The Walking Dead_ The Road to Woodbury - By Robert Kirkman Page 0,55
dim light a long, narrow retail store stretches before them, smelling of turpentine and must, gutted of its shelves, packed with crates up to the ceiling: dry goods, toilet paper, gallon jugs of water, bed linen, and unidentified cartons of merchandise. The single customer present—an older woman bundled in down and scarves—sees Josh and brushes past him, hurrying out the door, averting her eyes. The cool air vibrates with the artificial warmth of space heaters and the crackle of human tension.
In the rear corner of the store, among sacks of seed stacked to the rafters, sits a makeshift counter. A man in a wheelchair is positioned behind the counter, flanked by two armed guards.
Josh walks up to the counter. “How y’all doin’ this morning?”
The man in the wheelchair looks up through lidded eyes. “Holy shit, you’re a big one,” he comments, his long, straggly beard twitching. He wears faded army dungarees, and a headband cinches his greasy, iron-gray ponytail. His face is a map of degradation, from his rheumy red-rimmed eyes to his ulcerated beak of a nose.
Josh ignores the comment. “Just wondering if y’all have any fresh produce? Or maybe some eggs we might take off your hands in trade?”
The man in the wheelchair stares. Josh can feel the suspicious gazes of the armed guards. The gunmen are both young, black, dressed in quasi-gang colors. “Whaddaya have in mind?”
“The thing is, we just brought in a whole slew of items from Walmart with Martinez … so I’m wondering if we can work something out.”
“That’s between you and Martinez. What else you got for me?”
Josh starts to answer when he notices all three men are staring at Lilly, and the way they’re staring at her puts Josh’s hackles up.
“What’ll this buy me?” Josh says finally, shooting his cuff, fiddling with the buckle of his watchband. He snaps it off and lays the sports watch on the counter. It’s not a Rolex but it’s no Timex, either. The chronograph set him back three hundred bucks ten years ago when his catering job was bringing in decent money.
Wheelchair Man looks down his blemished nose at the shiny thing on the counter. “’The tarnation is that?”
“It’s a Movado, worth five hundred easy.”
“Not around here it ain’t.”
“Give us a break, will ya? Been eating outta cans for weeks.”
The man picks up the watch and inspects it with a sour expression as though it’s covered in feces. “I’ll give ya fifty dollars’ worth of rice and beans, slab bacon, and them Egg Beaters.”
“C’mon, man. Fifty dollars?”
“Got some white peaches in back, too, just came in from the road, I’ll throw those in. That’s all I can do.”
“I don’t know.” Josh looks at Lilly, who stares back at him with a shrug. Josh looks at Wheelchair Man. “I don’t know, man.”
“That’ll keep the two of you going for a week.”
Josh sighs. “That’s a Movado, man. That’s a fine piece of craftsmanship.”
“Lookit, I ain’t gonna argue with—”
A baritone voice from behind the guards rings out, interrupting the man in the wheelchair. “What the fuck’s the problem?”
All heads turn toward a figure coming around the corner of the stockroom, wiping his bloody hands in a towel. The tall, gaunt, weathered man wears a horribly stained butcher’s apron, the fabric mottled with blood and marrow. His chiseled, sunburned face, set off by ice-chip blue eyes, glowers at Josh. “There a problem here, Davy?”
“Everything’s hunky-dory, Sam,” the man in the wheelchair says, not taking his eyes off Lilly. “These folks were somewhat dissatisfied with my offer, and they were just leaving.”
“Hold on a second.” Josh raises his hands in a contrite gesture. “I’m sorry if I offended you but I didn’t say I was—”
“All offers are final,” Sam the Butcher announces, throwing his grisly-looking towel on the counter and glaring at Josh. “Unless…” He seems to change his mind. “Forget it, never mind.”
Josh looks at the man. “Unless what?”
The man in the apron looks at the others, then purses his lips thoughtfully. “See … what most folks do around here is work off their debts, pitching in on the wall, patching fences, stacking sandbags and such. You’ll definitely get more bang for your buck offering up them big muscles of yours in trade.” He gives Lilly a look. “’Course there’s all kinds of services a person could provide, all kinds of ways to get more bang.” He grins. “Especially a person of the female persuasion.”
Lilly realizes the men behind the counter are all looking at her now, each of them