“Buddy Angus!” he cried. Kiko rushed past him, grabbed a tarp from the back of the cow’s trailer, and threw it over the gore on the pavement.
“Katie,” he shouted at her, motioning for her to get everyone inside the store and away from the scene. She nodded, pale, and he moved to do likewise with the nearest people, leaving Chad to console a sobbing Buddy Miller. Sirens from the police, their station only a few streets over, started up. No one seemed to notice.
* * * *
“Stop it, Alec,” hissed Dom into his ear, digging his fingers into Alec’s shoulder. The man was gasping for breath like a landed fish. “Get it together.”
Alec was pale, very pale, hyperventilating in his chair. Dom had pulled Alyssa and Gabe close; the five-year-old boy was crying, his eight-year-old sister shaking and sniffling. They were taking the exploding cow better than their father, Dom decided, who looked ready to either vomit or pass out.
“Stand up. Get on your damned feet, Alec.”
Dom pulled Alec out of the chair, shoving him toward the building behind them. His main concern was getting them away from the scene, despite the store owner having quickly covered most of the gore, and after that getting them all calm. He could fucking kill Alec for freaking out on him like this. He prodded at him.
“Move, Alec,” he hissed into his ear. He picked up Gabe and grabbed Alyssa’s hand. “Get in the building. Your kids need you.”
Like he was built of stiff mechanical parts, Alec made his way with the flow of other people into the store behind them. Dom managed to grab them a small table away from the windows and three chairs; he sat the children down and shoved Alec into a chair. The man was shaking.
“Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be right back.” Gabe surged forward, grabbing his hand, crying, but Dom pulled him off and pushed him back toward his sister. “I promise. Right back.”
Dom made his way to the food counter at the back of the strange store. He walked past displays of various eggs and egg-themed crap for sale; plastic eggs, board games, dyeing kits, books. The store seemed to have a small café attached to it; the beer was on tap here, as well as things like egg salad sandwiches. When he approached the counter, the owner ran to meet him behind it, eyes wide.
Dom stared at him. He was Latino, strange to see in this small town where everyone was white. His dark hair was mussed from dashing around after the explosion, and the helpful smile plastered on his face was undoubtedly forced. His eyes danced when they met Dom’s, though.
“Could I help you?” he asked. Dom couldn’t remember his name.
“You have beer—got anything stronger?” What Alec needed was a drink. Dom glanced worriedly back at the table he’d left him and the children at; they seemed unchanged.
“Eggnog.”
Dom blinked, turned back.
“What? Eggnog?” He couldn’t tell if this was a joke. If the bastard was messing with him it was the worst time for it.
“I’ve got adult and kiddie versions.”
“Eggnog?” asked Dom again. The man pointed up to the sign above the counter that read: Yolks on You. To the side was the menu; eggnog was on it. Dom admitted defeat. “What the hell. Give me an adult eggnog, and some juice and water. And that beer on tap, whatever that was.” God, he needed one of those.
“Right away,” replied the owner, with far too much pep for the current situation, Dom thought. Still, he was prompt in retrieving the drinks, and Dom hauled them over after throwing down a twenty and telling him to keep it all.
“Alec, drink this,” said Dom, shoving the eggnog at the man, who was barely blinking. Alyssa was crying now, too, wanting to know what was wrong with her father. Dom tried to settle her and Gabe with the juice, taking a huge gulp of the beer as he sat and pulled the boy into his lap.
He glared at Alec as the man carefully took the eggnog in his hand. The idiot needed him. He couldn’t even handle his kids on a short vacation. When Alec gagged and set the cup down again, Dom felt a small thrill.
“What is this?” asked Alec, snapping out of his distant state. Dom grinned at him, aware it was out of spite and not caring.
“Eggnog,” he said and took another sip of beer. 2
Kiko drove past the weedy yard littered with scraps of metal and pulled into the parking lot of the Dill Pickle, relieved the day was over. He wanted a drink, somewhere the tourists weren’t going. They didn’t need to see the owner of the kid-friendly egg-themed store having a few; he’d learned years ago that people didn’t like that much. And since most tourists didn’t like the look of the run-down Pickle, it was the best place for locals to stop.