Breaking into Cars

by Emery C. Walters

  As soon as it really calmed down enough, I pulled myself up and over to the sliding divider. I looked through it and saw that Elvis was curled up sound asleep, holding an empty bottle. I couldn’t tell if he was drunk or just asleep. He was unhurt, unmarked, and the windshield, though covered with sticks and pieces of hay, was unbroken and running with rainwater.

  The kitten was now stretched out on Brandon’s chest. They were both sound asleep. Busted was looking a little antsy and I figured if I had to pee, then maybe he did, too. After another ten minutes, the rain was so light you could barely see it, so I opened the door, and the two of us climbed out very carefully.

  The landscape looked like a war zone. Off behind us, I believe it was to the northeast, the black clouds were still roiling and rolling along. It was black all the way to the ground. If the tornado was still down you couldn’t see it. But it didn’t matter, all that mattered was it wasn’t here anymore. That, and getting to pee, which we both managed as soon as possible. The sirens died off as if they’d been strangled. It was eerily silent for several minutes, then I heard distant cries, and Busted raised his head like he’d just scented another small animal that needed to be eaten and barfed up again.

  As I turned around I saw what had been a barn. Enough of it was still standing that you could see that’s what it had been. There were even a couple of cows standing in what was left of their stalls. Beyond that was another structure, or what had been one, and was now just a big pile of rubble. Busted heard something I couldn’t hear, looked up at me and whined, and then took off across the wreck of what may have been the start of a corn field. I could not tell. I followed him, gingerly picking my way, wishing I had sturdy boots on instead of my latest-fashion Nikes.

  As we got closer I could hear muffled cries and made out the word help. I inched closer to what was still most of a chimney. The ground was littered with bricks, pieces of wood, half a couch, part of a table, torn linens, clothing, dishes, and other soon to be trash or artifacts from the present day. Up until now the air had smelled fresh and very clean, if weird, which I knew was ozone. But now, this close to the house, I could smell gas. It was getting stronger, too.

  I wanted to run back to the car, even if just to get Elvis, but Busted was still whining and looking back at me. He was also digging into the trash heap, between an upturned kitchen chair and a something that looked like half a toilet. What made me gasp with horror, though, was a small broken doll, lying upside down in part of a bush. Biting back my fear, I climbed over to where Busted was digging, and started throwing whatever I could lift, behind us.

  When I felt a hand grab mine, I almost screamed. Busted started barking his head off. I pulled and the hand grabbed onto me so tight it hurt. I got my other hand into the opening we had made and pulled back as hard as I could. Up popped an arm, then a shoulder. I felt like I was delivering a baby and muttered, “Push, Mom, push.” A little girl, fell on top of me as I pulled too hard and fell over backwards into the bush. She was screaming in my ear so loud I couldn’t hear anything else. Finally I figured out she was crying for her mother. I grabbed the doll, carried both back to a clear spot, and sat her down. I hugged her, gave her the doll, and told her not to move.

  By the time Busted and I had the hole big enough, Elvis and Brandon were coming across the field. It took all of us to pull the woman up. She was a mess of dirt and scrapes, but was well enough to climb off the pile by herself, gather up her child, and fold herself down onto the ground to cry and hold her little girl.

  Busted found some food from the kitchen, what looked like a mess of meatloaf and a head of cabbage. Anyway, he ate them. Then all of us climbed back down to the flat ground again, and just after we did, the rest of the house caved into itself in a mass of air-born dust, twigs, and dirt. And then, there was a tremendous whoosh and the whole thing caught fire. We grabbed each other, all of us and the dog, and ran back toward the shelter of our car, still solid, still in one piece, and still on the slab of concrete with the poles standing along the side, and the roof just now floating off behind it and settling gracefully into the field.

  * * * *

  I guess Elvis had been telling the truth about having been a police officer, because he took charge like he really did know what he was doing. He told Brandon to keep the mother and child here, safe, while he and the dog looked around. “This dog is incredible,” he said, shaking his head. “Who would guess. I think he’s been trained as a rescue dog. And since I worked in a K-9 unit for a while, he and I can do a lot of good right here.” He turned to me. “Kid, you can come with me or you can stay here and direct people over to our car. There are bottles of water in it, behind the booze…er, liquor cabinet.”

  For the first time in my life, I used the word sir deliberately, and sincerely. “Sir,” I said, “I want to go with you.”

  “You might see dead people,” he said, looking right at me.

  I didn’t tell him I’d been smelling dead things for the past several hours.

  Busted started whining, and I told him, “Busted; people.” He took off running down what had once been a driveway.

  Well, you probably don’t want to know. I hadn’t specified live people to Busted, so the first one he found, was, well, not. I’ve seen dead people before, at funerals. This is different. This is the truth behind don’t drink and drive, don’t do drugs, etc. etc., all that crap our parents and the media tell us but we seem to do anyhow. No. This is the truth behind what they are saying, what they have, some of them, learned firsthand when they were our ages. It is relevant; some things don’t change from one generation of used-to-be’s to the next, for instance, ours.

  This was the combination of all those fake gory deaths in the horror movies we love, balanced out by those clean looking deaths with no blood in the detective and cop shows on TV. Only reality seems to get it right, but hey, use your imagination! Why should it be you lying there a bloody mess that someone else has to find? Why, for instance, didn’t this guy—and as far as I could tell, this had been a guy about my own age; why had he not taken cover? Was he just too late, or hadn’t he believed the hype? He had part of a camera next to him, or his cell phone, I couldn’t tell, but there was enough to know that he had been taking pictures or videos. Too cool for cover should be on his tombstone, after they scrape him all together and put him in a coffin. His family and friends will all cry in public and call him stupid and worse in private.

  Well, moving right along now, and no I didn’t even throw up—farther along the road from where we found the first person, we found an overturned car. They’d apparently pulled into a grove of trees hoping to be safe. Nope. In fact, so many of the trees had been sheared off or knocked down that you could hardly tell there even was a car in there. It too was toppled over, smashed, and looked dead. You can tell dead, not with cars I mean, but people. It’s limp. Gone. Whatever. But Busted kept barking and digging at it, and when Elvis and I reached him, he was licking a tiny hand. Elvis pulled out a little boy from the wreck and then an older boy climbed out behind him. That was it. The other occupants were members of the I didn’t specify live club. Except—we kept hearing something. Farther inside the car, something was moving. Elvis was too big to climb closer to see, or to reach inside.

  I was holding the smaller of the two boys. “Is there another kid in there?” I asked. “Then I tilted his scraped chin up to me, and asked again, “Do you have another brother?”

  “Baby sister!” shouted the older boy, dancing around behind me. “She’s just a baby and can’t do much but cry. But we like her. Can you get her out and make her stop crying?”

  Elvis looked over at me and shrugged. He shook his head and said what I already knew, “I’m too big. You don’t have to do this.” But I did.

  He took the boy, both boys, and stood back. I climbed onto the wreck, crawled under a tree, and then wormed my way head first into the depths of what was left of their car. I couldn’t make out what I was seeing at first, but then realized
it was the bottom of a car seat, a baby carrier, upside down. The noise was coming from beneath it, inside it. Taking a deep breath, I grabbed it and turned it over. The baby almost fell into my hands. I almost fell all the way in. As it was my face was just about even with, well, something. Something that had probably been the children’s mother.

  I was overbalanced. I was starting to fall farther inside. If I did I’d crush the baby, and the body. Just then though, my feet were grabbed and I was pulled backwards, my stomach and chest grating over the window ledge or edge of the windshield, whichever it was. I had to lock my arms around the baby to keep her from being scraped up as well. My arms got the worst of it, but then I was free, on my stomach, being pulled back out from the mess, back under the tree, out into the open. The boys and the baby and I were all crying by this time.

  Elvis carried both boys—I had the baby who had stopped crying and looked like she was concentrating either on her savior, or making a load in her diaper—out to the road. Elvis took a long breath. We could hear sirens in the distance, but these were police cars and fire engine sirens, not warning ones.

  “I’m speechless, I really am. You did great. You saved this one. I would have had to walk away.” Elvis wiped his face (tears, I thought) on his sleeve. “You’re bleeding though. There’s a first aid kit in the car. Take these kids back there and take care of yourself. You don’t want whatever dirt and germs are in there to grow. Trust me on this. I can’t…I can’t put you in further danger. You’ll be needed though, trust me. Please.”

  That was a long speech. Elvis took a deep breath and then went on.

  “You’ve had enough. Busted and I will…” Busted had already started down the road, and was barking and looking back.

  “It’s all right,” Elvis told me, giving my shoulder a squeeze. “You did great. But I can move faster…well, get these kids back to the limo.”

  I knew he was not just letting me off the hook, but himself as well. I knew I could help more, too, but I did as he asked. The minute I knew my part of the heroics was over, I could feel every scrape and cut on my body. I almost keeled over as he passed me the smaller boy.

  I carried both of the little ones and the other boy took hold of my shirt and would not let go. We walked gingerly back to the limo to find Brandon had set up a rough triage station already. He had all the snacks and water that he could find laid out, and was holding the little girl while the mother was busy being sick behind the car. We hugged, babies and all, and then laughed nervously. Then I went and joined the woman in the throwing up section.

  When I turned around, Brandon had the first aid kit out and was pawing through it, crying. While I stood there, wanting to run and hold him but aware of the blood all over my shirt front, the woman wiped her face, patted my arm, and walked back to Brandon. She took the kit and made him sit down, then gestured me over and took charge of everyone.

  We never made it to Elvis’ friend’s house that night. He was able to patch a call through to her (it was a woman) and found out she was all right, though her property was slightly damaged. We spent that night at the car, with people coming and going, and a first aid squad patched me up and said I’d be all right. Brandon and I slept in the back of the limo, if you can call practically passing out in each other’s arms, sleeping.

  I dreamed about all the breaking into cars I’d been doing, and all the orphans. I woke up to Brandon’s kisses, muted voices outside, Busted snoring beside us, and the squawk of police radios somewhere down the road.

  * * * *

  We both woke when a generator roared up right behind us. Peeking out the window in a near panic, I saw a news truck and in front of it a lady with big hair and two cameramen. They were already going live, and both Brandon and I needed to pee. I assumed Busted did, too, and Lord knows he wouldn’t be shy about it. Maybe he’d be on national television? Maybe we’d be…neither would be a good idea. If our parents saw us, or if Busted’s owners saw him…there could be trouble. I didn’t want to wake Elvis but I thought I’d better. I really wanted to talk to him.

  And I was glad I did but not for why you’d think. As he woke he grunted, farted, and pointed at a cabinet under the seat. “Open that and haul out the pot,” he said. Thus it was we got to pee without going outside. He’d thought of everything when he remodeled this car. He winked at me, nodded at Brandon, and we both turned our backs so he could use it, too. “Yeah, I know,” Elvis said. “Here comes the good part,” he added a minute later, passing it back. “Go on, dump it in there.” Brandon and he and Busted all watched as I dumped the pot back into the cabinet, and heard it gush out onto the ground below us. Busted thumped his tail.

  Then Elvis said, “Sit down. Before we face the day, we need to talk. I’ve heard Brandon’s story and most of what he knows about yours, too, sweetheart. Right now is a good time to call your folks. You can’t really leave the limo without being on television. So you might as well make the calls and let your families know you’re all right. Call your grandfather or whatever he is and let him know you’re coming; or ask him if it’s all right that you’re coming, I’ll leave that up to you. You don’t have to make excuses or apologies. Period. And as soon as we can, we’ll all be over at Francine’s house. I’m a bit embarrassed that you know I have a woman friend when I have a sick wife back home, but there you go. We all have our secrets. Francine is coming over today and will take the two of you over to her house to recuperate. I trust her and hope you will, too. That way, if your folks decide to get nasty, they won’t find you here. How does this all sound to you?”

  I was amazed at the respect with which he spoke to us. I wasn’t used to this at home and apparently neither was Brandon. Brandon was crying.

  “Are you all right?” I asked.

  Elvis said, “I’m not going to force you to do this, sweetheart.”

  Brandon sobbed, “It’s fine. I’ll do it. But, I’m getting—my period!”

  “That I’m not prepared to deal with!” Elvis said, laughing and getting ready to open his door. “The phone’s over there, next to the liquor cabinet. There’s paper towels if that will help…I think my wife said they used rags when they were young. Back in the dark ages.” It was dusky in here but I could see him blushing. “She said they called it falling off the roof.”

  With that as his exit line, Elvis left the building.

  Brandon and I stared at each other, then toward the phone, then back at each other. “I’m going to tear up rags and go jump off a building.” he moaned.

  “There aren’t any buildings,” I replied. “I’ll call first. No excuses, no explanations.” But inside I was scared to death. Death—ha. I took a deep breath, glad I could do so, and reached for the phone.

  Two rings. Dad picked up and snarled, “Who is this?” When I answered, he started screaming. I shouldn’t have been shocked, but I was. Even Brandon over in the corner, jumped. I slid over to the door and opened it. Busted slipped out. Cameras turned toward me. I smiled as Dad’s voice boomed out of the phone, out of the limo, and out over the whole United States of America. After a while, the big hair lady spoke into her microphone. “And here’s one of our heroes now!” She came over toward the car, the cameras rolling. I made sure Brandon was well out of sight. I just smiled, and mouthed, “That’s my dad. He’s real proud!” Big hair lady got big eyes, then a big smile, and the cameras just kept rolling.

  As soon as Brandon was decent, I pulled him over in front of me. “And here’s Brandon,” I said, “who single-handedly set up a triage in this very spot. After I hang up,” which I did, handing the phone to Brandon, “We’ll get to hear how proud his family is, too! I know I am.” And with all my heart, I pulled him closer to me, and kissed him right on the lips.

  There was cheering, and then we slid the door shut. He still had to call his family, which he did, and talked right over the yelling, which was a lot quieter than my dad’s shouting. Then I called Uncle Bill. I was shaking, but still high on my nerve and the applause. And th
e love. While the phone rang, I kissed Brandon again and we started to giggle, somewhat hysterically.

  Uncle Bill picked up. When I said who it was he said, “I’m so fucking proud of you, both of you! You come right here and stay with me. I’ll be glad of the help!” I almost cried in relief.

  We slid the door open a little again. The kitten strolled out of an overhead cabinet and meowed. Busted was standing happily by the door. One of the tires looked wet. I snapped my fingers and said, “Busted. Cat food.” And was shocked when he picked the cat up in his mouth, and I thought for a minute he was going to eat it. For food. Cat. Food. Brandon looked from me to Busted and back at me and doubled over laughing. Busted and the kitty left the building. We sat with our legs hanging out the door and listened to the big hair lady talk. “This particular cluster of tornadoes was the third biggest in Kansas state history. The one that went over right here was only an F 2, but as you can see it caused considerable damage and demolished some of the trailers people lived in out here in the township. Trees have been uprooted and so far there have been reports of six dead. That’s a wrap, let’s go, I’m starved.” We watched as they rolled up their lines and put everything back into their news van. They climbed in and left. We breathed out in relief, until we saw another news van driving slowly toward us. Behind them came something that might originally have been a jeep of some sort. Right now it had somehow become longer, had oversized white wall tires, flames painted on the side, a naked lady painted on the front door, and what must be a rumble seat, based on something my grandfather had once said. And it was driven by someone with the reddest hair I’ve ever seen. She was leaning out to the side and waving her arm. I could hear her shouting, “Yoo-hoo, boys! Here I am!” in a voice as rough as a pirate’s. Some of the language that followed, when she went over stuff in the road, sounded like a pirate’s vocabulary, too. I couldn’t imagine our sweet, sturdy, ex-policeman driver hooking up with this, what did they say in the old days? Hussy, that was it. I had this picture of her as a young woman pulling up to an army camp yelling the same thing, probably in the same car.