by LeVar Burton
“I don’t have any money,” the man said, his hands still high in the air.
“I’m not a thief,” Jacob said. He pointed at the three bodies. “They are. They tried to rob me.”
He quickly explained what had happened, leaving out the part about his search for the White Buffalo Woman. The young man, who said his name was Danny Santos—a Filipino-American from Billings, Montana—listened in awe.
“Jesus, three against one. You’re either one hell of a shot or a lucky son of a bitch.”
Jacob smiled. “I think maybe a little of both.”
Danny pointed at Jacob’s bicycle. “You’re not riding that thing, are you? In this heat?”
“It beats walking,” Jacob replied.
“That depends on how far you’re going.”
“Chicago.”
Danny looked at him, stunned. “What are you, nuts? Do you have any idea how far away Chicago is? It would take you a year to get there on that thing, provided you didn’t get killed along the way.”
“I’ don’t own a car,” Jacob said simply.
Danny looked at the bike for a minute, then turned back to Jacob. “I’m probably crazy for even thinking this, but you don’t look like the criminal type. I’m going to Omaha. You can ride with me if you want. After that you’re on your own. But I must warn you, I’m a talker. You’ve got to stay awake, laugh at my jokes, and give an occasional grunt to let me know you’re still listening. You’ve also got to shoot anybody who tries to rob us along the way. Deal?”
“Deal.” Jacob nodded.
Danny smiled. “Good. Now let’s get your bike loaded and be on our way.”
“What about them?” Jacob pointed at the bodies.
Danny shrugged. “I don’t have a shovel, so we can’t bury them. If you want, we can drag them down into the ditch.”
They grabbed the three men by the legs and dragged them off the road. They also took the dead men’s pistols—two revolvers and a .45 automatic—rather than just leave them lying around.
Then Danny helped Jacob load his bicycle into the back of the pickup, squeezing it among the boxes and wooden crates he was hauling. Climbing into the pickup’s cab, Jacob was surprised to see an assault rifle lying on the floorboard. “You need my protection when you have that?”
Danny grinned. “It came with the job; this is my first run. I haven’t even fired it, and probably couldn’t hit anything if I did.” He started the truck and shifted into gear.
As they headed down the road, Jacob happened to glance out the window and saw the golden eagle again fly overhead. He had completely forgotten about seeing the bird earlier. He smiled. The eagle was indeed a messenger. The Great Spirit had sent him a ride.
Chapter 16
Leon stared out the open doorway of the boxcar, watching the countryside slowly slip by. He was lulled to tranquillity by both the motion of the train and the beauty that he saw. Sometime during the night, while he slept curled against the wall, someone—some powerful unknown deity—had come along and stolen away the concrete sprawl of the city, replacing it with picturesque valleys of emerald green and misty rolling mountains. And even though it was already approaching midday, the air was still cool and crisp, scented with the fragrance of pine forests and wild flowers—a pleasant change from the stench of the city.
He wasn’t sure where he was. He could only guess. Tennessee. Kentucky maybe. The northern part of Georgia also had mountains, but they had probably passed through those sometime during the night. Wherever they were, he was grateful that at least one part of the country remained apparently unscathed by the war. He was almost tempted to jump off the next time the train slowed, to lose himself in the quiet green of the forests. He could be happy here, he knew, seeking solitude away from the cities and the rest of humanity.
But how long could he be at peace before the guilt returned to him, bringing with it the same old nightmares? And what of the voice that now called him, a new torment, urging him to seek its source? Could he ignore such a summons? He doubted it. The voice would seek him out. Even deep in the forest it would find him, call to him. He would be powerless to resist that call, even if he wanted to.
No. The beauty outside the boxcar was not for him, not yet anyway. He had to at least try to locate the woman whose voice he now heard. His destiny lay not in quiet meadows and shadowy forests, but in the concrete corridors of a city much like the one he had just left. Somewhere in Chicago was the woman whose pleas for help now filled his mind. There awaited his future.
With a sigh, Leon tore his attention away from the scenic countryside. The boxcar he traveled in was less crowded than when he first boarded it the previous evening. Several times during the night the train had slowed to climb a mountain or round a curve. When it did a few more people had climbed on board, but twice as many had gotten off. There was room enough now to sit comfortably or move about
At the front of the car, Leon spotted the little boy he had tried to save the night before. The boy sat with his mother, sharing a simple meal of bread and oranges. He watched as the woman handed her son an orange and pointed to a middle-aged man sitting by himself opposite the open doorway. Following his mother’s instructions, the child walked over to the man and handed him the orange. He then returned to sit by her side.
Leon turned his attention from the boy to the man sitting by the doorway. He was Caucasian, probably in his late thirties, tall and thin, with shoulder-length red hair tied back in a ponytail. An equally red beard covered his face. The man wore an old purple T-shirt, blue jeans and a pair of open-toed sandals. A faded tattoo of the planet earth adorned his right forearm, the image blurred and misshapen from a patchwork of skin cancer scars.
The tattoo meant that the man was an Earthie, a member of the “screw the establishment, let’s grow our hair long and live with Mother Nature” group that popped up shortly after the beginning of the new millennium. Earthies were a blending of the hippie movement of the 1960s and the New Age movement of the 1990s. Extreme pacifists, they lived on communal farms, growing their own vegetables—and in some cases their own marijuana—turning their back on government, world problems and society in general. They held no jobs, but existed entirely off the land and what money they could make selling fruits and vegetables. Needless to say, those who lived in states with moderate temperatures and longer growing seasons fared much better than their brothers and sisters in colder climates.
Unlike hippies, Earthies did not take to the streets to protest the war. They didn’t burn flags, hold rallies or march on Washington. Instead they retreated deeper into the countryside, becoming an almost invisible element of society, tuning in on the harmonic energies of the solar system through yoga, meditation, Celtic ceremonies and a host of other spiritual nonsense. Only after the fighting stopped did members of their society start to reappear in public.
A thought crossed Leon’s mind when he saw the little boy hand the man an orange. He grabbed his knapsack and slowly made his way over to where the Earthie sat. Sitting down next to him, Leon opened his knapsack and took out the orange the little boy had given him the night before.
“You deserve this more than I do,” Leon said, holding out the orange.
The man turned and looked at Leon, then looked at the orange being offered. An amused expression crossed his face. “What for?”
“Wasn’t it you that kept me from falling out of the boxcar last night?”
The man gave an indifferent shrug. “Someone had to do it, brother.”
Leon cringed at being called brother. Whenever he heard the term, it was usually followed by a sermon of some kind. He forced a smile. “I didn’t see too many volunteers offering to help.”
The man smiled back. “Me neither. But keep the orange. I’ve already got one. Besides, it was a gift. You wouldn’t want to hurt Edrick’s feelings. Would you?”
“Who?”
“That’s the boy’s name.”
“Oh.” Leon looked past the man and notic
ed Edrick’s mother watching him. Feeling like he had been caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to do, he put the orange back in his knapsack.
The man’s bearded face spread wide in a toothy grin. “You mean you saved somebody’s life and you didn’t even find out what his name was?”
Leon shook his head. “I didn’t exactly save his life, I only tried. You saved his life. And no, I never asked his name. Didn’t think it was important.”
The grin faded. “Names are always important, especially nowadays. For some of us it’s the only thing we’ve got left. Take away a person’s name and they’ve got no reason for being.” He stuck out his hand. “My name’s Cinnamon Baker.”
Leon almost burst out laughing. “Cinnamon?”
The grin returned. “What can I say? My old man had a warped sense of humor.”
“Leon Cane,” he said, shaking the man’s hand. “With a name like Cinnamon, you must have caught hell growing up.”
“Not really. I never told anyone what my real name was. Everyone just called me Red.”
“Which do you prefer now?”
He shrugged, “I’m not picky.”
“Less chance of me laughing if I call you Red.” Leon smiled.
“Then Red it is.
“There, that takes care of the introductions. So tell me, Leon. What brings you on this trip? Are you a vagabond of the open road, like myself, seeking fame and fortune on the back roads of America? Or is it just the scenery that lures you from your home?” Red held up his hand. “Wait. Wait. Don’t tell me. Let me guess.”
He turned and scrutinized Leon closely. “Judging by your clothes, I’d say you are a man of the streets, but you are not a transient. I’ve met many a transient in my time and you, sir, are not one. You walk like a man who is painfully aware of his feet which means that the shoes you are wearing are new—at least they’re new to you. A seasoned veteran of the rail would never try to chase a train in new shoes. He’d break them in first.”
Leon hadn’t really thought about it, but the shoes Shaky had given him were rubbing his feet a little. He probably walked with a slight limp and didn’t even know it
“So I guess you are a man with a purpose,” Red continued. “You are going to a specific place and not just traveling about. Am I right?”
Leon had to admit that he was, though he didn’t elaborate on the reason for his trip. Instead, he took the offensive. “So what about you? What’s your story?”
Red shook his head. “Sorry, but that’s not the way the game is played. You have to guess first.”
It was Leon’s turn to do the scrutinizing. He looked Red up and down, cocking an eye for comical emphasis. “When you called me ‘brother,’ I thought you might be a Bible thumper. But we’ve been talking for few minutes and you haven’t tried to save my soul, baptize me or get me to repent, so I’m not so sure now.”
Red roared with laughter.
“Judging by that tattoo on your right forearm, I’d say you were an Earthie. But I’m not so sure about that either. Earthies are supposed to be farmers, toiling in the hot sun all day, but you’re too fair-skinned. Then again, maybe you’ve been wearing long-sleeve shirts.”
Red made a gesture of tipping an invisible hat to Leon. “Bravo, my friend. I’m obviously not dealing with your typical person. You have a sharp mind and a keen eye to go with it. Yes. Yes. You hit the nail right on the head. I was an Earthie for almost three years, still am in a way. I just don’t live on a farm anymore. Blame it on the curse of the redheads; fair skin and sunshine don’t mix. I spent all my time blistering and peeling. Either I had to give up the farm life, or die from skin cancer. I chose to give up the farm.”
Leon noticed a small cross tattooed on the back of Red’s left hand. “What does the cross stand for?”
A shadow crossed his face. “Ah yes, the cross. It was something I had done when I was a soldier, my own personal form of protest.”
“You were a soldier?”
He cocked an eyebrow. “Does that surprise you?”
Leon admitted it did. “And now?”
“Now I travel the country, king of the rails, teaching people how to live in harmony with nature, how to stay in balance—that sort of thing.”
“I see,” Leon said, though he didn’t really see at all.
“Do you?” Red smiled. “I think maybe you are just humoring me …”
Leon braced himself for a lecture on the joys of being an Earthie—at one with nature, Mother Earth, the great goddess what’s-her-name, and a lot of other garbage, but Red was interrupted by sudden blasts of the train’s whistle. Three shorts and two longs.
Red jumped up, a surprised look on his face.
“What is it?’ Leon asked, concerned. “What’s wrong?”
The Earthie frantically dug into his jeans pockets, pulling out a handful of change—pennies and dimes mostly. He turned to Leon. “Do you have any money?”
Leon hesitated. “A little, but—”
“A little’s all we need. Fifty cents … a dollar if you’ve got it.”
Leon stood up and reached into his pants pocket, pulling out one of the crumpled dollars Shaky had given him. He hated to part with the money, but Red had saved his life. He felt that he owed him something.
He handed over the crumpled bill. “At least tell me what you need it for?”
“Whistle-stop,” Red replied, adding the dollar to his handful of change.
“Whistle-stop? What’s that?”
“Watch and learn, my friend. Watch and learn.” Red moved to the left of the open doorway and stepped closer to the edge. He grabbed hold of the side of the boxcar, so he wouldn’t fall out, and leaned his head out. He looked toward the front of the train, the wind ruffling his beard and blowing his hair straight back. Pulling his head back inside, he turned to Leon.
“Get on the other side of the doorway and do what I do, but make sure you hold on or you’ll fall out”
Still not knowing what was going on, Leon stationed himself on the opposite side of the doorway. Leaning out, he saw that the train was approaching a bend. Just before the curve, a small crowd of people were standing next to the tracks. Several of them held long, hooked wooden poles. Hanging from the hooks were small cloth sacks, bulging with some unknown contents.
“Get ready!” Red shouted.
“What’ll I do?”
The Earthie grinned. “Lean out and grab one of the sacks.”
The train’s whistle sounded again as the engine reached the bend. Three shorts and two longs. The people standing along the tracks raised their poles and held them toward the passing train. Leon spotted other men hanging out of the open doorways of boxcars. As those men passed the people with the poles, they reached out and grabbed some of the cloth sacks. In exchange for the sacks, they tossed coins and dollars from the train.
“Grab one!” Red yelled. Leon didn’t need to be told. He was already leaning out of the boxcar, reaching out for one of the cloth sacks. He missed the first one he snatched for, but grabbed hold of the second one. He almost dropped it as it slid off the pole, but somehow managed to hang on to it, pulling it tight against his chest. Red also grabbed one of the sacks and then tossed his handful of money into the crowd.
Looking back down the tracks, Leon saw children scrambling between the adults to gather up the fallen currency. And then they were gone from sight, disappearing as the train rounded the curve.
Leon stepped away from the doorway and opened the cloth sack. Inside were a dozen or so deep-fried doughnuts, still warm from the oil. He inhaled deeply, savoring the aroma. He was still sniffing when Red joined him.
“A lot of people depend on the trains nowadays, and not just for getting places. For some it’s their only chance to make any money.” Red nodded toward the sack Leon held. “Those are for us. This sackful is for everybody else. You always buy two bags, that’s the rule: one for yourself and one for those who don’t have any money.”
“Breakfast, eve
ryone!” Red turned and handed his sack to a young couple standing near him. “Pass these around. See that everyone gets one.” The young man and woman smiled, and did as instructed.
“Now, brother Leon, let’s see if we can invite ourselves to breakfast.” They walked to the other end of the boxcar, where Edrick and his mother were sitting.
“Do you mind if we join you for breakfast?” Red asked, pointing at the sack Leon held. “We have doughnuts.”
“Yes, Cinnamon’s doughnuts!” Leon added.
Red frowned.
“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”
The woman looked at them, perhaps a little suspicious, and then smiled and pointed at the floor as if offering a chair to sit. Red flopped down in front of her. Leon joined him.
“I’m Cinnamon Baker, but please call me Red. This is my traveling partner, Leon Cane.” Acting on cue, Leon set the bag of doughnuts in front of the woman. Her son made a grab for the bag, but she slapped the back of his hand.
“I’m María and this is my son, Edrick, who seems to have forgotten his manners.”
The boy lowered his eyes sheepishly. “I’m sorry. May I?”
Leon nodded. “Yes, you may.”
Edrick smiled and pulled a doughnut out of the bag. María also took a doughnut and offered a slight smile. “It’s so hard to teach them manners. Times are difficult”
Leon noticed a slight accent in the woman’s speech. She was obviously Hispanic, but he wasn’t sure if she was Mexican or Puerto Rican. He wanted to ask her, but knew it would be rude. People were often touchy about their heritage since the war, refusing to offer any more information about themselves than was absolutely necessary.
As it turned out, María proved to be very warm and open and didn’t mind at all answering personal questions. She and her son were originally from Puerto Rico, but had left to escape the poverty and escalating violence. Long dependent on American dollars, Puerto Rico’s economy had collapsed shortly after that of the United States. There had been riots and widespread looting, with gangs taking over everything. Many people fled the country, only to find things just as difficult in the States.