and offered him a hand on his shoulder as comfort, “I’m sorry.” Buck’s eyes misted and he slammed his fist into his chest. Using physical pain to hold back the emotion, Cooper observed. He’d seen men do this before; from kids inflicting self-mutilation in high school to bar fights as he got older.
“I’ll be a-lll-right,” he said defiantly.
“How is Luisa?” He asked about the kind waitress at the diner and hoping to change the subject to a better one.
“Dead,” Buck said flatly. Cooper blinked. It was hard for him to imagine her dead. She was a bundle of frenetic energy. Gone? He didn’t want to believe it.
“Plague,” it was less a question than a statement.
“No, g-got h-hit by a carr-r,” Buck corrected.
Cooper’s hand flew to his temple and rubbed it, “Seriously?”
Buck nodded and burped, “’Fraid so. Horrible. Coulda lived, but the h-hos-pp-ital was full up.”
Cooper’s fist slammed into an open palm, “Damn!” Buck stared at him with dulled, but open and sympathetic eyes.
The scratch of the emergency brake interrupted them.
“We’re here,” Dranko announced.
They were in a parking lot for the town’s former main grocery store. The nondescript dusty white building was pockmarked in a few spots with bullet holes. The front glass doors had been replaced with plywood and sheet metal. The multitude of bullet holes framing the doorway made Cooper guess that they had been shot out. Must have been a struggle for control. Owner and employees versus Hodges’ group? I’ll have to find out. Two guards were stationed out in front of the doors. They wore body armor, police helmets, and carried M-16s. That they were also wearing sunglasses on a gray day told Cooper they were trying to create an intimidating presence, as well.
The parking lot was mostly empty, there were only about a dozen vehicles in one that could easily hold over fifty. The Jeep had barely stopped when a gaggle of kids swarmed around them, offering all manner of cheap goods to trade. Cheap wood carvings. Handfuls of cartridges. Fishing implements. Hand tools.
Their catcalls varied about their various offerings. But, there was only thing they were all chanting for: “Food!” The kids were all dirty, hungry, some already looking thinner than they should have been. Cooper wrinkled his nose in disgust.
“Poor kids,” Angela lamented.
“Looks like kids in Mexico when Elena and I went there four years ago,” Cooper added.
Dranko scowled, “Stupid parents probably didn’t have a single preparation, either!”
Angela punched him in the shoulder, “C’mon! Their parents could be dead. Have a heart, will ya?”