by Justin Bell
The two walked a few more moments in silence before Max chimed back in. “I’m sorry, you know. Sorry about what happened to your mom and dad. Sorry I couldn’t have killed the jerks who did it.”
Brad lowered his gaze as he walked. “I’m glad you didn’t,” he replied.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Now I can do it.”
Max looked at his friend as he walked, and saw that both of Brad’s fists clenched. The shoulder holster continued tapping against his narrow chest as he walked, the small pistol snug inside.
“You sure you want to do that? I know your mom was no fan of guns.”
“Maybe if she was, she’d still be alive.”
“You really think so?”
Brad shrugged. “Couldn’t have hurt.”
Trees came up on their left as they walked, glancing out towards the continuing line of blue lights. Max veered towards them and jumped, looping his hands around a low branch, then swung up into the tree. He groaned a bit as he scrambled up, his hip stabbing, raw nerves tensing as he moved. Standing at the higher vantage point, he looked out over the moderate landscape but couldn’t see a break in the police presence or in the backed-up cars trying to traverse this artificial border on each side of Peoria.
“Anything interesting?” Brad asked, looking up at him.
“Blue lights and more blue lights,” Max replied, then he slipped down from the branch, landing in the grass below. They moved out of the small group of trees out towards the street and noticed small gatherings of people, most of them draped in thick coats. A few groups huddled around makeshift fires, even though it wasn’t cold out. In fact, it was moving towards becoming oppressively hot. As they neared one of these groups, an older woman turned and scowled at them, clutching something tight to her. Max thought it might have been some kind of animal, and it occurred to him that the fires were cooking fires. Many of these people had nothing to eat, nowhere to sleep, and nowhere to go, but they just sat out here, fifty feet from a police barricade, and roasted roadkill over an open fire to survive.
What was happening to their world?
Beyond the old woman, a man looked over at them, his eyes locking on the flapping holster at Brad’s chest and Max could see the certainty in the man’s eyes even from so far away. He saw them as kids. Vulnerable kids who had something he wanted, and right then and there, Max was absolutely certain that the man would kill them to get it. Without hesitation.
Up above, the sky continued to dim towards darkness, casting the already uncertain world around them in an even more uncertain dimness. Everything was shrouded in shades of blue and black, the blue lights hacking through the darkness with the subtlety of a blunt ax. Max’s hip twinged as they walked and started to ache, no longer a stabbing pain, but a more persistent and steady digging, like a shovel working its way through packed dirt. As they continued walking, he started slowing to a gradual limp.
“You okay, Max?” Brad asked turning towards him, realizing that he was now the one leading the procession.
“I’ll be all right,” Max replied.
“We should turn around soon.”
Max nodded. He looked back out towards 74, hoping upon hope that he’d see some kind of break in the blockade, some kind of thinning of the clutch of police presence—any sort of indication that there might be a way through this arbitrary border crossing.
Was it arbitrary? He still didn’t know whether the patrol was protecting the people within the greater Chicago area, or was protecting the people outside from the denizens of the city. He suddenly wasn’t sure they’d ever find out, and if they couldn’t get in, what would they do about Lydia? There was no way to call her, no way to send a message, email, or anything. She might as well have been on the planet Mars.
“All right, let’s head back,” Max said turning, and Brad nodded, following along.
“So, you’re going to keep showing me how to shoot, right?” Brad asked. “You and Clancy?”
“Well, yeah,” Max replied, rolling his eyes. “Of course. We need all the protection we can get, right, tough guy?”
Brad chuckled, but there was a quiet, false humor to it.
Up ahead they could see the familiar group of people huddled around the fires, and Max noticed that the man who had been staring at them was no longer among them. For some reason that made him nervous. Just by instinct, he moved his hand to the spot on the small of his back and touched the holster there.
“You saw it, too?” Brad asked, slowing down to match Max’s pace. “That crazy guy’s not there.”
“Yeah, I saw it,” Max replied. “Let’s just keep moving.”
On their right the group of trees emerged that Max had climbed to perform his high-altitude reconnaissance, and Max kept his eyes peeled towards them as they approached, the grass to his left rising to a gentle slope between them and the groups of people by the fires.
“I’ll take those guns,” the voice said, and Max whirled. The man had been in the trees, but he’d come out on the near side, sneaking out around them and approaching from behind. Max’s hands were already working his holster as the man stepped towards him, reaching out and babbling in a low voice at them.
“Oh no,” he hissed, “no you don’t. You keep those hands right out where I can see them!”
Brad moved first, darting in and swinging his foot, driving a heel into the side of the man’s knee. He stumbled backwards and Max pulled away, unsnapping the holster and swinging out the revolver, wrapping both hands tight around the contoured handle. In the same instant, Brad produced his weapon as well, both barrels leveled at the crazy man who glared at them with wild, untamed eyes, his tiny pupils swimming in the milky whites. Max imagined his whole mind like that, a brain full of milk, sloshing and swirling, the thoughts becoming mixed with the vapor clouds of confusion. The eyes were windows to the soul, and this man’s soul was a rambling, disassociated vat of spoiled dairy; thick, clumpy, and rancid.
“Just stay back,” Max said, his pistol aimed at the man’s chest.
Brad didn’t speak, but he held his weapon the same way, his eyes darting towards Max so he could correct his own stance and posture.
The man glared at them, wide-eyed and rabid, his mouth opening and closing, forming strange words they could not hear. Even if they could hear them, they doubted they’d understand.
“Little filthy brats,” he finally growled. “Filthy, dirty punk kids.”
“You don’t hurt us, we won’t hurt you,” Max said. “Just go back to your fire. Eat your rat and go to bed.”
The man snarled, his lips curling up and exposing those same off-white teeth. But he made no motion towards them. He only snapped his lips back together, clacked his teeth, and turned away, loping up the gradual hill and vanishing towards the rest of his kind. The abandoned. The huddled masses.
Brad waited until he walked away, then he lowered his pistol while Max slipped his back into the holster on his belt.
“You all right, Brad?” he asked. Brad nodded that he was. Max jerked his head towards the RV and Brad followed along, walking beneath the indigo sky, showing some first signs of the evening stars. He still held his pistol, down low and at his side, but his sweat-slicked fingers gripped the handle as if his very life depended on it.
***
Winnie turned and glanced back over her shoulder, watching the retreating form of Max and Brad.
“Not much light left, Win,” Phil said. “Let’s get moving.”
She nodded and followed along behind him as they crested a grassy knoll and headed down the other side, walking towards a gathering of trees east of the RV. As they walked, they could see groups of huddled people gathered together, some sitting around fires, some just collected in small, oblong groups with no apparent connection between them.
“You doing okay, Winnie?” Phil asked as they walked, feet brushing over tangled grass.
“Yeah, Dad, I’m all right,” she replied.
“You seemed pretty
upset about Jerry. Anything you want to talk about?”
Winnie kept walking in silence though she cleared her throat as they moved.
“Win?”
“Nothing to talk about, Dad, is there? He’s dead. Died protecting us.”
“Well, he meant something to you by the sounds of it.”
Winnie shrugged as she trudged through the grass. “I knew him like two days, Dad. Big whoop.”
“It’s as Mom says, honey. In times like this, it’s the small things that matter. Those relationships that might not feel like a big deal, things like that are what make us human.”
“As if being human is some great thing to aspire to.”
Phil put his hand on Winnie’s shoulder and she turned towards him. In the low light he could see the tears glistening on her cheeks.
“Humanity is all we’ve got right now, sweetheart.”
“And who do you think created this mess?” Winnie asked, her voice breaking. “Humanity did. People did. Maybe we deserve to die out if we can’t exist without killing each other.”
Phil stepped towards her and gathered her up in his arms, holding her tight to him. “Winnie, honey.”
She coughed and let him hug her but didn’t return the embrace, keeping her arms at her side and allowing him to hold her close.
He pushed her away, bending down to look in her eyes. “I know it’s tough to understand.”
“It’s not tough to understand, Dad. I’m fifteen, okay? I’m not a kid. Not anymore. Not after this.”
“Hey, do you think I’d be letting you carry around that Beretta if I thought you were a kid?”
Winnie rolled her eyes, but her mouth tipped to a gentle smile. “Stupid gun was Mom’s idea, anyway.”
“Smart lady, your mom.”
“Yeah, whatever.”
Phil turned her back around and walked with her, matching her stride for stride as they went up another slope. To their left the row of flashing blue lights continued, the bright strobe bracketing silhouettes and shadows of gathered humanity. Up to the left they could almost make out a rustling series of shadows and raised voices.
“What’s going on, Dad?” Winnie asked, slowing down.
Phil could see it, too. One of the shadows was struggling with a group of others, trying to pull free while more shadows circled around and clutched at him.
“We don’t need your kind around here!” a voice shouted, clear and loud above the low din of extraneous noise.
“You did this to us!” shouted another.
“Please, just leave me alone!” the lone shadow said, trying to work his way free. He wrenched, the figure twisting, and his arm came free of the group’s grasp, but the figure stumbled as he turned, falling to his knees. Phil saw other shadows approach and one of them raised a hand, something long and rounded clutched in it. Something that looked like a bottle.
“Hey! Don’t!”
Phil’s head snapped around at the voice and that’s when he realized it was Winnie’s voice shouting. She had already taken off, charging across the strip of pavement towards the next patch of green grass.
“Winnie, don’t!” Phil shouted, but she was already too far ahead, and as he looked, she appeared to be pulling her Beretta free of its holster. “Oh, God,” Phil muttered as he broke into a run, freeing his own pistol in preparation for the violence he was certain would come.
“Let him go!” Winnie shouted. “He didn’t do anything!” She had the small pistol in her hand and the group of approaching shadows had shrunk back upon seeing it. “Get your hands off of him!”
“Take it easy, little girl,” one of the shadows barked. “Don’t do anything stupid.” It had stopped shrinking back as Winnie helped the lone figure stand, his legs somewhat unsteady.
“You’re the one who’s about to do something stupid,” Phil growled, advancing on the group, his own pistol drawn and clutched in two hands. “Stay back. Nobody needs to get hurt.”
“All right, man. Take it easy.” The shadows withdrew, stepping back almost in unison, pulling away from Winnie and the mysterious figure who had now clamored to his feet.
“Come on, Win,” Phil said, gesturing towards Winnie and she helped push the man away from the group. He followed the two of them as they broke away and started heading back towards the RV. “It’s getting dark, anyway,” Phil continued. “Let’s head back.”
As a trio they migrated back down the grassy slope, waiting until they got further away from the huddled shadows.
“Name’s Phil,” Phil said, and the man nodded his thanks.
“I’m Winnie,” she said, and he turned, taking her hand.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you both. That could have gotten ugly.”
“Yeah, they looked ready to take a few rounds out of you,” Phil said.
The man chuckled, shaking his head. “I meant ugly for them.” He lifted his hand and showed them the P2000 pistol he clutched in his gloved fingers. “I didn’t want to, but they weren’t giving me much choice.”
“Nice piece,” Phil said. “Never can be too careful.”
“Eh,” the man replied. “This one’s government issue.”
Phil stopped walking and Winnie followed his lead. They both turned to look at the man, who extended his hand to Phil.
“Name’s Liu. Brandon Liu. I’m an agent for Customs and Border Patrol.”
***
Night had fallen, the dark skies flaring with strobes of blue light, and Rhonda sat on a rock next to the RV, her knees bent and the pistol held in her grasp. She turned it over in her hands looking at the smooth, polished, metal surface, the weight feeling balanced and even in her hand. She looked up at the flashing blue lights, thinking back to what seemed like a lifetime away.
Thinking back to an early dusk evening at the Denver Zoo. Storms had gathered, the clouds shrouding the sun. There was no clear reason why the memory should be so clear to her, but it was as she sat here looking at the darkness, her heart heavy and worried. Max was off with Brad, Winnie was off with Phil, and her eldest daughter…her Lydia. Nobody knew where she was.
For a brief moment at the Denver Zoo, nobody knew where she was, either. Rhonda had grabbed her hand and led her over to the lion cage, the male beast pacing the cage, his thick, brown mane cascading over his contoured shoulders. He’d glared at her, directly at her, and for that brief moment, those two black eyes looked like the black eyes of the deer she’d shot, that piercing, dark stare, that accusatory look that told her he’d known what she’d done. She’d taken a life.
Why had it struck her so much then? She hadn’t hunted in over ten years, and she hadn’t been back to her parents’ home in over five.
Still, she felt Lydia’s small hand in hers, fingers closed around her palm. Moving her hand to her camera to take a picture, she pressed the old Kodak to her eyes and clicked a few photographs, centering the majestic beast within the viewfinder. Her heart raced, a thrum of exhilaration ramming in her chest, her breath catching as she took a third picture, then a fourth. Dropping the camera on the strap around her neck, she reached towards Lydia’s hand.
She only grabbed empty air.
“Lydia?” she asked, turning to find her daughter. Lydia was gone, Rhonda’s eyes falling on the empty swath of sidewalk. The exhilaration in her heart shifted to panic and she charged forward, eyes darting and head jumping back and forth, trying to find her.
“Lydia?” she screamed, running into a tightly grouped crowd of spectators, who broke away and let her push through. She started heading left, then pulled back and headed right, cold sweat forming on her forehead. Panic raced through her, clenching her heart like a fist, and she lurched forward, eyes wide.
“Lydia?” she yelled again. One last, desperate cry.
“Mommy?”
Rhonda whirled and saw her there, sitting on a bench. An overgrown tree sheltered the bench, branches with thick green leaves shrouding the wood plank bench casting shaped shadows down upon the young
girl.
“Where did you go, sweetie?” Rhonda asked, taking two steps towards her and sitting on the bench, wrapping her in a tight embrace and pulling her close. “Why did you leave?”
“I don’t like it here, mommy,” she said quietly.
Rhonda broke away, holding her at arm’s length, looking at the worry on her face. “Why, honey? What’s the matter?”
“Why are all the animals locked up? Why are they in cages? They should be free.”
Rhonda cupped her chin in her hands and smiled at the sweet innocence in her five-year-old face.
“It’s a zoo, honey,” Rhonda replied. “That’s how they work. It’s a way for people like us to see things we wouldn’t normally see.”
“I don’t want to see animals in cages,” she replied simply. “They didn’t do anything wrong.”
Rhonda combed a hand through her hair and kissed her forehead. Her skin was cool and soft, smelling of lotion. There was a blind innocence in her eyes, a complete absence of suspicion or blame. Trying to find her way in a world so different from what she was familiar with. This wasn’t Sesame Street or Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, this was a small slice of reality, an indication that the world wasn’t always sunshine and roses. Sometimes there were things you didn’t agree with or like.
Sometimes it was animals in cages. Sometimes it was killing a deer at a hundred yards.
Rhonda opened her eyes, half expecting to see five-year-old Lydia to be standing in front of her. She wasn’t. She was long gone, Rhonda hoped in Chicago, but she didn’t know for sure and that lack of knowing gnawed at her like an angry rodent.
Police lights streaked through the darkened sky. She could see the glut of vehicles bunched up by the barricade, a mix of metal and plastic, and another slice of modern reality.
More than a slice. The vision in front of her was a three course meal of reality, and Rhonda was getting full.
***
Rhonda paced back and forth by the RV having an impossible time standing still. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she drew in deep, uncomfortable breaths, halting every few moments to glance out east, then west, before sighing and continuing her monotonous pace.