Thunder Run

by Daniel José Older

  “I —”

  He silenced her with a raised hand. “I will teach you. What I am saying no to is your invitation to join in whatever madcap adventure you have cooking up in that brilliant little brain of yours.”

  Magdalys’s head was still spinning from how much he’d been able to figure out about her just from a glance. “But —”

  “Butts are for pooping from, my dear child.”

  Behind her, Mapper guffawed. “Gotta remember that one.”

  “We just —”

  “Show me what you’ve got.”

  Magdalys gulped. She’d expected to have to demonstrate her powers again, but this whole situation had thrown her off. And anyway … she wasn’t totally sure what she’d got. The truth was, nothing had felt the same since Atchafalaya. She was glad she hadn’t had the opportunity to need her skills, because now that she’d witnessed what Drek, and Elizabeth Crawbell before him, could do, they seemed utterly inadequate.

  She closed her eyes. Tried to ignore the sound of her pulse pounding away in her ears. Reached. The dinos surrounding them in Lafarge’s grotto had a different feel to them from the others she’d wrangled. Most of those had been wild or poorly trained, she now realized. These dinos felt sharper somehow, ready. An underlying gentleness radiated through them. The ferocity was there too, but checked, like they had their wildness in reserve and could tap into it at will instead of in sudden fits of wrath.

  Wromp romp wra-wrom, grumbled a nearby stego.

  You, she thought, and felt it snap to attention within her. Let’s walk in a circle. And, you — she turned her mind toward one of the ankylosaurs as the stego fell into a march around the grotto — come the other direction. He did, immediately, and so she sent three tupus looping through the dark sky above.

  “Ahem,” Lafarge said. He’d walked closer without her even realizing it — alarming little guy — and now stood staring pointedly at the far end of the grotto, where the stego stood chomping on the drooping fronds of a banana tree.

  “Oh man!” Magdalys pointed a sharp thought toward him and the stego snorted and fell back into his march.

  “Eh, eh, eh,” Lafarge tutted, looking up and shaking his head.

  The tupus had landed on the outer wall and were squabbling at each other. Fellas! Magdalys thought, and they fluttered into action again.

  At least the ankylosaur had stayed the course, but even as she turned to it, the creature slowed down and eased into a squat, preparing to release a small mountain of ankypoop.

  Magdalys glared at Lafarge. “Are you doing that?”

  He chuckled. “No, ma chérie. They are.”

  “But I —”

  “You usually have complete control over them, eh? As many as you want?”

  “Well, not complete, but …”

  “And when was this — that you have been able to control so many at a time?”

  Magdalys looked down. “In battle, sir.” She wasn’t sure why, but she felt like that was the wrong answer somehow. She wished she’d grown up in a world where a black girl could just make dinos do what she wanted for entertainment. But she didn’t have that luxury. Her skills had saved her life, plain and simple. And she wouldn’t be ashamed of it. She met his eyes again. “We were under attack. Another dinowrangler was sending wave after wave of dinos to kill us. I … I was just trying to help my brother.”

  Lafarge raised an eyebrow. “This wrangler you speak of. He had red hair?”

  “Yes, sir. Earl Shamus Dawson —”

  “Of course it would be Drek. That pathetic little twerp. He tried to recruit me too, you know. And when I refused, he challenged me to a dinoduel. I have no time for these silly shenanigans. I sent him running.” He sighed, shook his head. Then chuckled. “Arabella here nearly had him for lunch, you know.”

  A raptor gave what almost sounded like a little cackle from the shadows where she lurked.

  Lafarge’s face turned sour again. “He’s no slouch though. How did you get away?”

  “I bested him,” Magdalys said as plainly as she could. “I stopped every dino and ptero he sent.”

  He raised both eyebrows, nodded. “Tell me how you did it.”

  “I …” Magdalys let her voice trail off, closed her eyes. Gave herself a moment to remember. Those spinosaur roars and the Bog Marauders’ gunshots echoed back to her, brought a surge of terror. And then something else: She remembered the fire of her own anger as it welled up within her, how simple it had all suddenly seemed, letting that fire explode outward along her thought lines to the attacking dinosaurs, fending them off one by one.

  That power.

  When she opened her eyes, all the dinos seemed to have taken one large step closer. They stood all around, blinking at her with wonder.

  Lafarge looked very serious; sad, perhaps.

  “Rage,” Magdalys said. “My fear became rage. And then I could do anything.”

  He nodded. “Come back tomorrow. We have much work to do.”

  “THAT DUDE IS so weird,” Mapper said as Bonfouca carried them through the midnight streets of New Orleans.

  Old Rose laughed. “He is indeed, young Mapper. He is indeed.”

  Tiny dinos scurried through puddles, tumbling and squeaking at each other, chasing rats and scrounging for scraps. It was a cloudy night, and the darkness seemed to consume everything. Dim gas lanterns glinted on each corner; shadows ruled the city.

  Magdalys’s mind moved a million miles an hour. What had it all meant? She’d never been able to talk to someone so deeply about her abilities. She’d never been able to make sense of them. It had all felt like trial and error, stumbling through the darkness. It must’ve been like that for most people who could do what she could. Connecting to dinos was just a magical power of old or whatever. Seemed like most people hid their skills, like Hannibal had. It was only now governments were starting to recognize the military potential of having a true dinowarrior on their side. And of course, the Confederates were ahead of the game on that.

  “You’ve known him a long time?” Mapper asked.

  “Oh, child … almost my whole life,” Rose said. She sighed. “Nearly killed him a few times.”

  “Go on …”

  But now Magdalys had a chance to learn, really learn, and understand the power she wielded. She felt woozy with the thought. Sure, asking him to teach her had just been a ruse at first, and she still planned to convince him to join her crew somehow, but … he had answers! He was a candle in the night. And if she started learning this young, who knew what she could do….

  “Ah, those were different times,” Rose said. “We’ve seen so many times in this little city of ours, you know. Been a tumultuous start, you could say. But we’re still here and we’re not going anywhere. I don’t have any plans to kill that old goat anytime soon, so hopefully you can learn a few things from him.”

  “Wait, did you guys fight on opposite sides of a war?” Magdalys asked, suddenly interested. There hadn’t been a major war since the forties, when the US invaded Mexico and captured a huge chunk of their territory. But there were always small battles erupting here and there.

  “Heh, no, dearie, there are other things besides war that make people want to strangle each other.”

  A moment passed, and the sound of Bonfouca’s clomping feet and the rattle of Old Rose’s cooking equipment filled the warm night air amidst Minuette’s quiet snores.

  “I don’t mean, ah, actually strangle, you know,” Rose said into the quietness. “I mean metaphorically, of course. Just, ah, to be clear.”

  “Sure you do,” Mapper said.

  It was very, very late by the time they made it back to the barracks, said goodbye to Old Rose, and crawled into the bed at the far end of the room next to each other. All the other beds were empty, and it only reminded Magdalys that her brother was once again off somewhere getting shot at. And so was everyone else she cared about.

  A single candle on a table nearby lit a tiny halo against the darkness. Ma
gdalys was about to blow it out when Mapper said, “Wait.”

  “What is it?”

  He looked at the empty beds, then the floor.

  “Mapper?”

  “I just …” He shook his head. “I miss the others.”

  Magdalys’s heart felt like a setting sun. She did too. She’d just managed to shove all that missing away somewhere. It wasn’t that she didn’t think about them — she did, every single day. It was more that the thoughts were a sad wail, and if she was going to live her life with any degree of composure at all, that wail had to get muted. So she did. The missing had its place — in the way back of her thoughts, and so the wail continued on and on, but it never got loud enough to take over.

  She put her arm around Mapper. “I know.” Seeing him sad about it made the wail get louder and louder though. It was like their two sadnesses had finally found each other and were now having a big old sad party, whether Magdalys and Mapper wanted them to or not. “I miss them too.”

  “Do you think they’re —” He just shrugged away the rest of the sentence, and Magdalys was glad. It was a useless question, and they both knew it. They probably weren’t okay, and that was that. It was a war, the whole world was a war, and all their friends were black and brown and so they were tattooed with targets no matter what they did, how nice they acted or how hard they fought for freedom.

  “Can we …” Mapper’s voice trailed off again.

  “What?” Magdalys was almost crying. Almost.

  “This is weird, maybe? But —”

  “Say it.”

  “Can we pray for them?”

  Magdalys checked her first response, which was to bust out laughing. It wasn’t that what he said was funny, it just came out of nowhere and caught her totally off guard. The matrons at the orphanage made them pray, but Magdalys was pretty sure everyone just went through the motions without paying much attention to the words or meaning. It seemed like something they had to do along with their other chores.

  Mapper looked at her with such wide, expectant eyes, she was glad she’d swallowed back the laugh. Instead she exhaled solemnly and nodded. “Who … who do you want to pray to?”

  He shrugged. “I dunno. Doesn’t matter really, I think?”

  That seemed about right. God seemed to have a million names — who could keep track? And she wasn’t even sure if she believed in any of them. But she believed in the world around them, the beauty of the sky above at daybreak, and the thrill of sailing through it on dactylback, and that was about as much proof of a supreme being as she needed. “Alright,” she said. “Close your eyes.”

  She did too, and the echo of candlelight sent little color splotches dancing across the darkness.

  “You start,” Mapper whispered.

  “Ah, okay. To the, um, universe, and whoever else is listening … To the great big world out there and if there’s a God, then to God too: This is Magdalys Roca here with my friend Kyle Tanner, aka Mapper.”

  “Heh.”

  “And we want to first and foremost say thank you for letting us stay alive this long in this cruel and scary world. Especially considering this is, like, probably the first time either of us has really prayed for a long … like, ever, really.”

  “True.”

  “But we both try our best to be good people and do what’s right in the world. And yes, we’ve …” Magdalys stopped abruptly. This wasn’t confessional. There was no priest there to absolve them. She wasn’t even sure if anything they’d done was wrong really, considering they’d done it all to save their own lives. She shook her head. Thinking too much as always. “Anyway! We want to pray for our friends, who are scattered all over the place right now and we just hope they’re okay.”

  “Like Two Step and Little Sabeen,” Mapper chimed in, “who are stuck in Chattanooga and surrounded by Confederates.”

  “And Hannibal, Big John, and the rest of the Louisiana Native Guard who are with them,” Magdalys added. “Also, Cymbeline Crunk, who’s on the way with General Grant to help them. Probably there by now, we hope. Plus, my brother, Montez, back in the line of duty along with his crew from the Louisiana 9th: Tom Summers, Corporal Hands, Toussaint, Briggs, and Bijoux.”

  “And Amaya,” Mapper added.

  “And Amaya,” Magdalys agreed. “Out in the desert somewhere tracking down her destiny.”

  “And Cymbeline’s brother Halsey Crunk, back in New York. And all the cats from the Vigilance Committee and the Bochinche, like David Ballantine and Louis Napoleon and Miss Bernice. Oh, and Miss Du Monde, wherever she is.”

  “And Redd,” Magdalys said. “Keep Redd safe on the high seas or on some wild adventure probably, saving the world with his red raptor, Reba.”

  “All of our dino friends,” Mapper said.

  “And our ptero friends too,” Magdalys said. “Grappler and Dizz and Beans and especially big ol’ Stella.”

  A moment passed. Outside, the coos and caws of dinos simmered on through the night. Magdalys opened her eyes. “Did we forget anyone?”

  “Probably,” Mapper admitted, opening his. “Your family?”

  “Man …” Magdalys rubbed her temples. “I barely remember my sisters. But yeah: Celia and Julissa. Keep them safe too, please. You?”

  “Terr-Terr and Fat Edson back in the Claw. And Meeps and Bala, I guess.” He nodded with finality. “Oh, and you!”

  “I’m right here!” Magdalys laughed. “You know I’m okay!”

  “Right, but I want you to stay that way.”

  “Deal. I pray you do too, please.”

  Mapper shrugged. “I try.” He settled in to sleep and Magdalys leaned over and blew out the candle.

  THE NEXT DAY, morning sunlight poured into the stables and Magdalys and Mapper were back at it, shoveling mountains of poop into a wheelbarrow. They’d already let the dinos out into the run pen and were about halfway done when a furious bugle sounded outside the door. They glanced at each other.

  “Ten-hut!” someone barked. “Make way for the major general!”

  Magdalys caught her breath. Could it be that General Grant had already made it back? He’d have news about her friends — maybe had even brought them along! And he’d be able to let stinking Banks know that she really was to be put in charge of her own special unit.

  But instead, the nasal, sniveling voice of General Banks reached them amidst the clomping of boots and shuffling of clothes: “Very good, yes, indeed, alright then.”

  Magdalys sighed. At least they’d get news about Montez and the others.

  “Ah, my new recruits,” General Banks said, appearing in the doorway with an uncharacteristic smile. Magdalys held off retorting that she was Grant’s recruit, really, not his. What good would it do? “How goes the duty of poop?”

  “Stinks,” Mapper said. “Sir.”

  “Sounds about right. You’ll be relieved to hear that we have chased off those rascally Confederates and scattered them back among the swamplands where they belong.”

  Magdalys was relieved, but that didn’t sound reassuring, somehow. It had been a whole branch of the Confederate Army, not just a gathering of angry guerrillas. They would’ve overrun the city if she and the others hadn’t given warning. And they would probably form back up as soon as they had a chance. “Was it a fierce battle?” she asked, not knowing how else to get more info out of him.

  “Ha, battle,” he scoffed. “We simply demonstrated at each flank and they scampered off with their proverbial tail between their proverbial legs, you know. These backwoods secessionists bark quite a bit, but there’s not much bite in them when it comes down to it.”

  Unconvincing, Magdalys thought. Grant would’ve chased them out into the bayou, cut them off, and then destroyed the entire army and been done with it.

  “Why didn’t you smash ’em?” Mapper asked.

  “Next year,” Banks said, scraping something off the stable wall with his fingernail and frowning at it. (Poop, Magdalys thought with some satisfaction. Gotta be.) “Ne
xt year, I’m sure you know, is an election year.”

  “So?” Mapper asked.

  “So in an election year,” he said very slowly, as if explaining to a child (which he was, but still … Magdalys groaned inside herself), “battles matter, you see. They matter quite a bit. Elections are won and lost on the battlefield. If we don’t start making some progress in this ridiculous war, for example, General McClellan may well snatch the presidency from old Abe Lincoln, and then we’ll have a peace deal within hours, and then who knows what will happen. So battles are won at the ballot box and elections won on the battlefield.” He chuckled. The man made it all sound like some clever parlor game, not a struggle for the survival of the nation with millions of lives hanging in the balance.

  “Yikes,” Mapper said.

  “Yikes, indeed. And so, you see, next year, we will launch the Red River Campaign, and we’ll win too, I wager, smash those Confederates clean across the swamplands. And it’ll all happen just in time for Lincoln to bring old Louisiana back into the Union and we’ll hold elections for state office, which I’ll win of course, coming right off a majestic victory like that, and then I’ll go ahead with the hard work of making this place federal territory once again for real.” He smiled magnanimously, as if all thanks and praise were due.

  So this was what they meant by political generals, Magdalys realized. She’d heard the term many times, read it in the scathing editorials in papers, but hadn’t quite understood it until this moment. General Banks was a walking example of it. She was about to make a mental note never to trust him with anything of value, except she’d already inadvertently placed her very life in his hands, and what was more valuable than that? If General Banks saw fit to, he could send her marching directly into the maw of battle without even a sidearm in hand, and that was that. The worst part was, if he did do that, it would probably be to assure himself election somewhere. She sighed. Such was life in the United States Army.