Rainwalkers

by Matt Ritter

  “I’ve seen one before,” Will said. “A long time ago.”

  “I never have. Saw a dead blackbird when I was a kid.”

  “I’ve heard birds end up in the Valley sometimes. They get off course, or they come here to die.”

  “Beautiful.”

  Will stared at the bird, made eye contact, and nodded to it as if it would understand the gesture. They walked on, leaving the bird and the broken-down shack to steam in the morning heat.

  They approached the longvalley highway, backlit to the east. It sat like half of a suture, concrete pillars disappearing into the soil, pulling the ends of the Valley together. Turning downvalley, they skirted along its western edge, Zach limping in front of Will. The highway loomed high above them and cast the stretched shadow of its steel railing on the ground in front of them. Will paused to look up at the highway and listen for traffic but could hear none.

  “It’s still there.” Zach pointed ahead of them to the edge of the highway at the same vehicle they saw at dusk the night before.

  “It’s not a UP transport truck,” Will said, looking up.

  “Some type of jeep.”

  “We need to head back toward the river immediately,” Will said, scanning around them.

  “Why?”

  “That jeep.”

  As they turned toward a path through the fields back to the river, Will heard someone yell.

  “Hey. Hey, hold it right there.”

  Millard Fillmore stepped out from behind one of the longvalley highway pillars with a rifle held firmly to his shoulder, the dark brown barrel pointed at Will. He was backlit, and his long coat almost reached the ground.

  Will and Zach froze, then another yelled command came. “Take off your packs and set them on the ground. Real slow like.”

  Will squinted into the morning sun.

  “Do it now. The gun in your belt, take it out and toss it onto the ground in front of you. Slowly, or you get a bullet through the chest.”

  They did as they were told, Zach first, then Will. When Will’s gun had hit the soil in front of them, Millard approached cautiously, pointing his rifle back and forth between them.

  “Step back away from the packs.”

  When he was within ten feet Millard stopped.

  “Millie,” Will said under his breath, confirming his fears. Seeing his face again was like replaying an old nightmare, a monster he’d long hoped was dead, arisen from his past.

  “Willie Taft,” Millard said in a mocking tone.

  “Mill, goddammit. What do you want with us?” Will asked but knew there would be no reasoning with this man.

  “We’re headed back to the labor camp. A lot of folks are waitin’ for you back there.”

  Will shook his head. “I’m not going with you.”

  Millard looked at his gun, then at Will. “Far as I can tell, you don’t have much choice.”

  “I’m not going back. Not now,” Will said quietly, with resolution. His teeth were clenched, and his pulse was speeding. He could feel his frustration being replaced with anger.

  Millard looked at Zach. “What about you, son? Shouldn’t you be with the UP?”

  Zach didn’t answer.

  “Too gimpy to fight, huh? They’ll be happy to see you in the labor camp with all the women and old folks. Each of you put these on.” Millard reached around to a clip on his belt, and with a one-handed toss landed a pair of handcuffs in front of each of them.

  Zach bent to pick up the handcuffs, but Will stayed standing, staring at Millard.

  “I’m not putting those on, and I’m not going back with you.” Will looked over Millard’s shoulder toward Gonzales, then back at Millard. He clenched his fists.

  Millard took a step back and lifted his gun toward Will.

  “I’ve got permission to bring you back dead or alive.”

  “Mill, what are you doing?” Will yelled in disgust. “You work for the UP labor camp now? You know that’s not right. After all we had to do for them.”

  “I should’ve killed you long ago when I had the chance,” Millard said, the smug look returning to his face.

  “Maybe you should’ve, but you didn’t. The UP isn’t what it used to be. The Valley administration is broken.”

  “I don’t know nothin’ about all that,” Millard said, looking down at the handcuffs still on the soil. “They still pay me regularly.”

  “We saw UP soldiers who killed children in Greenfield,” Will said.

  “Oh, shut up with all that, Willie. My job’s to bring you back. I don’t want to drag your dead bodies to the truck, but I will. Now put on them handcuffs.”

  Will rubbed his hand over the wound on his cheek. The skin around it felt numb and cold. The stubbly hair from his beard was softening with length. He looked at Zach, then at the handcuffs, then back to Millard. He bent slowly, making eye contact with Millard the entire time, and picked up the handcuffs.

  Millard took another cautious step away from Will and aimed the rifle barrel toward his head. “Don’t you try anything stupid. Just put them cuffs on slowly.”

  Will slipped his wrists through each side of the loose rings of metal and tightened them with a ratcheting sound. Zach did the same.

  “Alright, now turn around and start walking. Let’s go. Toward the ramp.”

  Millard bent to pick up the guns and packs while Zach and Will continued in the downvalley direction along the highway. Will could see the old spherical Gonzales water tower in the distance. He clenched his fist in the handcuffs. He felt strangled, overheated. He seethed with anger.

  Once they were up the ramp and next to the jeep, Millard said, pointing to Zach, “You ride in the front. Willie, you’re gonna drive.”

  He set his rifle and the confiscated weaponry on the back seat, then took out a handgun from beneath his coat. He lifted it toward Zach and said, “Come over here. Hold out your hands.” He unlocked Zach’s cuffs with one hand while holding the handgun on him with the other, always watching Will, cautious of what he might do. “Handcuff him to the driver’s side door,” he commanded Zach, “and Willie, you try anything I’ll shoot you both. I oughta just shoot you both right now anyway, so you don’t cause me any more trouble.”

  Once Will was behind the wheel of the jeep, one handcuffed to the door, Millard had Zach secure himself to the passenger door. Millard rolled a toothpick between his teeth as he handed the keys to Zach.

  “Lean over and start it up,” he commanded.

  Will pulled onto the longvalley highway, leaving the Gonzales skyline to dwindle in the side mirror.

  The knobby tires hummed loudly on the smooth highway surface as they rode in silence. Will drove slowly, thinking of ways to escape their situation. Crash the jeep? Get shot. Speed up? Get shot. He could kill all three of them, but what would be the point? How would that help Helen or get him any closer to her?

  Zach, who’d apparently never been up on the highway, watched the Valley pass, his mouth hanging open. The sun was nearing the peak of its daily arch, and the sky was pure blue in front of them.

  Millard spoke to Zach. “Did you know this guy is a fully decorated war hero?”

  Zach looked at Will, who continued to stare straight ahead, one hand on the wheel.

  Millard went on, “Yup, came back from the border zone a real hero. Nobody knows what happened out there, how he survived, how he made it back.” Millard was silent for some time, then said, “I know, though, ‘cause I was there with him. I know what we did.”

  “You mean what you did?” Will said.

  “Mr. War Hero here doesn’t want to take credit for what we did out there.”

  After more silence Millard addressed Zach. “Killin’ folks is easier for some than others. Some people just don’t like to admit how easy it is for them.”

  They rode in silence with the windows down. The warm air fluttered through the jeep. They drove over endless crops, fallow patches, and myriad shades of green, and Will could smell the familiar s
weetness of the fields below. All his time in the fields surrounding Gonzales had trained him to recognize the time of year and what was being grown by the odor alone.

  Will heard Millard going through their packs in the back seat.

  Millard said with his mouth full, “Damn, this is good. I hit the jackpot with you two.”

  Neither Zach nor Will spoke.

  “This food must have come from that broke down prison in Soledad.”

  Zach turned his head to look at Millard.

  “That’s right. I watched you. I watched you the whole way. Limpin’ along, thinkin’ you were free. And you know what, Willie? I saw Jose, too. Trained my scope right on him. Took a lot of control not to squeeze that trigger. He was probably talkin’ some bullshit to you about them livin’ free in that prison.”

  Millard scoffed. “I’m looking forward to going back there for him someday. Tell you what, the Administration’s gonna love knowin’ about that resistance stronghold in that prison. Thank you for leading me to them.”

  Millard nudged Zach’s shoulder with the barrel of the handgun. “Willie tell you about how that half-breed piece of shit was with us out past the border zone? Everyone thought he died out there. Guess not.” Will glanced at Millard in the rearview mirror. He was leaned back against the seat with a look of satisfaction and the remains of an apple pie in his hand.

  “Willie here and Jose and I were all part of the same unit. This is back when the Valley was expanding. We got separated from the rest of the unit in San Benician territory. We were way behind SB lines. What a mess. Ain’t that right, Willie?” Millard asked, poking him with the gun.

  Will didn’t respond. He stared forward at the oncoming road trying not to betray any sign of interest in what Millard was saying.

  “The three of us had to cross Hollister to get back into the Valley. Benito soldiers were everywhere. A whole battalion between us and the border. Our unit was supposed to be sneaking out past the Gabilans, then we were going to make our way north to raid the SB Hollister weapons factory. When they found us, they came down hard. It was a suicide mission from the start. As far as we knew, the whole unit was gone except for us.”

  Millard trailed off and looked out the window for a while.

  “Anyway, we were hidin’ out trying to make it back, and we lucked upon that factory. Had what we needed to blow it up, too, destroy the whole thing, but Willie refused. They had women and a bunch of children workin’ in there. Hundreds of them. Far as I was concerned, you help produce weapons for the enemy, you can die like everyone else, child or not. Once we blew half that building apart, I started killing everything in it. Like a good soldier ought to. Mr. War Hero here tried to stop me.” Millard stared at Will. “You were weak back then, just like you are now. Always too nice to do the proper job of a soldier.”

  Will continued to stare blankly at the road ahead. His jaw was clenched.

  “How’s that shoulder of yours anyway?” Millard asked, then turning to Zach said, “This coward nearly got me killed. Had to neutralize him. Jose never made it out of the building after setting the explosives. I still don’t know how either of you made it back. Suppose you got friendly with the SB soldiers or somethin’. You a traitor now, Willie?”

  Finally, Will broke his silence. “You shouldn’t have done what you did out there. It was unnecessary,” Will said. Everything about Millard disgusted him.

  “They were enemy combatants, and your weakness put us all in danger.” Millard’s voice was rising and coming forth as an angry croak. “You’re no hero. I was the damn hero. I’m the one who killed our enemies.”

  “They were unarmed children,” Will said, suppressing his anger.

  “We were children, goddammit,” Millard yelled, letting his rage get the best of him. He lifted his handgun to the back of Will’s head. Will could feel the barrel shaking against his skull as he let his foot off the gas pedal. Millard pushed the barrel hard into Will’s head and said, “Keep driving,” then retracted the gun to the back seat.

  They rode in silence, Millard picking his teeth and occasionally making a hissing sound as he pulled air through them.

  A UP transport truck appeared in Will’s rear view mirror. It was moving fast and bearing down on them. Millard turned to see what Will was looking at.

  “What’s this?” Millard asked.

  When the truck was just behind them a hollow voice came across the truck’s loudspeaker. “Pull your vehicle to the side.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Mary laid awake on the gym floor, hoarse from screaming, rancid air stinging on the back of her throat. Sometime during the night, the rain found its pace of endless whispers, and heavy clouds belched out their blood boiling sickness onto the darkness below. She panted and struggled against her restraints as the rain drummed a cold and steady murmur on the walkway outside the gym. At some point, she thought she heard screaming, but it was muffled and distorted by the sound of water running everywhere and the ringing in her ears. She kept yelling the names of her lost children as the dark hours passed, clinging to the futile hope that they would somehow hear her and be comforted by her voice.

  She passed out, only to be repeatedly jolted awake by the pain in her shoulder. She oscillated in and out of a partial dream state throughout the dark early morning hours, repulsed by the stink wafting across her face from under the door. She finally awoke in the silence after the rain had stopped. A barely perceptible sliver light stretched underneath the gym doors, and Mary knew that the sun would soon rise over the Gabilans. She waited. If she could maintain stillness, her shoulder would stop its incessant burning. All she wanted was to hear the joyful morning voices of the school’s children, but silence prevailed.

  The light under the door had grown bright when Mary once again heard boots on the sidewalk. The gym doors opened. She struggled to look up to see Captain Wilson.

  “Alright, Miss McElroy, time to get up,” the captain said with an almost triumphant tone in his voice.

  Mary laid on the floor silently, unresponsive. There was only the burning pain in her shoulder and the horror of what had happened to the children.

  He spoke in a low and cold tone. “We had our orders. This is for the good of the Valley.”

  Mary squinted into the distance beyond Captain Wilson’s boots, through the open gym doors where the tan covered walkways of the school were soaked dark with rain. She saw the fence and beyond it, a soldier was lifting a limp child from the grass.

  “No, no, no, no,” Mary cried in a hollow whisper.

  “I’m going to cut the restraints off your legs. Don’t fight me or I’ll have to hurt you,” Captain Wilson said as he leaned over to roll Mary onto her stomach.

  Mary screamed at the pain in her shoulder.

  “My shoulder. Please don’t move me,” she said.

  Captain Wilson ran a hand along Mary’s back and across the outside of her right shoulder.

  “Damn it,” he said under his breath, then more loudly, “your shoulder’s dislocated. I told you to stay calm. What did you do?” He cut the zip tie, and her arms fell to her side. Mary screamed again.

  He lifted Mary and rolled her onto her back. While Mary screamed, he pulled her arm up and away from her. She heard a deep thud and felt a hit of intense pain in her shoulder as the joint pulled back into place. The pain subsided almost instantly, and Mary looked up at the captain, who was leaning over her, staring down at her, still holding her arm.

  He smiled a wicked smile. “There, I bet you feel better now.” He gripped her arm and continued to stare.

  She was wide-eyed with naked fear, completely still, until he set her arm down on her side and stepped away. Mary peered out the gym doors toward the fence enclosure again.

  “Why?” she yelled and began to cry.

  Captain Wilson didn’t respond.

  Outside the gym, the schoolyard, the grass, and the fields beyond laid calmly in the pewter morning light. Each blade of grass shimmered with droplets
of spent water, soon to be evaporated, clinging to the margins of everything. As the sun crested the low rim of the eastern hills, thousands of clear prisms took in its light, scrambled and reflected it in all directions. Within minutes the day was yellow and bright.

  Captain Wilson stood by the doors with his back to Mary looking out into the schoolyard as Mary struggled to her feet. Over his shoulders, she saw the children, supine and motionless forms on the lawn, some on top of each other. Mary held a hand to her mouth and thought for a moment she might throw up. The air around her grew heavy and hard to breathe. She looked on as two soldiers carefully lifted a child and carried her out of the fence enclosure. The child’s clothes were soaked and hanging off her awkwardly. Mary rolled her shoulders back and gulped in air, her fists clenched, and her nostrils flared.

  “Why?” she screamed at him from behind, her voice shaking. “Why?”

  Momentarily her rage outweighed her fear, and she pounded his upper back with both her fists. He turned around, grabbed her wrists, and slapped her to the ground.

  He looked down on her as she recovered from the blow. He kicked her on the side where she laid on the gym floor and said, “Don’t ever touch me again. Now get up and follow me outside.”

  Mary limped out into the morning sun following at a safe distance behind Captain Wilson. She squinted and held her shoulder with her other hand. The smell of sulfur had dissipated, replaced with the old smells of the Valley, fresh soil, diesel fuel, and wet straw.

  Mary walked in a daze toward the fence. The gate was wide open, and the small bodies of children laid haphazardly about the inside, some facing the sky, others face-down in the grass, some still in a cold wet embrace.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  As the UP military truck came up close behind them, Will slowed Millard Fillmore’s jeep.

  “You two don’t move. Stay seated,” Millard said as Will pulled the jeep to the side of the highway. In the rearview mirror, he could see the light blue uniforms of UP soldiers riding in the truck's front.

  Millard pushed open the back door. The voice came again over the loudspeaker. “Stay in the vehicle.” Four UP soldiers exited the truck with their rifles out and waited a short distance behind the jeep.