TAKING CARE OF BUSINESS

They really didn't know why they went there.

Rumor had it that a lot of the survivors were doing the same thing… journeying to the old landmarks and tourist attractions. The Statue of Liberty, Mount Rushmore, the Golden Gate Bridge. Who knew for what reason? Maybe to relive some picture-perfect vacation from years past. Or maybe it was simply to see if they were still there after the chaos of the Burn.

It was that same desperate curiosity that had brought them there… to the south side of Memphis.

They had met in Louisville, Kentucky at one of the better refugee camps; one where the guards didn't bust in and rape you in the middle of the night. Roy was an Elvis impersonator from Atlantic City. Darlene was a housewife from Chicago. Two people from entirely different worlds. Neither seemed to have anything in common… except for him.

It was late evening when they finally reached their destination. The main complex across the street was deserted… trashed and burnt out. The glass had been shattered out of the shops and exhibits, and everything had been looted… all the memorabilia, all the gaudy, overpriced souvenirs.

They were surprised to find the house standing intact behind its brick wall and its decorative gate; the one with the music notes and the guitar-playing icon on the ironwork. The wall was covered with graffiti, but most of it had been placed there – out of love, respect, or obsession – long before the world had done a fiery pirouette down the toilet.

But it wasn't entirely untouched. Someone had skinned several beagles and wired their hides to the front gate for some sort of perverted joke.

Hound dogs.

Darlene shuddered. "That's sick."

Roy's eyes smoldered angrily. "Blasphemy," he muttered. After all, it was said that the place had once been a church in a former life.

He shouldered his twelve-gauge and tried the gate. It was chained and padlocked. "We'll have to climb over," he said. From somewhere down the street, they heard a volley of automatic gunfire, followed by the roaring of an engine. "But let's hurry."

Carefully, Darlene began to scale the gate with Roy's help. She wasn't in as prime shape as she had once been. In fact, she was more than a little overweight. She supposed she could blame that on too many afternoons on the couch in front of the soap operas, when she had been at home washing clothes and taking care of the kids. But then she didn't want to think about that right now. Not about her dead husband, her dead children, or the pretty two-story house that had been her haven for thirteen years. That was ancient history.

Finally, she made it over. They heard the vehicle coming, heading in the direction of downtown. Quickly, Roy pulled himself up and over. They crouched behind the wall and waited. It was a Hummer, jet black with piano keys crudely painted down the side and a death's head emblazoned across the hood. Its occupant laughed and released another burst of gunfire as he drove past.

After making sure that the marauder was long gone, Roy and Darlene turned toward the house. It stood, tall and shadowy, across a lawn of dead brown grass littered with empty beer cans and discarded garbage. Slowly, they trudged up the driveway, on the last leg of their long pilgrimage.

In awe, they walked between the tall, white pillars of the mansion. The front door was gone. Inside it was gloomy and stank of cigarette smoke and piss.

They had both been there before; Darlene during a vacation with Stan and the kids, Roy during an impersonator convention back in '98. They looked into the living room and their hearts sank. The peacock mirrors had been shattered, the long white couch smeared with shit, and the grand piano had been busted up and used for firewood.

Tears bloomed in Darlene's eyes. "It's so… sad."

Roy nodded. Although they had only served as traveling companions the entire time they had been on the road, just standing in this place, finally, after miles of ducking and hiding, traveling at night and sleeping in drainage pipes in the daytime, seemed to bring them together in a way they had purposely avoided. Roy took Darlene in his arms and held her. He felt her shiver against his chest. He sighed and looked at the carnage and the disrespect around him. To tell the truth, he felt like crying himself.

They stood like that for awhile. Roy nuzzled her curly blond hair, then moved his lips down the side of her neck.

"Roy…" she muttered, but didn't pull away. "I thought we said we weren't going to…"

"Things have changed," he whispered. "Don't you feel it? We're finally here… for what it's worth. We should celebrate… if you want to."

It had been so long since she had been with a man and, despite those torturous thoughts of Stan and the kids, she felt herself responding. "I… I do," she moaned. "Where?"

"Why don't we go to the Jungle Room," he said. "That was his favorite place in the house." He pulled back a bit and Darlene could see his face in the gloom. Roy curled his lip. "You can pretend I'm him, if you want to. It won't hurt my feelings any."

"Well, you do look like him a lot," she said. Darlene stretched up and covered his mouth with her own. Then she pulled away and took his hand. "Okay, let's go."

A few minutes later, they reached the Jungle Room. The place still looked like they last remembered. The furniture had been destroyed and someone had blown holes in the paneling with a sawed-off shotgun, but the stone wall with its built-in fountain was still there, as well as the bright green shag carpeting, although it was matted and mildewed in places. A scattering of discarded condoms revealed that the room had been used for the same sleazy reason by countless other horny visitors.

Soon, they were on the floor, engulfed in the fire of passion. Clothing was discarded as they hungered for one another. Wantonly, they rolled around on the carpet – kissing, biting, licking.

"Let's do it," she moaned softly. "But it's been a while…"

"We'll take it nice and easy, baby," he said in the smooth Southern drawl of the man he had spent most of his life making a living off of. "Just help me outta these jeans, will you?"

They almost had Roy's pants off, when the floor underneath suddenly began to rumble and roar. At first, thoughts of an earthquake crossed their mind. After all, the city of Memphis was located over a fault. But, no, there was definitely something unnatural about this phenomenon. Something man-made.

Startled, they heard the squeak and clank of heavy machinery beneath the floorboards. With a pneumatic hiss and a burst of cool sanitized air, a circular section of the floor seven feet away suddenly lurched upward and swung back with a metallic clang.

Frightened, Roy and Darlene stared at the blue-white glow of fluorescent light emanating from the hole in the floor. An image of aliens emerging from a spacecraft suddenly crossed Darlene's mind, but the one who actually appeared was far more surprising than any extra-terrestrial might have been.

"Lordy Mercy!" came a familiar voice. "What's going on up here?”

A man's head emerged from out of the opening. Against the brilliance of the inner light, his profile stood out in relief. It was a profile they both knew almost intimately.

Shocked, Roy and Darlene watched as he stepped up out of the hole and stretched. Then he looked around. "Damn! Look what they did to my room. The sorry sons-of-bitches!"

"Who…who…?" stammered Darlene. But she really didn't need to ask.

The man was elderly, in his late seventies, but was whipcord lean and fit as a fiddle. His shock of snow-white hair was combed into a shapely pompadour reminiscent of the 1950's, with a few stray strands falling down over his forehead. He was dressed in a black leather jumpsuit; one that had been a fixture of his '68 Comeback Special.

"Who am I?" he said with a chuckle. "Why, I'm the king of this here castle, baby." He lifted his brows in amusement. "Now why don't you two get decent? Cover up those titties and put away that pecker and introduce yourselves."

Darlene quickly pulled the cups of her bra up over her breasts. "Uh, I'm Darlene Palowski from Chicago."

Roy was so stunned by the man's sudden appearance that he nearly caught himself in his zipper. "I'm Roy." Self-consciously, he finished his introduction. "Um… Roy Rogers."

The man threw back his head and laughed. "You know, that's pretty funny, man. That's like if my real name was Tom Jones or something."

"So you're really him?" muttered Roy. "You're actually…"

"In the flesh," said the old man.

Roy hardly knew what to say to the man he had idolized since high school. "This is a real honor, Mr. Pres—"

The old man raised a hand. "Just call me Big E."

"But… but you're dead," said Darlene. Just looking at him made her feel a little lightheaded and dizzy.

"Afraid that was all my doing, darling," Big E said almost apologetically. "Sorry about that."

Not only was Roy shocked, but as a lifelong fan he was swiftly feeling a sense of betrayal. "So you really faked your own death? How come?"

Big E took a seat on a charred mound that had once been a heavy oaken armchair. "Well, you see, it was for a reason. I was in fear for my life. The Mafia had a contract out on me."

Darlene's eyes widened. "The Memphis Mafia?"

Big E shook his head. "Naw, not my own guys! The real deal. It seemed that some of the performers in Vegas weren't too happy about me horning in on their action. So one of them put a hit out on me."

"Who? Sinatra? Newton?"

"No, it was that fella with the big-ass voice. The Camelot-singing dude."

"Robert Goulet?"

"Yeah, him. Or was it Jim Nabors? Hell, I don't know. My memory ain't what it used to be."

Roy was trying to sort it all out in his head. "So that was just a wax dummy they had laid out in the casket in '77?"

Big E chuckled. "Not wax. Believe it or not, it was constructed entirely of pork sausage."

"What?"

"That's right. One of the Jordanaires told me about this fella down in Alabama who was a real artist. Used pork fat and gristle the way the Renaissance masters worked in marble and oils. Funny thing was, that dummy kinda smelled like me, so that went a long way convincing folks, too."

In the fluorescent glow of the open hatch, Big E's face grew introspective and a bit sad. "You know, after my demise had been announced and the ol' death wagon was on the roll, I sorta regretted pulling the stunt. Here I thought people had forgotten about the King and I'll be damned if everybody and their mama didn't show up here at the house. All those pretty gals squawling and bawling like I was Lord Jesus laid out in the tomb. I just about jumped out of where I was hiding and hollered 'Hey, it was just a joke, y'all. Here I am!' But by then it was too late."

Roy pointed to the opening in the Jungle Room floor. "So you've been living down there ever since?"

"Exactly what is down there?" asked Darlene curiously.

"A big ol' bomb shelter I had built in '62, back when the Cold War was in full swing. The thing is a freaking fortress, four stories down with steel walls a yard thick."

"And you've stayed down there for decades?"

"Oh, I haven't been there all the time. I took a big road trip back in the 80's. Man, I saw everything I never got a chance to see when I was famous. Yellowstone, the Grand Canyon, Roswell. Had me a fine ol' time. Then some jackass in Indiana recognized me at a Burger King and I headed home, just to be on the safe side."

Darlene stared at the hatch in the floor. "Would you mind some company? I mean, it'd sure beat living the way we have since the Burn went down."

Big E shrugged his shoulders. "Ya'll can have it. I ain't going back down there."

"How come?"

"Cause it's too damn depressing for a man my age," he told them. "Too clean. Sterile like a hospital… or a nursing home."

"But do you really want to live up here?" asked Roy. "In all this filth and depravity?"

"Well, now, maybe we don't have to." A sly grin crossed Big E's face. "You wanna know something? I own my own Caribbean island. It's down past St. Thomas. Pretty little place… all grass huts, coconut trees, and brown-skinned gals with big boobs. I wanted to buy one of the Hawaiian Islands once. Boy Howdy, I loved Hawaii! But the Colonel put the kibosh on that plan. The money-sucking leech."

"Memphis is a hell of a long way from the Caribbean," Roy reminded him.

"Oh, we could get there. I've got a souped-up speedboat under lock and key down on the river, ready to go. Just a quick trip to the Gulf, then we're home-free. Out into open water and we'd be there in two days. We'd lie out there on those white sand beaches and live it up… just like Brooke Shields and that curly-haired boy in The Blue Lagoon."

"So this is for real?" asked Darlene, hope gleaming in her eyes.

"Hey, Big E don't lie… except for that whole death deal and all." He glanced out the side windows. The sun had gone down and twilight blanketed the surrounding grounds in darkness. "But if we're going, we'd best do it now. It'll be a lot safer making it to the river at night."

"But how will we get there?"

"Just leave that up to me, sugar dumplin'," he told her with a wink that made her a little weak in the knees, even if he was older than Methuselah.

Soon, they left the Jungle Room behind. They were exiting the house when Big E glanced at a portrait hanging on the wall… one of his ex-wife and daughter. The picture had been defiled in a dozen humiliating ways. Someone had scrawled a crude sketch of an exaggerated penis in close proximity to the little girl's mouth.

A dangerous look shown in Big E's eyes. "If I ever come across the bastard who did that, I'll kill him." Roy and Darlene had no doubt that he would, too.

The two followed him outside, past the racquetball court. "Oh, I've been meaning to ask y'all something that's been on my mind lately," he said.

"What do you do for food up here? I've heard rumors that folks are… well, eating one another."

Roy and Darlene looked at each other, a little embarrassed. "Well, there's not much else to eat…"

"Mercy! So it's true." He puzzled over it for a moment. "What do you do? Pan fry 'em, put 'em on a spit, chop 'em up and make a pot of chili?"

"Do you really want to know?"

Big E shook his head. "I reckon not. But let me tell you right here and now… I ain't never gonna chew on somebody's filthy ass."

Soon, they found themselves standing in a garage hidden out back. He motioned toward a vehicle draped in a black velvet tarp. "Well, here she is," he said, pulling the cover away with a flourish. "The Pink Lady."

"I've seen this car somewhere before," said Roy.

"It was my mama's car," said Big E. "Bought it for her after the money started rolling in. She couldn't drive a lick, but, hey, if anyone deserved a Caddy it was her. After she died, I had it tricked up. Reinforced plating in the panels and fenders, bulletproof glass, solid rubber tires that won't deflate. As solid as a Panzer, man."

Before they left, Big E went to a gun safe and, unlocking it, passed out the firepower. "Lock and load, hoss," he said, tossing Roy an Uzi submachine gun. He took a MAC-10 for himself. Then he turned to Darlene. "Here you go, darling. You can carry Big E's personal gun." He laid a gold-plated .357 Magnum in the woman's hand. It had music notes engraved down its ribbed barrel and the initials EP on the sides of the cylinder.

"I've never fired a gun before in my life," she confessed.

"Well, here now, let me give you a quick lesson." Big E leaned in close behind her and showed her how to line up the sights of the big revolver. At one point, she felt his hips grind against her ass and she closed her eyes with a shudder that was not unpleasant. She thought of how many thousands of teenage girls had screamed their lungs out over the Pelvis and here it was grinding against her hindquarters.

Roy cleared his throat, a little annoyed. "Uh, shouldn't we be going?"

"Right!" said Big E with a sheepish grin. "Climb on in and we'll head out."

Soon, they were taking an access road past the horse pasture and around the Memorial Garden where Big E's sausage carcass lay moldering in its grave. A moment later they were on the main road outside. Big E spun the wheel with a squealing of tires and they headed downtown.

They hadn't gotten a few blocks, when they passed the black Hummer with the piano keys on the side. It roared past them, then made a U-turn and sped toward them in hot pursuit.

"Aw, not that nut!" grumbled Big E.

"Who is it?" asked Darlene. A burst from an automatic pistol echoed from behind, sending a bee swarm of 9mm slugs careening harmlessly against the back windshield.

"The Killer."

Roy thought about it for a second. "You don't mean…?"

"One and the same," he replied. "He always was jealous of me. Hell, he would have probably been just as popular, if he hadn't done a darn fool thing like marrying his cousin and bragging about it."

"He's gaining on us," said Darlene. "What are we going to do?"

"Watch this," said Big E. He tripped a lever under the dash. Black oil began to spray from spigots in the rear bumper, coating the road in crude. The Hummer hit the slick and went into a spin. The driver lost control and ended up taking down a telephone pole at the side of the road.

Big E laughed loudly. "How'd y'all like that. I pulled a James Bond on his silly ass. Right out of Goldfinger, man!"

They drove through the deserted streets of Memphis for a while longer, then Big E turned the wheel, heading off the main stretch.

"I thought we were going downtown," said Roy.

"Just hold your horses. We'll get there," he assured him. "First, I gotta stop by and see someone."

"Who?"

Big E smiled in the green glow of the dashboard light. "The Zulu Woman."

Purgatory Heights had once been three blocks of housing projects on the south side of Memphis. The brick buildings were six stories high, surrounded by scrubby lawns and basketball courts. Before the Burn they had been a haven for crack dealers and gang-bangers. Now they were a short step from the gates of Hell.

As they cruised between two of the buildings, they looked through the windows of the Pink Lady at the chaos around them. The glass from all the windows was gone and flames crackled from the empty orifices. A human head dangled within the net of a basketball goal, its eyes glassy and unseeing. It stared at them as if saying "Better get out of here while you can."

"Doesn't look like the better part of town," said Roy, cradling the Uzi in his lap.

"Exactly who is this Zulu Woman?" Darlene wanted to know.

"A little gal I've known for awhile," said Big E. "Been corresponding with her on the internet since she was twelve or thirteen. Her mama was one of my backup singers in Vegas."

"How do you know that she's even here?"

"Oh, she's around somewhere." He stopped the car and cut the engine. "Watch my back."

Big E stepped out of the car, holding his MAC-10 at the ready. "Zulu!" he yelled out, studying the windowless buildings. Out in the open, it looked as though the bricks and the mortar in between had been smeared with blood and brain tissue. "Zulu Woman! Come on out and say hi to your Sugar Daddy!"

Suddenly, movement drew his attention. He looked up to the rooftop of a building and saw a dark form standing there, tall and willowy. She held a compound bow at the ready… aimed directly at him.

"Seems to me a Sugar Daddy has a stick in it," she said coldly. "Best get on outta here or I'll put this arrow down your throat and out your white ass!"

"Aw, come on, Zulu," he said. "You know me. It's your ol' pal, Big E."

"Liar!" accused the woman. "The King ain't gonna leave his kingdom and show up unannounced at the Heights. Hell, there's all kinda nuts running around, looking and sounding like him." At that moment, Roy stepped out of the car. "Damn! There's one right there!"

"Hey, I'm the genuine article, baby doll," claimed Big E. "Why don't you come on down and see for yourself?"

Zulu stood there, poised to fire, for a long moment. Then she slowly relaxed her grip on the bow and slung it over her shoulder. "Okay. But if you ain't who you say you are, I'm gonna be mighty pissed off. And you don't even wanna know what I'm gonna do to you then."

Darlene left the Pink Lady and stood next to Roy. They watched as the woman dropped a nylon rope from the rooftop and rappelled six stories to the courtyard below. A moment later, she stood before them.

Okay, thought Darlene. So that's why he calls her Zulu Woman.

The woman was taller than most professional basketball players, perhaps six foot nine or more, thin and sinewy, and as black as pitch. Around her neck and wrists were a necklace and bracelets made of teeth and denuded finger bones. She wore a halter and loincloth that looked to be made of human flesh… Caucasian in nature. The makeshift garments were decorated with Aryan prison tattoos. Her afro was tied tightly into buns on both sides of her head, making her look like a cross between Princess Leia and Mickey Mouse, although no one on God's scorched earth would have had the balls to tell her that to her face.

She stared hard at the man in the black leather outfit. "Hey… it is you." A frown crossed her lean face. "Damn, you're old!"

"Just because there's snow on the rooftop, don't mean there ain't fire in the furnace," said Big E. He studied her attire. "Looks like you've been skinning skin-heads, Zulu."

The woman grinned, showing strong, white teeth. "Yeah. A bunch of the rednecks came down here in a pickup truck a month ago, looking to pull a train on me and get themselves a piece." She drew a long-bladed skinning knife from a sheath tied to her right calf. "But, instead, they ended up in pieces. Sorta tough and gamey, but they made good jerky."

"Aw, Zulu," groaned Big E. "Don't tell me you've been eating folks, too."

She glared at him, fists planted firmly on her narrow hips. "Well, I reckon I didn't have any freaking peanut butter and banana sandwiches to feed my face, so I had to eat honky instead!"

The King shook his head. "Girl, you've got a tongue like a viper. Just like your mama."

Zulu's face softened a bit. "Tell me something, E. Was she really a good singer?"

"The best songbird who ever worked for me," he told her. "Why, when she backed me up on "My Way" or "Suspicious Minds", Lordy, her voice was so sweet it made my pubic hairs stand on end."

Zulu rolled her eyes. "Mama always did say you were too horny for your own good."

Big E winked. "I reckon she'd know better than most, wouldn't she?"

Darlene held her breath. She half expected the woman to step forward and disembowel Big E with that wicked knife of hers. But nothing of the sort took place. Instead, they seemed to trade an expression of mutual understanding. Suddenly, Darlene began to detect a distinct similarity in their facial features. The same shape of brow and jawline, the same smoldering blue eyes.

"So what brings you outta the bowels of the earth and down here to Purgatory, Big E?" asked Zulu. "I know you ain't just paying a social call."

"Remember that Caribbean island I've told you about? Well, that's where we're heading. Just wanted to know if you'd like to join the entourage. Sure beats this jungle-bunny warrior crap you've been living."

Zulu considered his offer. "You know, I could sure go for a warmer climate. I might just take you up on that, E."

It was at that moment, that they all noticed a sound echoing from the distance. A sound like hundreds of hoof beats on asphalt. It was low at first, then began to increase in volume.

"Dammit!" said Zulu. A frightened look shown in her dark face. "It's the Herd!"

"What's the Herd?" asked Darlene. She heard a hoarse bellowing, full of rage and menace. It was followed by a dozen more, just as furious.

"Load your big ol' butt in the car, Blondie, and I'll tell you later," she said. "Right now, we gotta get the hell outta here!"

Soon, they were in the car, heading back downtown. Big E glanced in the rearview mirror as he pulled away. He tried to make out exactly what was pursuing them, but all he could see was a pale wave of fury filling the courtyards of Purgatory Heights taking down everything in its wake… trees, basketball posts, streetlamps.

"Better grow yourself a lead foot," Zulu urged. "They can book like a Kenyan marathon runner."

Big E floored it and they sped onward toward the city. "Exactly what are we running from?"

Zulu relaxed and settled against the pink leather seat of the Caddy. "There was a Mennonite farm across the river in Arkansas before the Burn. Had a big herd of cattle, couple of thousand head. Well, it was only a few miles from Ground Zero when one of the bombs blew. Killed the Mennonites and their families, but a lot of the cattle survived. The radiation drove them crazy, made their hair fall out, and covered them with sores and boils. And they don't eat hay and shit anymore, either. Got a taste for meat. That's why they crossed the bridge to Memphis. They'll chow down on anything with two legs."

That loud bellowing came from behind them again, like a battle trumpet calling the ranks to follow. "Doesn't sound like any cow I ever heard," said Roy.

"That's Studmuffin," Zulu told him. "The leader of the Herd. A thousand pounds of Brahma bull with a chip on his shoulder and a 24/7 hard-on. Saw him take down a gang of bikers once. Screwed the leader – a big ol' Viking-looking dude – and then ate him, boots, bones, and all. You sure don't want him getting hold of your ass."

Big E checked the mirror again. He could detect a larger entity ahead of the pink-fleshed stampede; massive, almost demonic in nature. His rectum puckered as he stamped the gas to the floor. "Let's get to the boat."

Fifteen minutes later, they were tooling through the deserted streets of downtown Memphis.

On their way down Beale Street, Big E's belly growled. "I could sure go for some good barbecue ribs right about now… but I reckon I couldn't stomach what passes for the stuff these days."

Zulu licked her lips. "You know, skin-head ain't half bad if you use the right sauce…"

"Hush!" said E, giving her a warning look. "Just hush up."

It wasn't long before they reached the riverfront. They parked the Pink Lady near the Pyramid and headed toward the river. In the distance they could see Mud Island, a tourist attraction that was now a colony for lepers.

"I think we lost those cows," said Roy.

"Don't worry, Little E. They're still coming. We just outran 'em, that's all," said Zulu.

"You're awful sure of yourself, aren't you?" There was something about the woman that rubbed him the wrong way. "Sure got a mouth on you, I'll say that for sure."

Zulu whirled and wagged a dark finger in his face. "Listen up, you bargain basement hip-slinger! You dis me one more time and I'll scalp off those muttonchops and wear them for pasties. Got that?"

Roy swallowed dryly and nodded. He could tell she wasn't bluffing.

"There's a walkway down to the boathouse over yonder," said Big E. "Stop your yakking and come on."

They were approaching the walkway, when a man appeared out of nowhere. He was a big fellow, a mountain of muscle and meanness covered with a multitude of tattoos and piercings. He toted a baseball bat wrapped in barbed wire in one black-gloved hand.

"Excuse us, pardner," said Big E, "but we gotta get down to the river."

"You ain't going nowhere, slick," said the man. He grinned, displaying a set of false teeth he had constructed out of jagged metal and wrought iron. He leered at the two women. "Of course, we could talk a deal if you give me a taste of that. Tail for toll."

Big E frowned. "You'd best shut your mouth and stop talking about these ladies like that. My mama always said 'Manners matter'. Looks like you're sorely lacking in that department."

The brute flashed his junkyard smile. "Oh, yeah… I think I ate your mama last night… but not with carrots and potatoes, if you get my drift."

A dark expression shown in Big E's eyes, like the brewing of a violent storm. "Here, hold this for a moment," he said, handing his MAC-10 to Zulu. Then, without warning, he whirled and slammed a karate punch square into the man's grill, knocking his steel chompers deep into the back of his throat. Choking, the man swung his spiky bat at E, but the King ducked the attack. He delivered a cobra strike to the man's breastbone with the heel of his hand, shattering his sternum. Then he followed it up with a powerful roundhouse kick square into the man's groin. The blow separated the man's testicles like twins delivered at birth, sending one in the direction of Mississippi and the other heading fast toward Missouri.

The small of the man's back slammed against the metal railing that separated walkway from river. He teetered there, eyes full of pain and confusion, until Big E sent him backward with a high kick to the chin. With a grunt, the man toppled over the rail into the churning waters below.

Big E shrugged his narrow shoulders defiantly. "Nobody… I mean nobody… talks trash about my mama."

Together, the four made their way down the walkway to the boathouse. As Big E searched for the right key to open the side door, they looked across what was once known as the Muddy Mississippi. The Bloody Mississippi was more like it now, for the roaring waters ran crimson red and was littered with human refuse; decapitated heads, discarded limbs, and waterlogged organs.

"Good Lord," said Darlene. "So the rumors were true."

Zulu nodded grimly. "Yeah. The National Guard has started a meat processing plant upriver in Ohio. Mostly to feed their own troops, but they're dealing to civilians, too." She turned her eyes away as an aborted fetus rose to the top, then disappeared beneath the surface again. "Kind of like that movie Soylent Green, without all the secrecy."

"Damned cannibals!" grumbled Big E, unlocking the boathouse door. He glanced over his shoulder. "No offense intended."

"None taken," all three said in unison.

They entered the dark boathouse. Big E fumbled with a battery-powered emergency light. The glow revealed a U-shaped dock with a long, sleek speedboat parked within its corral. "I had a fellow keep this in tip-top condition for me. It runs like a dream and is packed with a week's worth of supplies, as well as plenty of ammunition and old issues of Playboy."

Roy and Big E worked the chains that raised the bay door of the boathouse. They were preparing to board the vehicle, when Zulu raised her hand. "Wait a second. Listen."

All four grew silent. Above the lapping of the water, they could hear the thunderous rumble of the stampede pounding the pavement above them.

"It's the Herd," she said. "They've found us!"

"Hurry!" ordered Big E. "Y'all get in. I'll untie the boat."

Zulu, Roy, and Darlene hopped into the speedboat. Zulu cranked the motor. It rumbled to life, then purred like a baby tiger as it idled in its spot.

"Come on, E! We don't have much time."

"Dadblamed knot!" cursed Big E as he fumbled to untie it. Then directly overhead roared the bellowing of demon beef and the roof collapsed. Rancid, pink-fleshed bovines riddled with infection and gangrene rained down from the riverbank above, hitting the heavy planks of the dock. Their legs collapsed and shattered beneath their weight, but pain failed to deaden their hunger. They snapped and gnashed with yellowed and rotten teeth. One took a hunk out of the back of Big E's right thigh, while another clamped down on his left shoulder.

Big E screamed out in pain. "They're on me like a bunch of freaking zombies!" he hollered. Zulu and Roy fired their automatic weapons, riddling the cows with bullet wounds. The King finally got the rope untied and cast it toward them. "Go on! Get outta here!"

"No!" shrieked Darlene. She reached across the stern of the boat and clasped at Big E's hand. "We're not leaving without you!"

Again more of the roof caved in and, this time, Studmuffin came with it. The big Brahma landed directly behind Big E and bellowed, nearly deafening them. He shook his massive head then started toward the man on the dock, lowering his head and charging.

"Go on, sugar dumplin'," Big E said calmly. "Get to the island and live it up. But promise me one thing."

Tears formed in Darlene's eyes. "Anything."

"Don't let anyone forget me."

"I promise," sobbed the woman. Then Roy was there, pulling her backward. Her hand slipped from Big E's grasp and, with it, something hard fell into her palm.

Zulu and Roy prepared to fire again, but it was too late. Big E whirled like a dervish in black leather, delivering punches and kicks to the man-eating cows around him. One kick ruptured the udders of a sore-ridden Jersey. Its bag ruptured with an explosion of pus, blood, and clabbered milk.

Suddenly, Studmuffin reached him. They watched, horrified, as one of the Brahma's horns pierced E's lower back. The curved shaft gored him, emerging just above his belly button. Crying out, he was lifted off his feet and wagged around like a rag doll in the hands of a petulant child.

"Big E!" screamed Zulu. Tears streamed down her dark face as she watched him writhe and struggle to break free. But there nothing they could do. If they fired, Big E would take the brunt of the attack.

Through his agony, Big E looked down upon the three. "Go! Get to the island and live easy. The maps and charts are in the compartment next to the stereo. Don't worry about me."

Through her tears, Zulu engaged the gear and sent the boat into open water. When they were several yards away, she turned, took something from a tattooed bag at her waist, and tossed it. "Catch, Big E!"

Despite his agony, Big E managed to catch the object. It was a P-15 concussion grenade; a particularly deadly kind developed for the Iran War.

"Thanks."

Zulu stared the man in the eyes. "I love you, Daddy."

Big E nodded. "Keep the faith, baby doll." Then he pulled the pin with his teeth and tossed it over his shoulder. It hit the dock, bounced, and landed directly beneath Studmuffin's burgeoning bullhood.

The boat surged swiftly into the heart of the river. Five seconds later, the grenade went off. A fireball like a miniature nuke engulfed the boathouse, obliterating Big E, as well as Studmuffin and his harem of diseased heifers.

Darlene flinched and watched as something landed on the stern of the boat. It was a tatter of Big E's black jumpsuit, bloody and smoldering. She almost reached out to snatch it up, but got an uneasy image of Jackie Kennedy scrambling across the back of a limousine, clawing for a fragment of her husband's head. She refrained from retrieving the tatter. As the boat surged forward, it slid off the stern and into the bloody waters… lost forever.

She felt Roy's hand on her shoulder. "He's gone. Better come up front with us."

Zulu made a quick turn in the middle of the Mississippi and headed south, in the direction of the Gulf. "Well, that sucked," she muttered, wiping away snot with the back of her hand. Desperately, she searched for something to take her mind off what had just happened. "Let's see what sort of tunes we've got here."

She shoved an old 8-track tape into the outdated stereo system. Abruptly, "Are You Lonesome Tonight?" came blaring through the boat's quadraphonic speakers.

"I ain't listening to that sad shit, that's for sure," said Zulu. "I know Big E had something better than that in his stacks." She punched the big chrome button of the player, sending the 8-track to its next channel. Instantly, a familiar crescendo of percussion and thrumming of electric bass heralded the next song.

"Yeah!" hooted Zulu. "That's what I'm talking about!"

"All right!" roared Roy with a grin. "Time for a hunka-hunka-Burning Love!" He leap-frogged the windshield of the speedboat and stood on the bow, swiveling his hips and matching the song, lyric for lyric.

At the stern of the boat, Darlene sat staring at the smoking ruins of the boathouse on Memphis' west side. She suddenly remembered the object in her palm and opened her hand. It was a ring. Heavy, solid gold, and bearing Big E's famous slogan. TCB with a jagged lightning bolt underneath.

Taking Care of Business.

Big E had done that. He had taken care of business, but not for his own benefit. His business had been their salvation and he had paid the ultimate sacrifice to obtain it.

She slid the ring on her finger and found that it was a perfect fit. Forget you? she thought. Never.

Darlene stood up and started toward the bow to join her friends. She knew that there was no need to grieve the King. After all, he had already been dead and buried a long, long time ago.

Someone took a potshot from across the river, nicking a hunk of fiberglass out of the nose of the boat, close to Roy's dancing feet. Zulu sent a burst of slugs from the MAC-10 in their direction. "Hey, you be leaving my boy alone here!" she shouted out. "He be working his stuff!"

"Darlene!" called Roy. He extended his hand with a wink and curl of his lip. "Come dance with me, sugar dumplin'".

With a smile, she took it and was soon twisting and strutting on the bow, as Zulu clapped and danced behind the wheel.

Together, the three rocked their way all the way to the island.