The Fact of the Moon Is Stranger Than Most Dreams

by Palmer, Jacob

  The artificial rabbit hopped around the kitchen, followed by a drifting silver mylar balloon. The balloon stopped abruptly, lifted, and touched the ceiling, then drifted languidly down, settling in front of Edie’s face. She looked at her reflection in the balloon. For a moment, she didn’t recognize herself. It was her and it wasn’t her. Edie snatched the balloon and placed it on the kitchen counter, gashing it with a screwdriver Abram had inexplicably left in the sink. She crushed the silver shredded balloon re-mains into the trash.

  23

  Abram awoke to Kenner shaking him by the shoulder in the dim, blue, early-morning light.

  “Wake up, man. I need you to see this and tell me I’m not crazy.”

  “What? What’s that buzzing sound?”

  “Look. Straight up there. See it?”

  Abram rubbed his eyes and strained. Directly above them—it was impossible to tell how far above—floated a chrome sphere emitting a high-pitched whine.

  “That’s the sound I heard yesterday!” Kenner said, standing and cupping his hands around his eyes as if he were holding invisible binoculars. “That thing must have been following us.”

  “It’s Lam,” Abram said.

  They stood, staring in the growing morning light. Abram thought of the silver mylar balloons on the ceiling of his apartment. Now he watched a silver mylar balloon bobbing softly in the desert morn-ing.

  “Get down on the ground, asshole!” shouted a voice behind Abram, and before he could react, he was kicked in the back of the knees, his face pressed into the dirt. The smell of sour sweat and bad breath. He heard the same clumsy scene happening in parallel with Kenner. Shouting and struggling. Abram’s wrists were zip-tied behind his back. He and Kenner were surrounded in the small depression by five sweating men in ill-fitting desert fatigues.

  “Are you a citizen of the United States of America?” a voice asked Abram, then Kenner, and then Abram again before either had a chance to answer.

  “Yes?” Abram said into the dirt.

  “Of course we fucking are!” Kenner said and was shoved by a man who stumbled and fell to the ground, half falling on top of him. The men rushed in to lift their comrade, and one of them kicked Ken-ner in the back, mostly catching the ground. Abram rolled onto his side to watch Kenner miraculously rise to his knees, fists zip-tied together. To Abram, it looked like he was praying.

  “We don’t have any ID. We don’t have anything,” Abram said. “Our truck broke down out here, and we got lost.”

  “We found your vehicle ten miles away. We found blood in the vehicle and possible narcotics res-idue. Were you planning on telling us about that? You think you want to tell us why you’re vandalizing private property, illegally burning, and why you have this?” The man held up the gold bar, and it flashed and glinted in the sunrise.

  “We were freezing and lost last night, so we started a fire. And . . . I’ve had that gold bar a long time. It’s like a good luck charm. My dad gave it to me . . . when he died. We hit a dog on the road and tried to save it. That’s what the blood was from in the truck. Then we buried the dog.”

  “Uh-huh,” the man said, staring at Abram and then tapping some info out on a tablet.

  “Ommm mani padme hummmm,” Kenner bellowed, still on his knees with his hands behind his back, staring up at the sky.

  “Are you two on any drugs right now?” the man asked Abram while staring at Kenner.

  “Look, I’m bringing it down,” Kenner yelled. “It’s landing. The ship is landing, you assholes!”

  “We aren’t on drugs,” Abram answered.

  The silver orb descended twenty feet away and landed on four telescoping legs in a rising cloud of dust. The metallic whining of a small rotor array whirred and clicked to a stop.

  One of the men walked over and retrieved the small surveillance drone, and all five men laughed, shaking their heads.

  Abram and Kenner were escorted up a trail, out of the crater. It ended in an observation point and a parking lot adjoining a road leading to the highway. Abram thought it was strange there wasn’t a gift shop outside the crater. Maybe there had been one once when people frequented highways more often.

  Abram had a chance to look at the men who were presumably cops, though he didn’t want to; he wanted, as usual when he dealt with most uncomfortable situations, to ignore them. Make it all disap-pear. They were all bearded. They wore cheap wraparound sunglasses. They looked comically similar, as if they were brothers. Only one had a gun, in a bioplastic holster. Guns were increasingly rare, and Abram considered the seemingly astronomical odds of having a gun pointed at him on two separate oc-casions in the past few days.

  Instead of the expected police cruisers, they arrived at one hulking matte-black pickup truck. Skulls painted on the doors, a large black and white American flag painted on the hood, and a rack of police lights on the roof. Abram and Kenner sat silently in the bed of the truck on a large, rusted coil of chain as two of the cops sat near, yelling inaudibly to each other over the roar of the engine.

  24

  Abram and Kenner rode twenty minutes into the town of Winslow, all squat stucco houses, most vacant, a few very old people out squinting in their yards as the truck passed. They arrived at a police station that had clearly been a strip mall at one time. Now all of the windows were boarded over and it had become a hasty stronghold, almost charming, like a child’s fort.

  Abram and Kenner were escorted inside. Kenner asked for, and was denied, water. The cops, the five brothers, were still jittery and nervous and were all thoroughly drenched in sweat. Abram and Ken-ner, wrists still neon zip-tied, were led to and left at the desk of a young Navajo woman in a standard police uniform. She was uncommonly beautiful except for her very tired, sad, bloodshot eyes, which looked as if she had been crying for a long time. Or maybe she just had allergies, Abram thought. Ken-ner asked for water again and was ignored.

  The air-conditioning roared, and Abram felt the cold sweat of his shirt cling to his lower back. They sat in stained, worn gray office chairs. Everything in the police station seemed secondhand and dirty. For a moment, Abram wondered if this was even a real police station, if this was all just a thread-bare performance. But the woman is wearing a police uniform, isn’t she? She has a badge. She spoke in an exhausted, gentle monotone. Abram had a dim hope that this woman would be their salva-tion, a voice of reason, and would immediately understand their plight and release them, but instead she seemed not to see them at all, to look right through them.

  The woman asked them their names and social security numbers and tapped the information into a large tablet device. A caravan of autonomous white semis roared past like a bullet train. Her long red nails had minuscule inlaid jewels arranged in a crescent moon pattern. Abram could hear the cops talk-ing in low tones somewhere on the other side of the cubicle; it sounded like hushed arguing. The build-ing smelled of mildewed carpet, strong perfume, and some unplaceable fast-food aroma. When the woman finished, she stood, peered over the cubicle, and called over to someone.

  One of the original five, or perhaps a new man, although he had the same beard and sunglasses, arrived and unceremoniously led Abram and Kenner past empty cubicles and down a hallway crowded with cardboard boxes. The man flipped on the lights of a small, empty office with three chairs pushed into one corner.

  “You two have a seat while we figure out what to do with you,” the man said, locking the door be-hind him.

  Abram and Kenner sat with the third empty office chair between them. The ceiling light buzzed. Kenner stood and walked over to the door, pressing his ear against it.

  “What are you doing?” Abram asked. “Come back here and sit down.”

  “Dude, this is bullshit. We should be allowed at least a phone call. Haven’t you ever been arrest-ed? They never even read us our rights.”

  “Whatever. I’m sure they’ll let us go soon. What could they hold us for? Burning some trash?”

  “What about my truck?”

 
“I’m sure they’ll give you back your truck.”

  “And keep your gold bar?”

  “Probably. It wasn’t mine to begin with. Honestly, I just want to go home.”

  “Listen, man, we’re getting your gold bar back and my truck. They’ve messed with the wrong motherfucker.”

  “Yeah? What are you going to do? They’ve got us zip-tied and locked in a room thousands of miles from anyone who would even begin to give a shit about us. Nobody even knows we’re here. Can you please just be cool until they let us go?”

  A very long time passed. The air in the room felt stale and clung to their skin. The only sounds were their breathing, the fluorescent light, and the occasional rip of a box being taped shut somewhere in the building.

  “Fuck this. They forgot about us,” Kenner said, standing on his chair.

  Abram slouched, saying nothing, his legs spread far in front of him. They both fidgeted compul-sively against their zip-tied wrists.

  “I’ve got an idea to get these zip ties off,” Kenner said, growing increasingly agitated.

  “And then what?” Abram answered after a long, exhausted pause.

  “Then you give me a boost, and we go up through the ceiling tiles. Drop down in the lobby when the coast is clear and make a break for it.”

  “You’re fucking crazy. They have a gun. Maybe more than one. Anyway, we gave them all our in-formation, remember? They know exactly who we are.”

  “They’re not fucking cops, man! Maybe that girl at the front desk was, but those dudes definitely aren’t.”

  “Okay, so how do you plan on getting these zip ties off?” Abram said, still staring blankly at the door.

  “We’ll chew them off. They’re pretty thin. These aren’t even the real zip ties cops use. I’m gonna turn around, and you chew through my zip tie.”

  “Gross. I’m not trying to get my lips that close to your sweaty, nasty-ass hands,” Abram said in-credulously.

  “C’mon, man. Really? Fine. Turn around, and I’ll do you first.”

  “I don’t want to. What if they walk in?”

  “They aren’t coming back. We’ve been in here for hours. Feels like at least six or seven hours.”

  “How can you tell? Maybe we’ve only been in here forty-five minutes.”

  “Come on, turn around.”

  “Alright, but be quick. Let’s do it right here by the chairs so we can sit down if we hear the door. I really think this is a bad idea.”

  Abram winced as he felt Kenner’s hot mouth gnawing near his wrists like a small dog.

  “Hurry up. Are you almost done?”

  Kenner didn’t answer but continued for a few more seconds. “Okay, try breaking them now,” he said, standing and awkwardly attempting to wipe his mouth on his shoulder.

  Abram strained, and the zip tie snapped clean and fell to the floor.

  “Okay, now do me!” Kenner said triumphantly.

  “Oh God. Maybe I can just—”

  “No, you have to chew.”

  “Give me a second.”

  “Do it! Hurry, man.”

  Abram shakily dropped to his knees and began reluctantly chewing at Kenner’s zip tie. After a couple minutes of frantic chewing, Abram red in the face, Kenner was free.

  “Okay, let’s stack these chairs on top of each other and then stand on them and push the ceiling tile over and climb up,” Kenner said, examining the ceiling.

  After a few clumsy attempts, Kenner successfully pulled himself up onto a pipe running above the white acoustic tile ceiling. Abram followed after and they shimmied, wedging themselves along awk-wardly between a pipe and an air-conditioning duct in the dark space above the ceiling. They inched their way slowly and silently, taking care not to disturb the wires hanging down in zip-tied, wrist-sized bunches all around them. They heard faint voices, and both stiffened and stopped.

  “We’re up to fifty-five bids,” said a male voice from below.

  “Where does this one go? You print a packing slip yet?” said another male voice.

  There was silence for a long while, punctuated by the rhythmic sound of boxes being taped shut and followed by the sound of a notification on a phone.

  “Well, how much did that other gold bar sell for? Maybe we set our minimum too high.”

  “Relax. I think those second people that messaged us will buy. They’ll even pick up and pay cash if we play it right.”

  “If they try some shit, I’ll shoot the fuckers.”

  “What can they do, bro? They won’t do anything. Probably just local growers with bonus checks burning a hole in their pocket. Looking to wisely invest!” Both men laughed.

  Silence. More taping boxes.

  “Okay, they messaged us again. It looks good. This is happening tonight, bro.”

  “Let’s do this, then.”

  “Let’s do this, then. Where’s Rob?”

  “Let’s get everybody on deck. They said they’ll be here in forty-five minutes. They’re paying cash. They’ve got to be growers. They’ve got to be. Hell, Little B might even know them. Text him, bro.”

  The voices faded. There was more silence and then the sound of boxes being dropped. Talking too distant to be deciphered. Abram and Kenner remained motionless, listening, their eyes adjusting to the small crack of light from a mislaid ceiling tile directly below them. They waited, barely breathing, and then voices boomed from the room below.

  “Yeah, I know. It’s fucked. It’s all fucked.”

  “I’m hungry. Should we eat before we do this?”

  “No way. They’re going to be here any minute.”

  “So you think I should wait in here? To protect the stuff?”

  “No, just wait behind the front desk with Rob and Mikey. I want everybody up there. It’s gonna go smooth.”

  “Should we check on those guys in the back?”

  “Nah, just leave those fags back there to rot.” Both men laughed.

  “I wonder where they got this.”

  “Who knows? I bet they worked on a lux grow or a lab nearby. Probably stole it from the boss and ran off on their honeymoon.”

  “Maybe I should check on them.”

  “No, wait until after we sell this thing. Then we’ll throw their vagrant asses out on the street.”

  “They message you again?”

  “No, but they’ll be here any minute. Let’s get ready.”

  Abram waited for a few moments and then tugged at Kenner’s pant leg and began working his way back toward the small room. When Abram arrived, he dropped down, hitting his leg on the stacked chairs and sending them tumbling noisily. He frantically gathered them and then helped Kenner down, nervously keeping an eye on the door. Kenner stood, wobbling on his chair, carefully replacing the ceil-ing tile, and then they both sat with their hands held behind their back, as if they were still zip-tied.

  “Well, there goes your gold bar,” Kenner said.

  “I don’t care. They said they were planning on letting us out tonight after they sell it. Now we should just sit here and wait.”

  “They’re not even cops. They just straight up stole your shit.”

  “Well, I stole it first.”

  “Yeah, so? Whatever. It’s yours. You could use it to buy a new camera. It’s fucked up. They better not try and pull the same shit with my truck.”

  “Or what? What would you do? Even if they aren’t really cops, they have a gun and they have us outnumbered. Plus, they have the home-court advantage. I’m not trying to start shit with a bunch of tweaked-out hillbillies.”

  “You heard them, right? They’re totally just chickenshit middlemen codephedrine resellers. That’s exactly what they are. I was reading about it just the other day. Because of budget cuts with these small-town cops, they’ll have, like, one payrolled cop for the whole town, supplemented with a bullshit militia they pay like freelancers. Those dudes are probably just rollers that do this shit on the weekend. They were definitely all jacked on codephedrine from the start, just li
ke those cops from the checkpoint a few days ago. You could smell it. They probably confiscate it, buy it, cut it, sell it, the whole thing.”

  “What the hell were they doing out at the meteor crater? Why’d they bust us out there?” Abram wondered out loud.

  “I don’t know. Bad luck? Maybe they were just out playing with their drone, found my truck, and went hunting for lack of anything better to do. All I know is they won’t get away with this.”

  25

  “Maybe I’ll name you Pinocchio, because someday you’ll be a real bunny. You like that name? I was going to wait until Abram got back to name you, but who knows when he’ll get back? In fact, from now on, you’ll be my boyfriend,” Edie said to the rabbit, which poked its head out of her looted Judith Leiber crystal-studded hamburger-shaped purse.

  Edie and the rabbit visited the corner store where she purchased an organic protein bar with add-ed nutrients for lung health and a CBD-infused orange drink, spending the last of her money until her UBI direct deposit at midnight.

  Edie took the rabbit down the hill to Duboce Park and set it in the mostly yellowed grass. She found herself disappointed by its nonreaction to the grass and the world outside of the apartment. Two dogs approached and sniffed at the rabbit, but they weren’t interested when they determined the rabbit was artificial. An expensive artificial dog showed up, but it wasn’t interested, either. The rabbit hopped a little and sniffed at the grass. Edie brought the Konstantin Raudive book to reread, but instead she used it as a pillow as she texted friends, sending them pictures of the rabbit in the grass.

  She thought of Abram. God, please let Abram be alright. Where is he? I talked to him last night, and he said he was coming home. Maybe I should go to the police. This is weird for Abram. Or I guess not that weird, especially when he’s with Kenner. He said he lost his phone. If I don’t hear anything by this afternoon, I’ll call the police. I have to stop thinking about it. I’ll call this afternoon. I wish I had some weed.