Used Books

It’s not easy to survive out here, but if you can find a book, and it’s the right kind, you can get a square meal and a place to stay. Sometime after the world went to shit, this crazy guy the call The General took to the ground in an abandoned missile silo. He spent years making the underground space into a replica of a small town, each building crafted by hand from what he could scrounge. It’s got streets and everything. They’re named after writers: Lord Dunsany Lane, Lester Dent Alley, Arthur Conan Doyle Place.

There’s a story about a kid who lucked onto an impossibly near fine first edition of “Personal Memoirs of Ulysses S. Grant” and got a years unlimited pass to the Bunker, even if he didn’t find anything else. Then again, there’s also the story of the kid who tried to bring in a perfect spine PB of some Nora Robert’s titled and left with a full 410 salt load in his ass. The General is picky. He says there ain’t enough room for vomited type.

I try and stick to what I know he likes. Last winter I got a full week stay for a handful of fine Doc Savage PBs. All I could eat and a bunk with a light. I spent most of the time in the “reading room” snorting Morrcock’s Cornelius Trilogy through my eyes and drinking honeywine.

It isn’t easy finding books these days. Fire took care of most of them, whether from the clashes, or from people just trying to stay warm. It can take five months to find enough just to get a day or a week inside. But there isn’t much else to do. I need a few more before I head back. I found a near fine first of Bradbury’s “The October Country” and some early Farmer PBs, but I’m bettin’ on the copy of “Winesburg, Ohio” to get me an extra day. It used to be my mom’s, but she doesn’t need it anymore, hasn’t for years. I hate to part with it, but it’ll be safer there anyway, and I can visit it when I’m there.

I’ve got a few more similar things stashed in dark arid places around the country. I don’t even turn in everything I find. I dole them out as I need to. Others’ll just blow their wad right away, but it’s getting harder and I want to know there’s always something out there I can count on to keep me going. I’m two days outside of St. Louis, where I’ve heard rumors of a secret library in a series of shipping containers near the port. They say it’s well guarded, but I’m small and quiet and still have a sharp razor and half box of .38s for my peacemaker. Like I said, it’s not easy to survive out here.

[©2006 Greg Bunch]