by Beaman, Sara
Beck knocked on the open office door, interrupting Scout’s review of a town called Wendell.
“You hungry?” Beck said. “We got invited to a barbecue. By the Halcyons.”
“I’m busy,” Scout said.
“And yet, I said we’d be down in ten minutes.” He pointed at Scout’s glare. “Don’t you give me that look. It’s been a week since they moved in. You’re going to have to face it sometime. Plus, I’m fucking starved.”
“Why are you so happy about having neighbors?” Scout grumbled.
“What, me? I’m not happy at all. I’m moody, just like you. Only this morning I was moodily thinking about all that exercise I’m not getting walking into town to have sex. And I’m very concerned that having a nearby, abundant source of lady-parts will make me take them for granted.”
“You’re an ass.”
“Come on, Scout. You haven’t even met them. They’re not that bad.”
Scout glowered at the library window. The sun had dried out the morning’s rainclouds, and it was shaping up to be a decent afternoon. He couldn’t think of a good reason to say no.
He went upstairs into his bedroom and changed into clean clothes, then raided his latest hiding spot for something he could use as a gift. Beck met him in the hallway, and together they worked their way through six stories of deliberately-collapsed ceilings and bricked-up doorways. There were only two planned routes between the lobby and the top floors, interspaced with a whole lot of booby-trapped dead ends.
The lobby’s glass front was dirty and webbed with cracks. Past it, Scout could see dim, moving blobs. Scout’s fingers curled into a nervous fist.
Beck clapped him on the shoulder and said, “Don’t embarrass me.”
“Is that even possible?” Scout asked. He untucked his bangs so that they fell across his scar.
“Did I mention that Cal Halcyon is a religious type? Behave accordingly. Lots of pleases and thank yous and amens. And it’d probably be best not to call attention to the fact that you like guy-parts better than lady-parts.”
Scout shoved Beck away from him and stepped into the empty brass frames of the revolving door. A tarp kept leaves and dirt from settling inside. Scout took a deep breath and parted the tarp.
In the middle of the Park’s cluster of office buildings was a grassy clearing that contained a falling-down bandstand, stone picnic benches, and a crooked flagpole. The Halcyons swarmed the area.
Two older sons had set up a barbecue grill over a stainless steel stink they’d dragged outside. Burning coals, not yet banked, flexed sheets of smoke into the air. Izza Halcyon was at a banquet table made from cement blocks and tall walnut doors. She was laying out silver serving bowls, filled with cut vegetables and covered in scavenged plastic wrap patterned in Christmas trees and reindeer.
In the center of all the activity was Cal Halcyon, scrubbing his arms in a bucket.
The patriarch was a tall man with a large belly. What remained of his hair stuck to his sunburned scalp in gray-brown strips. When he spotted Scout and Beck, he shook water from his meaty hands and walked over.
“Cal Halcyon. Glad you could make it,” he said, and offered them each a hard handshake.
“This is for you,” Scout mumbled. He pulled a bottle of moonshine from his backpack.
There was an awkward moment when Cal didn’t take it. He gave Scout a straight-laced frown and said, “I appreciate the sentiment, son, but I’ve always found that alcohol is the devil’s sidekick.”
Scout’s cheeks flushed and he jerked his arm back. Beck quickly said, “I like sidekicks,” and expertly twisted the bottle from Scout’s fingers.
“Then again,” Cal said, “I suppose it’s a kind thought, and we’re low on antiseptic for cuts and scrapes.” He aimed an indulgent smile at Beck until Beck reluctantly handed over the bottle.
“Why don’t you boys mingle while I finish up at the grill?” Cal said.
As soon as Cal moved away, Beck shot off to bother Izza and left Scout by himself. Scout stared around awkwardly. He was about to wander over to the bandstand and feign interest in its collapsed roof when he caught a flash of neon blue out of the corner of his eye.
He looked down to see a boy staring up at him. The boy’s bright jacket was patched with duct tape and safety pins.
Scout turned so that his mostly-hidden scar was angled away from the boy. The boy, nonplussed, walked to Scout’s other side and tried to get a better look. He said, “Does it hurt?”
“Not anymore.”
“It looks like it hurts,” the boy said.
“Sampson!” an older woman hushed, coming up with a silver serving platter piled with sliced cucumbers. The woman smiled and said, “He don’t mean anything by it. I’m Kathy Halcyon, Cal’s wife and this rascal’s grandma. Why don’t you let me introduce you to my Boys?”
The Boys were James, Sampson’s father, and Anders. They were both handsome, broad-shouldered young men who’d inherited their father’s flushed looks. James was the oldest, and had recently lost his wife in childbirth. Anders was a year or two Scout’s junior. He had a yellowing bruise around one eye and was focusing his attention between the grill and his father, who kept taking the spatula from Anders’ hand.
Eventually they sat down to dinner. Scout had the first mouthful of a roll between his teeth when Cal Halcyon cleared his throat and began saying grace.
Across the table, Beck smirked and gave Scout a thumbs-up, then bowed his head at an angle so that he could see down Izza’s blouse.
When the prayer was done, Cal picked up a plate and spooned mashed potatoes onto gold-rimmed China. No other family member reached for food; they all waited until Cal chose his portion and passed the plate to the left.
When the last bowl of collard greens left his hands, Cal said, “So, Scout. As I understand it, you’re a picker?”
“I prefer scavenger.”
Izza said, “That’s because whenever someone says picker, Beck coughs ‘nose’ into his hand.” Beck gave her a sidelong huff, and the two began to bicker quietly.
Scout hoped Cal would leave him alone so he could eat, but Cal continued to give chest compressions to a faltering conversation. He began asking about Scout’s health, Scout’s relationship with God, Scout’s family. That last one made Scout put his fork down. He didn’t talk about his family.
“It’s nice to hear you talk about God, sir,” Beck interrupted loudly before Scout could say anything rude. “I always say that the Bible is the best way to learn how the world really works. Izza, did you know this is where you came from?” He poked his knife into the blackened boar rib on his plate and gave Izza a sage look.
“Do you even try to make sense?” Izza demanded.
“Sure I do. God made you from a rib. I read it in the Bible, so it’s so. This was back before you ate some apples and got us kicked out of our house in heaven. That’s why women need to be so sweet to men, because they’re born with the sin of eviction.”
Izza definitely looked like she wanted to kick something, but her father gave her a blank look, which obviously wasn’t blank to Izza. She bit back a reply and lowered her gaze meekly.
Beck shot me a quick grin and helped himself to more potatoes.
Scout said, “Just curious, Cal, but what made you move your entire family out of Thorn Creek?”
“It’s a great opportunity to see what a family my size can do when it’s not relying on the comforts of town. And there are more than enough houses to go around now, aren’t there? God’s made this country big enough for all of us to share.”
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it,” Scout said.
“It’s the cycle of life, son. The old world nourishes us as we poor humans start over, given a second chance to find the right and true path. From what I hear, Scout, you’re very successful at scavenging. Maybe you’ll be able to give us some tips.”
Something about the look in Cal’s eyes sent up flags.
Scout’s face went
tight, pulling at the edges of his scar. He said, quietly, “Looks like you’ve got yourself a plan, Cal.”
“God will guide us,” Cal said, and picked up a napkin to wipe the sweat off his forehead. “I expect our company will be good for you too, son. Man your age, without a wife to make sure he eats a decent meal? Well. I’m glad we’re able to offer you one.”
Beck said, “I cut myself now, what’s the chance of getting some of that antiseptic?”
****
Ten days after the Halcyon’s relocation, Scout was jarred awake into a pre-dawn gloom that reeked of smoke.
His body began sending him so many alarm signals that he could barely breathe. Against a racing heartbeat and a flood of adrenaline, he jumped off his mattress. Fat waves of smoke swelled against the building.
Scout thrust one leg into a pair of work pants and hopped into the corridor. He began to frantically assemble a list of what he could or could not physically carry out with him. As he turned a corner, he saw Beck lounging in an open doorway with a toothbrush in his mouth.
Beck raised his eyebrows at Scout’s panic. Aloe dripped over his lips as he said, “The fuck?”
“Fire!” Scout said.
Beck didn’t lower his eyebrows.
“There’s a fire!” Scout shouted.
“No shit. It’s right out there. Are you drunk?”
Scout gaped at Beck. He didn’t know how to make what he was saying sound simpler, nor could he figure why he had to.
Beck said, “You know they’re only burning brush, right? Izza told me. I thought you knew.”
“Knew…brush? They’re burning brush?” Scout tugged his pants over his hips and stormed into Beck’s bedroom, stepping on a half-eaten vegetable rind on his way to the window.
On Beck’s side of the building, the smoke was less dense. Through it, he was able to see surreal flashes of sunlight and flame. Slowly, Scout’s brain pieced it together.
“They’re burning my garden,” he said dumbly.
“You have a garden?”
Scout blushed. “Not—not my garden. The. The garden. The wildflowers.”
“When the hell did it become a garden? And why did you let Cal burn it, if it means so damn much to you?”
“I didn’t—” Scout started, and then clamped his teeth shut. He spun around and stormed back to his bedroom, where he threw or kicked things out of his way as he finished dressing.
By the time he came back out, Beck had his hands clasped behind his back, faking the amiable aw heck cringe he used whenever he messed up. He said, “Sorry about your garden. I thought you knew.”
“It’s not about the garden,” Scout said. “It’s about them setting a goddamn fire in our goddamn backyard which is none of their goddamn concern. What the hell are they thinking?”
Beck dogged Scout’s footsteps. “Am I supposed to answer that? I don’t want to answer that. You’re pretty fucking mad.”
Scout didn’t say another word to Beck as he navigated the secret path through the building’s blocked stairwells and passages.
Outside, the wide stretch of wildflowers was gone. The yellows and purples of the late autumn blooms were now a curling, charred mass.
Cal Halcyon stood upwind of the fire, directing his sons’ efforts with emphatic pointing. From what Scout could see, the pointing bore no relation to what Anders or James actually did as they circled the blaze to keep it from spreading.
“Cal!” Scout shouted, and then clamped his teeth down so hard that his molars throbbed. He breathed through his nose as Cal turned to face him. He said, calmer, “Cal, mind telling me what you’re doing?”
“Good morning, Scout. My goodness, it looks like I woke you up. My boys and I are just making a fire break.”
“A fire break,” Scout repeated, and had to stop and breathe again.
“That’s right. It’s a smart precaution. I know you’ve only been living here a short time, but really, it’s in everyone’s best interest.”
“It’s in my best interest to set vegetation on fire,” Scout said. “For a fire beak. Cal, there’s no stacked wood or dry brush within a thirty foot perimeter of any building in the Park. I snap branches off dead trees to reduce ladder fuel every month. Why the hell do you think you need to burn fresh, hydrated, living plants that are right next to my home? Any other smart ideas you want to run by me while I’m here?”
“You seem a little hot about this, son. I think you’re just going to have to trust in my good sense.”
“I’m not your son, and I haven’t been living here a short time. You’ve been living here a short time.”
“Take it easy,” one the sons, Anders, said. He came over and stripped off his work gloves. “Wasn’t just fire, my father was also worried about keeping off a strangle runner infestation. He didn’t mean anything by it.”
For just a moment, as Cal turned to Anders, Scout saw Cal’s benevolence thin into a flat stare. Then Cal shook his head with a rueful smile and said, “What I meant was to pitch in and help get this place in order. The world has changed since I was a young man, Scout—God has taken back His land. It belongs to Him, and whomever He makes strong and sensible enough to hold it in His name. We have a responsibility to be good caretakers.”
“Aw shit,” Beck whispered behind Scout.
“Cal,” Scout said. “I want you to put that fire out, and I want you to stay away from my building.”
“These are tough times for wanting, son. We’re all expected to do what is needed.”
“Why do you want us to stay away from your building?” James demanded. “Something going on there you don’t want us to know about? You hiding your brother in there?”
It was so unexpected that Scout’s face prickled. Before he could stop himself he said, “My brother is dead.”
“I know exactly where and what your brother is. I’ve heard what Monkey Willis has to say.”
Scout had heard what Monkey Willis had to say, too, and apparently Monkey’s two front teeth hadn’t been enough of an object lesson. Scout said, “Does Monkey still whistle on his esses?”
“Is that some sort of threat?” James asked.
Beck decided to erase any doubt by storming past Scout and towering over the Halcyons. “Enough! This is Scout’s land and you have no business disrespecting him. Put out the goddamn fire, like he said.”
“Boys,” Cal barked. “Let’s just all take a breath. Scout? Tell you what. We’ll respect your wishes. If you’ll give us a few minutes, we’ll finish up here. I’ll send the girls over later to plant you some more flowers.”
They were reasonable words but for the slight, mocking hitch before Cal said “flowers”.
Scout turned his back to them and strode back home. Beck followed.
After a couple seconds, Beck mumbled, “Okay, so maybe we do have a problem.”
Part iii
A couple weeks after the Halcyons relocated to the Park, Beck and Scout headed on their first big trip in months. They’d decided to travel together since it was new territory, to make sure it was clear of slaver settlements.
The horseback ride up the ruins of highway 264 took the better part of a morning and afternoon. There was a constant blockage of rusted and half-buried cars, fallen overpasses, and the teeth-marked bones of unlucky evacuees. It could have been worse—at least the road was somewhat visible under the two decades of crap stirred up by storms and hurricanes.
Their first destination wasn’t far from the exit ramp. It was a two-story building tucked off Main Street. Scout and Beck got close, then tied their horses to a worn stone bus bench and stopped for an early dinner.
“Wendell,” Beck said, squinting at a mossy sign. “Wen-dell. Hell of a name.” He waited a moment for Scout to say something, then gave him a speculative look. “I just can’t shut you up today, can I?”
“I’m just thinking.” Scout gave a frustrated sigh. “Maybe we should hire one of the kids from town to watch the Park while we’re gone? It makes me
feel weird, what with the Halcyons there now.”
Since they’d settled in, the Halcyons had made their presence known in invisible yet persistent ways. Nuts vanished from Scout’s pecan tree; boards from the old bandstand went missing. And there were the Halcyons with fresh pie and wood smoke.
Beck said, “Or we could just wait for the day we come back from a trip and find Cal’s fat little ass stuck under the fake floor trap. I’ll laugh and laugh.”
“Or we come back and he and his sons have found where we hide our stash.”
“Like they’ll have any better luck than I do,” Beck snorted. “I can’t find any of the shit you hide, except for the cheap booze and porn.”
“That’s not our. That’s your cheap booze and your porn. I’m worried about our food supplies and our merchandise. Our inventory.” It wasn’t a small inventory, either. Scout usually sat on what he scavenged until there was a demand for it, rather than sell it right off.
Still, nothing he could do about it now.
Scout unwrapped a chicken and zucchini sandwich from a heavily creased square of tinfoil. He bit into it and paced over to the debris-strewn street.
He’d seen pictures of Apocalyptic America before—it’d been a popular genre back before the real thing came along. What they never got right was the styrofoam. Streets weren’t covered in newspaper tumbleweeds and dirty milk cartons. More often than not, the biggest sign of mankind that’d lasted the Collapse were styrofoam cups and packing peanuts.
Just as he was about to turn back to Beck, he caught a hint of movement at the other end of Main Street.
He didn’t even say a word before Beck drew a rifle out of his saddlebag and stepped up to Scout’s side.
Scout whispered, “Did you see it too?”
“I saw you,” Beck whispered back. “Please tell me you just need to go the bathroom and you’re not staring at a slaver.”
Scout didn’t answer. He held still and relaxed his eyes. It was something he’d adapted from an old hunting trick. He didn’t bother looking for a person-sized movement, and he ignored anything in eyesight that didn’t have nearby cover for someone to duck behind. With what was left, he tried to spot the tiny flickers of life, like flesh-toned skin, a shiny forehead, a neck twitch.