Doomsday Warrior 10 - American Nightmare Read Online Free PDF Page B

establishment only caters to paying customers,” the manager went on. “By law, we are not allowed to feed the homeless,” he said, pointing to a sign that said NO BEGGERS ALLOWED. Before Rockson could say any more, he was pushed emphatically out of the restaurant onto the hot concrete.
    A few stores down, Rockson tried a small corner grocery, and asked for a glass of water. In response to his question, the counterman sprayed him with a can of air freshener. “Get out of here! You stink!” Rockson had no choice but to leave. Best not to make a fuss until he found out his situation. He walked further into the city.
    The stares he met from passersby grew steadily more hostile. The restaurants were fancier, with names like Le Posh Gourmet, or Organic Food Delicatessen. Signs were posted everywhere in front of new construction sites: “Elegant, discriminating, exclusive condos filled with all the latest conveniences a modern career couple would want. No children or pets allowed.”
    Snob city, Rockson thought.
    Finally, exhausted, confused, hungry and thirsty, and oh so hot, he saw an area of green—Pioneer Park, according to the wooden sign. At least there might be a bench to sit down upon. Though most of the park’s trees were dead and the grass parched brown, still, he was drawn to it like a magnet.
    At the park’s entrance was this sign: “No ball playing, no skating, no cycling, no food vending, no littering, and Please Keep Off the Grass.” God, there were more signs telling you what you could or could not do than Rockson had ever seen. Nevertheless, he followed a path that led to a grassy knoll and sat on the cool dew-damp grass. The big red sun was beginning to set; the streetlights came on. Rockson felt that no one would see him as he lay down and stared into the tree branches around him. Mulling over the events of the day, he gradually became less aware of the noises and sights around him and then fell asleep.
    He was rudely awakened by someone going through his pockets. Instinctively Rockson grabbed his assailant by the wrists. He heard a scream of pain.
    “What are you doing?” demanded Rockson.
    “Nothing,” came a man’s hoarse voice. “I just wanted to see if you could spare some change.”
    “Change?” asked Rockson as he loosened his grip.
    “Dimes, nickels, quarters—in short, money. Coin of the realm, so to speak,” said the old man, breaking away and standing up. By the light Rockson could see that he was bald, had a long beard. And he was wearing an old smelly torn overcoat.
    “What realm is this?”
    “The U.S. of A., that’s what. Where do you come from that you don’t know that? You a foreigner? I ain’t seen no foreigners for years.”
    “It’s a long story. Let’s just say I crashed in the desert.” Rockson thought for a moment, and reached into his one remaining pocket and pulled out the wadded bill. “You mean this?”
    The old man reached forward to swipe it out of Rockson’s hand. “Now just hold on there, old-timer. Before I give you this, you’d better answer some questions.” The old man eyed the bill hungrily.
    “First, where are we? What city is this? Is it Red-controlled?
    “Brother, this is Salt Lake City, biggest burg in Utah, U.S.A.”
    “Is this a Free city? How do you keep the Reds from blasting you all to hell?”
    “I don’t have any idea what you mean, citizen. Gimme the buck.” He made another grab for it, but Rockson was faster.
    “Not yet.” Rock held it away from grasping hands.
    The old man eyed Rockson quizzically. “You ask funny questions. But ask all the questions you want. I’m enjoying the game. You must be a recent homeless—right?”
    Rockson was getting nowhere fast. The old man must be addled. He thought he would try one more time. “Where can a stranger get a bath—and a drink of water?”
    “It’ll cost you,” the old man said, holding out his hand.
    “All right, here.” Rockson handed him the funny-looking piece of