Nathan Yocum - The Zona

“Who are you?” Lead asked.

“I should ask first. It is you at my fire,” the rag man replied. “You’re dressed strangely. You have what almost could be taken for a Preacher’s Van Cleef around your neck and you smell worse than any man, woman, or child I’ve ever encountered. So I ask you good sir, who are you?”

“I am Lead.”

“That’s it, just Lead? No grand story, nothing to explain yourself?” The man said.

Lead thought for a moment. He gave gentle contemplation to the torrents and rage running wild in his mind. He looked to shapes shifting in the sand and the early stars smiling and realized the task of explaining himself was overwhelming.

“No.” Lead replied.

“At least you can tell me where the name came from. Last I remember mommas weren’t naming their babies Lead.” The man said.

“It was my regiment name in the Church Guard,” Lead replied.

“Well then that explains the Cleef. I don’t suppose you still preach with that shabby rig?”

“I don’t preach anymore, I’m…” Lead contemplated again. “I’m a pilgrim, I guess.”

The rag man smiled slyly. “Sure friend, you’re pilgrim, I’m a pilgrim, I think all us wanderers are pilgrims. Where is your pilgrimage to?”

“New Pueblo,” Lead said.

“Boy, I’m pretty sure that place doesn’t exist.”

Lead spit in the sand. “I’m pretty sure it does,” he said.

Lead let his finger drift to the handle of his Cleef. The rag man cleared his throat and shifted his seat.

“I’m on my way to New Mexico, maybe Albuquerque if it’s still there,” the man said nervously.

“I’ve heard there’s a lot of radiation zones out there, hot enough to kill a man pretty quick. You should consider New Pueblo,” Lead said.

The prospect of a traveling companion excited him; to have someone to talk to, another human being to interact with instead of silence or the rustling of hidden animals and desert winds. He could share the light of God.

“If it’s all the same to you friend, I’ll keep traveling my way,” the rag man said. “I don’t believe in radiation, anyway. All that nonsense about invisible beams killing you, government made it all up.”

The rag man turned the lizard in the fire. The smell of sizzling meat was intoxicating to Lead.

“No offense to your pilgrimage, I just plan to go my own way.”

Lead was briefly disappointed, then he rationalized that it was God’s will to let the man pass.

“Why are you leaving the Zona?” Lead asked.

“Lots of reasons. Were I to pick only one, I reckon one large one in particular, it would be the fact that I’m a drinker. When I find spirits and alcohol I consume what I can. When a young man, I used to joke that I was just trying to kill the beast inside me. As an old man I recognize it as the truth. I got a beast in me that demands I drink, and there’s no fixing or distracting it.”

Lead rationalized divinity again in his mind. He unraveled his car seat satchel and produced eight tiny liquor bottles. Lead held the bottles up to the fire’s light. The colored liquids radiated warmth. The rag man forgot his discomfort and drifted closer to Lead.

“You truly are a holy man. I tell you my problems and you bring me the solution and more problems. If you don’t mind sharing your wealth, I don’t mind sharing my dinner.”

The rag man’s eyes flashed eager in the fire light. He wet his lips with a brown tongue. Lead placed four bottles in the man’s palm. The rag man’s hands shock as he unscrewed the first bottle and held it up to Lead.

“Cheers, brother pilgrim,” he said and swallowed the contents in one swig.

The rag man closed his eyes and slowly shook his head in ecstasy. He held the now empty bottle over his heart.

“Scotch whiskey. Scotch whiskey is the patient man’s reward. It tastes silkier with age, and I tell you pilgrim, this little bottle has aged.”

The rag man licked his lips again. He opened his eyes and gestured to Lead.

“Please, I don’t want to drink alone. Have a drink with me. It will stoke your appetite.”

The rag man motioned for Lead to drink. Lead unscrewed a bottle and sipped the contents. Instantly, his mouth and tongue burned, Lead coughed and his eyes watered. The liquid spread warmth throughout his limbs but left the tasted of burnt toast on his tongue.

“That was not silky,” he croaked.

The rag man laughed and downed another bottle.

Lead steeled himself and drank the rest of the bottle. His body shook and more warmth spread to his chest and stomach.

“Where’d you find such goods?” The rag man asked; he sipped his next bottle of gingerly, savoring the taste.

“A big car. A limo, I think.”

Lead pulled the word “limo” from his childhood.

“A few days back I found a limo, these were inside.”

Lead’s words were somehow heavier and harder to get out of his mouth.

“That makes you lucky, these have value,” the rag man said.

Lead grabbed another bottle. The label showed a man in a dapper suit, much like the mummy from the limo. Lead twisted off the cap. The liquid smelled distinctly of juniper berries and fluids used to clean metal. Lead drank the liquid and steeled himself again for the bitterness and inevitable shakes. The rag man watched Lead with open amusement.

“I’m guessing this is your first time drinking?” He asked.

Lead nodded his head; he did not trust his mouth to speak properly.

“Well that was gin. I’m not a gin man, but if memories serves, that was a good brand you just drank.”

Lead ran his tongue across his lips. His mouth had grown numb. The rag man pulled the burnt lizard from the fire and cut strips of meat off with a rust speckled kitchen knife. He handed Lead three of the greasy strips.

“Hope you don’t mind eating with your hands,” the rag man said.

Lead devoured the charred meat. It tasted better than anything he had ever eaten.

“Sss good food,” Lead said, his words slurred together.

He finished his food and reclined in the sand.

The rag man licked grease from his palm and fingers.

“I got another good reason for leaving the Zona, if you want to hear it,” the rag man said.

Lead lifted his head off the sand; he had been drifting into dreams. He smiled and nodded at the rag man, the hot food and intoxicants made him cheerful.

“This place is fucked, that’s why. I’ve been in Arizona my whole life and this place has always been fucked.”

The rag man nodded his head as though agreeing with himself.

“Storms come in and kill men, viruses come in and kill men, and after all that, man goes and blames himself for all those deaths. There ain’t a lot of people living and breathing but we go around murdering each other just the same. I’ve never known or heard of a time when man wasn’t committed to one war or the other. That’s fucked.”

The man nodded to himself again.

“I don’t care if New Mexico or Nevada are nuclear hot zones, or if Utah is a haven of murderers and bandits, or if California is flooded, ravaged and a breeding ground for the new and particular diseases. The Zona is fucked and I’m leaving it.”

The man stirred his fire with his meat skewer. Sparks drifted up into the night sky.

Lead nodded again. His mind swam in liquor, his eyes drifted back to the stars.

Lead woke alone next to the cold ashes of the campfire. The rag man had left in the night, after Lead had fallen asleep. Lead slept through the morning into the late afternoon. The sun shone bright and dangerous. Lead’s face and hands were coated in sweat and sand. He searched the camp site for his belongings. The rag man had stolen his leather satchel with all his liquor and water bottles. Lead searched for a foot trail but the shifting sands had covered the passage of all men and beasts through the night. Lead took shelter from the sun in the shade of sage brush. He accepted the loss of his goods as God’s punishment for drinking. When the sun dipped low enough, Lead left the camp and continued south.