But Alison was nowhere to be found.
Chapter Nineteen: Now is Not the Time
“So you think this is important to me because why?” Lorenz’s voice sounded gravelly and tired.
“Well, we think our mother might be wrapped up in this somehow,” explained Alison.
“Look, little girl, everyone is wrapped up in this. Todos.” There was the crinkling sound of burning paper as Lorenz took a deep drag on his cigar. Clouds of bluish smoke drifted out of the room to dissipate into the general must of the cavern.
“Yeah, but,” stammered Alison, “she stole something really important from Milagro, and they, those silver guards or whatever they are, they kidnapped her and--”
“What is this to me?” Ice cubes clinked in a glass and the end of Lorenz’s question was muffled as he raised the glass to his mouth. “I am very positive that Milagro has kidnapped quite a number of people. You might say he has the market cornered.”
“Well, we think we might know what she stole. We just thought it might be useful to you.”
Outside Lorenz’s office, Ben and Thomas listened to this conversation through the gap in the not-quite-closed door. After looking everywhere else in the Strand, they had been on their way to the bunk room when they had heard Alison’s mousey voice coming from Lorenz’s office.
Thomas turned to Ben with a puzzled look. “Ben, why the hell is Alison talking to Lorenz?”
Ben stared at his little brother. He had never heard Thomas use the word hell before. Were it not for the confusion of the situation with Alison and Lorenz, Ben would have made fun of the new macho Thomas who swore, smoked, and walked with a self-important swagger. “Shhh. Keep your voice down, Thomas. I don’t know.”
“And . . . why should I believe you?” they heard Lorenz ask. “For that matter, why would you be helping me? What is it that you want, weesa?”
There was a pause as Alison apparently considered what Lorenz meant by this. Ben crept ahead to where he could see through the crack in the door. The shadows of Lorenz and Alison were silhouetted against the far wall, the head of spikes looking like a strange, gigantic flower, and Alison’s profile a bit slumped and somehow vulnerable. Why was she telling him all this stuff? At least she hadn’t told Lorenz that they actually had this stolen item; she had merely said that they might know what it was.
“What . . . what do you mean?” asked Alison.
“I mean that we were ambushed today. Somebody is responsible and right now you four little feces are stinking the most. So how are you going to prove to me that you are not responsible for this? What are you going to do for me . . . little girl?” At those two words, Ben grimaced. Why was Lorenz calling her that? Lorenz was maybe only a few years older than her.
“I . . . I don’t know what you mean, Lorenz. I just thought that maybe this would be useful to you.”
“You want to help me, you have to prove I can trust you. You think I just accept anything someone tells me? Make me look like a freaking bufon.”
“That’s completely stupid,” said Alison, her voice rising. “I come to you trying to help and you can’t even accept it without putting demands on it. Just forget it then. You think trusting people too much makes you a moron? You’re a moron not to.” As brutally dismissive as this sounded, Lorenz didn’t say anything in reply: no insult or anything. Just as Ben was starting to wonder if Lorenz was about to smack Alison, Thomas darted out and opened the door.
“Thomas!” said Alison, sounding quite confused. “What are you doing here?” Ben came around the corner behind his little brother and there was Alison, her hair somehow neater than it had been in some time, still facing Lorenz. Nothing about her stance indicated that she was about to leave the office. The look on her face was more embarrassed than surprised.
“Great, dos mas pendejos,” Lorenz muttered. “This a family reunion? What do you tontos want?” His cigar, balanced on the edge of a bookshelf, wafted pungent, gray lines into the air. On the desk was a nearly-finished glass of whisky.
“We were looking for Alison,” said Ben, still trying to figure out the tension in the room.
“Ben, I was trying to tell Lorenz about Mom and the silver men, but . . .” Alison looked away into the nothingness halfway between Ben and Lorenz, unable to finish her explanation.
“Listen,” said Lorenz in a much louder voice. “I have more important things to do than to hear your stupid soap opera. Get out of my office. I have a speech to make. Go tell everyone to meet in the dining area.” He drained the rest of the whisky and pushed past them, the cigar in one hand and a sheaf of papers in the other.
Alison looked through Ben and followed Lorenz out of the room.
The gathered minions stirred uneasily and traded whispers about what was about to unfold. Those who had witnessed first-hand the day’s tragedy and failure each wore the same confused sorrow that united them like a brand or a tattoo. The rest of them, those who had merely heard what had happened, all looked wary and nervous. Basho sat in one corner, his head resting on clasped hands, his gaze fixed somewhere over the giant table.
“Two were lost today,” began Lorenz. “One to the noble cause of justice, one to the regrettable vacuum of vice. We can learn from each of them. Today will be remembered as a turning point in our cause. Whether you choose to believe me or not is your choice, but history will prove me true. I will explain more about that later.” Lorenz shuffled his papers and began reading. “First, I would like to say a few words about a friend.” His voice had almost lost its Hispanic accent, and he now spoke with a fluid formality. Almost, Ben realized, like Milagro himself. “From the moment I met Jawl, I knew that he was dedicated to the plight of equality for the dispossessed. From the very beginning, his focus on our collective goals was unwavering.”
Ben squinted as he tried to understand if Lorenz was talking about the same easy-going surfer he had known as Jawl, the one who seemed more interested in the thrills of petty theft than in the philosophical underpinnings of economic redistribution. Off in the corner, Basho’s face was now in his hands as he listened to Lorenz twist Jawl’s life into a motivational memorial. Many of the others looked slightly confused.
Lorenz continued. “And Jawl would not want us to give up in our next course of action. He would be the one telling us to keep going, to never surrender. Our next step will define our fates, make no mistake.”
But Lorenz did not go on to explain the other member, the one who was probably still alive in the darkness somewhere. Delfa was the cook for the army, and since apparently no one had been appointed in her stead, the kitchen facility was devoid of activity.
“Our existence has always been a stateless one,” said Lorenz. “Although we have enjoyed a sense of home in our Strand here, it can be no longer. We are nomads at heart--all of us born into respective, endless escapes--and to a nomadic life we are now compelled to return. Our encounter with Milagro’s henchmen in the tunnels today means that the location of our base will probably be known shortly. We will have to evacuate immediately. Most of our repossessions will have to be left here. It is a shame that we did not have enough time to redistribute them properly. Eat anything you want from the storeroom this evening. We have no cook. I want five teams to immediately begin moving essential items to our new location.
“And now, the important part of our plan. We will attack Milagcorp headquarters first thing in the morning tomorrow, before they can mount an attack on us.” He nodded with pride as everyone took this in, but was disrupted by a voice from behind.
“Mister General Lorenz, where is new place?” asked Ming.
“I have not decided yet, Old Woman,” said Lorenz. “I will tell you soon. Please do not interrupt my--”
“But how I suppose to move all books in House of Proo--Records Room? I need many day to do this.”
“Yes, well unfortunately, we do not have many days, so you will have to leave most of it behind. Could I please finish my--”
“Fine, but I
need help then to move books. Am old woman, right? Not able to do it all on my--”
“Alright, Old Woman, those two girls over there can help you, okay?” Lorenz motioned to Hannah and Alison sitting on the far side of the table. “Now, can I please get back to the plans?”
“Okay,” said Ming, only partly satisfied.
“The lion’s share of work will be in moving the repossessed items. But make no mistake, there will be a raid tomorrow that Milagro--no, the world--will not forget. The assault on Milagcorp will be unprecedented. There will be two teams. On backup and support will be Omid, Fetra, and myself. The strike team will be Basho, Ben, and Thomas.”
At this, Thomas let out a shriek of protest. “What? Us? But we don’t know anything about tactical warfare.”
“I want you two on the front lines where I can see you,” said Lorenz.
“Why?” barked Thomas.
“In case you did not notice, we were ambushed today. Someone gave away our plans.”
“Are you saying we’re responsible for that?” said Ben.
Lorenz bared his sharp teeth in a savage smile. “I do not know, but you are the likeliest candidates.”
“But I was the one who led you back to safety!” cried Thomas.
“Well then,” said Lorenz. “Perhaps you will do us the honor of serving the army once more.”
Thomas’s mouth hung open.
“And now,” said Lorenz as he turned back to address the entire room, “here is the best part. I have just sent Ichor and Yan to disrupt the power supply for the Milagcorp complex. A few weeks ago we discovered an access point to the power grid below the main building. Now the time has come to use that wonderful little piece of information. Their orders are to cause a blackout at exactly eight o’clock tomorrow morning. There will be complete chaos.” Heads nodded and emitted impressed oooo’s. Lorenz straightened his back and smiled.
In the middle of this moment, Cabra entered apologetically and stood to the side behind Lorenz. Cabra’s pants were sodden and they clung to his legs and made him look skinny and fragile. He removed his foggy, dripping glasses and squinted as he cleaned them with his shirt. The storm they had seen brewing out over the ocean that morning had obviously arrived.
“Wait, it gets better,” said Lorenz. He was now beaming, and he took a celebratory drag on his cigar to let the suspense build. “Fetra, would you be so kind as to bring in the box.”
Through a cloud of cigar smoke, Fetra wheeled in a massive crate made of yellow wood. Lorenz took a small crowbar from Fetra and pried open the box. Inside was row upon row of shining new machine guns, clusters of grenades, and cornucopias of bullets. Lorenz put the stub of his cigar in his mouth, pulled out a machine gun, and slammed a belt of bullets into its undercarriage.
“Tomorrow, we are going to kill Milagro.”
He heaved the machine gun above his head and fired off a splatter of bullets into the plywood and dirt ceiling. He closed his eyes and screamed as the gun chugged away. But when he opened his arms to receive the cheers of his loyal army, the room was silent. Everyone stared in disbelief. A shower of dirt and splinters cascaded onto Lorenz’s head.
“Freakin’ suicide, man,” said Omid after a long, uncomfortable silence. “Kill Milagro? Our lives would be measured in seconds.”
“What did you think this was, a tea party?” yelled Lorenz. “Donde estan tus cojones, Omeed? Goddamned cobarde. Did you people not hear me? This is a pivotal moment.”
No one said anything.
“Listen, I know we have been having fun playing pranks and stealing stuff, but the time has come to be serious.” Lorenz looked around the room in exasperation. It seemed to dawn on him that he had greatly miscalculated his army’s resolve, that it was futile to try to shame them. He put the gun back into the box quite delicately and contemplated something on the floor before clearing his throat. His voice was softer. “Look, I know this seems . . . scary, but let us remember what is at stake here.”
“Our lives?” said Thomas.
“I can only offer you one guarantee about tomorrow,” said Lorenz, disregarding Thomas’s comment. “If we stay here, if we do nothing, we will be the occupants of a slave labor camp within twenty-four hours. That is my guarantee. And I’m not talking about one of those glossy assembly line Children’s Facilities either. I’m talking about Milagro’s criminal rehabilitation facilities out in the desert, digging ditches until the end of time. Nobody ever hears about those ones, do they? Of course it is for rehabilitation, but of course it is really convenient for Milagro that nobody ever rehabilitates very fast out there. Great source of labor that you are welcome to join if you would like. Wonderful volunteer opportunity.”
No one stirred.
“Look, I make no other guarantees,” said Lorenz. “If I were to stand up here and tell you that I knew everything about tomorrow, I would be lying. There is a good possibility that we will succeed, and we must try, because the possibility will disappear if we do not. But nothing can happen until we take that chance.”
Everyone looked at the ground, the table in front of them, the dead space beyond Lorenz, anything to avoid meeting his gaze.
Lorenz swallowed and continued. “Over the past few months, we have been putting off tomorrow. With each day of looting, with each mission of sabotage, with each midnight party, we have been avoiding what had to come. But now that day has arrived, and we must take up our charge. Make no mistake, we have designed this fate for ourselves. And I know that you are all capable of this. I would not have let you be a part of this army if I did not think you were the best soldiers for tomorrow.” Lorenz gulped, as if the words were overpowering him, as if they were soaring above what he thought he was capable of saying. “This,” he yelled as he slammed his fist on the table, “is our destiny.” He stared them down.
Seconds ticked by. After at least a minute, a few of them summoned the strength to look him in the eye, and gradually, like flowers turning to the sun, each of the soldiers confirmed their acceptance.
Each of them except for the four Graham children.
“I’m in.”
“We can do this, mi generale.”
“The party at the end of the world, eh?”
“This is gonna be awesome.”
“Rifamos!”
Lorenz smiled a bit more with each one until the entire room started chanting, “Tomorrow! Tomorrow! Tomorrow!” Everyone was yelling except for the Graham children.
“Okay, Ben. This is ridiculous,” said Hannah, a look of disgust on her face.
“Listen, everyone,” said Ben. “I’ve got a plan.” Thomas and Hannah each leaned in closer, but Alison was hypnotized by the sight of all the others jumping up and down.
“We have to get out of here,” said Thomas. “Lorenz is obviously going to use us as targets or human shields tomorrow.” Angry that his mechanical talents and logical brain would be wasted on the front lines of an attack team, Thomas was more pissed off than scared at the possibility of getting killed.
“Yeah, we know, Thomas,” said Ben. “Here’s what I figure we’ll do: once they start taking loads of stuff out of here, there’s gotta be a chance for us to slip out. And Thomas, you know the tunnels, right?”
“Well, I know how to get back to that culvert overlooking the Children’s Facility, but we should be able to--”
“Fine, we’ll just have to figure it out from there,” said Ben, trying not to think about how that route would lead right past the spot where Jawl’s body probably lay. “Everyone try to grab a small flashlight in the next couple of hours.”
“And if we don’t all make it out at the same time,” said Thomas, “take the first left once you leave the cavern and we’ll all meet there.”
“Okay, that’s a good idea, Thomas,” said Ben, trying not to sound surprised at his little brother’s concern for people other than himself.
“But then what, Ben?” asked Alison in a mournful plea. “Where will we go from there?”
“I dunno, Al. Let’s just take it one step at a time.”
Alison looked unconvinced, but before Ben could say anything further, Lorenz started yelling to get everyone’s attention.
“Now,” said Lorenz as he exhaled deeply, “as usual, there is one final piece of business to attend to. Cabra, if you wouldn’t mind once again doing us the honor of looking into our fates, of confirming tomorrow’s success?” The chanting died down and everyone assumed a polite attention.
“Right, right,” muttered Cabra as he shuffled over to the center of the room, looking a bit surprised and unnerved. He moved slower than he had the night before, when he had predicted great success for the bombing of the Children’s Facility. He took off his hat with a sad and slow gesture that made it seem as if he was reluctant to act as chief prognosticator this evening.
“Old man screwed it up last time, didn’t he?” muttered Omid under his breath.
“Right then,” said Cabra as he sighed and looked to the ceiling. “Ohhh, great spirits, speak to us in this moment of change. We twist and we struggle against the chains of fate. What can we do now? What can we do now?” Again, it looked like he was having some sort of seizure. But then his voice changed to a haggard old woman’s. “The storm is mounting, the storm is building, the storm is raging. Take cover, take cover, take cover. Now is not the time, now is not the time. Not now.”
Cabra swallowed noticeably, lowered his head to look at Lorenz, and opened his eyes. “General Lorenz,” he said in a meek voice. “The spirits are not sure. They say that tomorrow is going to be stormy.”
“Well of course it is going to be stormy,” yelled Lorenz. “Look at you--you’re soaking wet!”
Cabra didn’t laugh. “Yes, well, but perhaps the spirits are referring to another kind of storm, General Lorenz. Outside today, I could feel the air move like a giant mass of currents twining together, like a great head of hair being braided into one strand, ye cud say. And everything says that now is not the time to push against these winds. I’m sorry. I can only report what I see.”
The Fortress of Clouds Page 19