by Kurt Gepner
Nervous about lingering, Hank gave the girl’s corpse a quick inspection for anything useful. In one jacket pocket she had a lighter and the other was full of a broken glass pipe. He found an aluminum cigar tube that was about half full of tiny pebble-like crystals. Meth, he thought. Knowing next to nothing about the drug but thinking that they might be good for a trade, Hank tucked away the tube and lighter. He found nothing else.
After another look around, Hank made his way back to the garage where his niece, nephew and sister-in-law were huddled quietly. When he peeked inside, the light was so dim that he could only see the bulky shapes of large objects. Then, like ghosts the children swooped out of the darkness and wrapped their small arms around his waist.
"Uncle Henry," they called out in unison. "Are you okay?" Ella asked and then Steven asked, "Was that a bad lady?"
Kneeling to their level, Hank encircled the children with his long arms. "Yes, Ella, I’m okay," he said. "And yes, Steven, that was a bad lady." The children hugged him tightly and Hank drew strength from their affection. He looked up at Marissa, who had drifted into the light of the doorway. Her expression was questioning, Hank’s was stricken and grim. He stretched his chin up high and, out of the children’s view, drew an invisible line across his throat to unequivocally indicate the Gangril’s demise. Marissa’s mouth dropped open as she absorbed the horror of the situation, but a moment later it snapped into a resolute line.
After a time, Hank pushed the children away so that he could clearly look at their faces. "Now listen, you two. I’m going to tell you something very important and you need to pay close attention to what I say." With wide eyes the sister and brother riveted their attention on their favorite uncle.
"Everything you ever knew about the world has changed. People aren’t nice any more. Unless your mom or I tell you, you’d better assume that every stranger we see will hurt you and take away your things if they get a chance." Hank paused to look the two cherubs in their sincere, innocent eyes. "That girl… That lady," he corrected to use their term. "She was spying on us so she could tell her friends to come take all these things and your food."
"But why would they do that?" Ella asked. "We don’t have much food." She thought for a split second and then morbidly added, "Or even very good food."
"Well, Ella," Hank said wearily. "They’re bad people who don’t care whether you’ve got a little or a lot. They want it all. And from now on, if anybody wants to talk to you, then you come running." Hank opened his eyes wide and gave each child a pointed look, nodding the whole while. "Do you understand?"
Both children returned his nod, just as pointedly. Then Steven asked a question that took Hank by surprise. "Uncle Henry, if the world changed, does that mean volcanoes don’t erupt anymore?"
Hank blinked at his nephew and worked his jaw for a moment before he managed to ask, "W-what?"
"Well," Steven expounded with flailing hands. "I was just thinking that when bad stuff was happening and in Hawaii they used to throw people in volcanoes. Like, if they were having bad weather, or they couldn’t catch fish," the boy’s thoughts spewed out in a sudden and unstoppable torrent. With a forlorn tone he noted that "now you can’t do that, because it’s against the law." Taking a moment to inhale, he went on, "so maybe whatever those people did in the volcano, because it’s probably where aliens keep their spaceship with weather controls and they probably eat a lot of fruit, which is why they want good weather in the first place…"
"Steven," Hank said, softly.
"But they don’t have hands, because they are just big brains that live in these giant force fields…"
"Steven," Hank said, more firmly, in unison with Marissa.
Steven was becoming frantic, his face frowning with a desperate look in his young eyes. "But, if everything has changed then maybe if we go to Hawaii, we can reboot the weather computer. Maybe they stopped sending people to the volcano with fruit, so the aliens died, because they don’t have hands. We can make it better if we just go to the volcano." Steven made his plea by grabbing Hank’s shirtsleeve and pulling his uncle toward the door.
"No, Steven," Hank said. "We’re not going to Hawaii."
The boy broke into a panicked cry. "We have to go! I don’t want to live in the garage! I hate olives!"
Marissa intervened, kneeling before her son to look him in the eyes. "Steven," she spoke tenderly, but with irresistible command. "Look at me." The young boy violently avoided her gaze. She held him by both shoulders and commanded him again. When her eyes held his, all struggling ceased and he was bound in rapt attention to his mother. "You want to make it better, I know. But sometimes, there is nothing to do about it. Something happened over which we have no control. There is nothing that you can do." Steven’s lip began to quiver. "There is nothing that I can do." His eyes became glazed and red. "There is nothing that Uncle Henry can do." Giant teardrops brimmed and fell down Steven’s cheeks. "There is nothing that anybody can do." Marissa pulled her little boy into a comforting embrace, letting him cry on her. "What is done could not be prevented and cannot be undone."
After a short while, Marissa held her son out at arm’s length, looking at him with a reassuring smile. "Better?" She asked with eyebrows raised. Steven nodded. Then Marissa leaned close and spoke conspiratorially to her son. "Would you like to know something that you can control?"
"What, Momma?" Steven asked with unmasked curiosity.
"You can control whether or not bad people hurt us." Marissa gave her son an exaggerated blink. "Would you care to know how?" She looked at her daughter and said, "You too, Ella. Would you like to know how you can keep us all safe?"
Ella gleefully fell into her mother, draping her slender arms around her neck and pressing her crown to her mother’s cheek. "Oh, yes, Mommy. I want to keep us safe."
"All right, then," Marissa disentangled herself from the siblings and started rummaging through the trailer. She pulled out a worn-out oversized gym bag. The children both drew excited breaths. After sorting through the contents, she extracted two belts, each with a small sheathed sword and dagger attached.
The children were enthralled by the event and practically vibrated with excitement. The weapons were a part of their authentic medieval costumes. As is common with a sister and brother who possess the same items, cosmetic differences make all of the difference. In this case, one belt was made of dark brown leather, while the other was buckskin yellow. The weapons held by each belt were identical, down to the black electrician's tape that covered the dangerously sharp edge. The swords were the fairly short, but very wicked blades known as Kilij and used by the fifteenth century Turks of the Ottoman Empire. The design was later adopted by various Western European militaries and was used up to the nineteenth century. The daggers were similarly nasty narrow-bladed Italian stilettos from the same era.
Marissa laid the belts down on the floor and returned the bag to the trailer. Steven immediately stepped forward to fetch the darker belt, but his sister was quick to berate his impatience. Hank, being a confused mixture of malignantly paranoid, despondently guilty, childishly curious and ravenously famished, held his plate of cold food and stood in the doorway. He watched everything, both inside and outside, while slowly nibbling away at a portion of food that would have merely amused his appetite just days ago.
"What have I told you about these weapons?" Marissa asked her children as she began inspecting the objects of their conversation.
"That they are not toys," volunteered Ella.
"Correct," confirmed Marissa. "What else, Steven?"
"To never, ever and forever and ever, never point them at anybody," Steven was firm on this point. "Also, to not touch, unless you’re right here."
Marissa nodded. "That’s right. I told you all those things. But there was one other thing that I said about these weapons. Do you remember?" The children seemed baffled by their mother’s question. Marissa frowned and swallowed hard as she peeled off the blunting tape. "I also told you that the
only time when those rules don’t apply is in a moment of true danger."
Ella’s face paled as the magnitude of her mother’s words and actions penetrated her very young, but exceedingly keen mind. Steven simply grinned at the prospect of wielding a sharp weapon. Marissa worked to remove the tape residue from the blades as she counseled her children to be cautious with the dangerous weapons.
She reminded the two of their lessons in sword fighting, which Ella had been receiving weekly for two years, but Steven had only started three months ago. And when she handed over the belts of lethal weapons to her children of seven and nine years old, she advised them of the circumstances in which to use the weapons.
"Never threaten anybody," she told her precious offspring. "Once you’ve decided that you need to use your weapon, just use it." It was the way she spoke and moved, more than her words, which impacted her children. Ella took her weapons with the most solemn demeanor, but Steven began crying and pushed the belt away.
Marissa didn’t hesitate. She turned her son around and strapped the belt around his waist. "If you need to save me or your sister, Steven, you must be brave. But even brave boys have a hard time fighting the bad guys without a good weapon." Steven didn’t resist. He became lethargic instead, and moped on the floor with his back against a box. Marissa left him alone.
Hank finished his plate of food and polished off a spoonful that was left over in the pot. When all evidence of the meal had been cleaned and put away, Hank set up a ladder and told Marissa to watch the area from the roof of the garage. "I need to figure out how we can take this trailer with us," he said. "We need to leave tomorrow morning, at first light."
Marissa stated, "It takes both Matt and me to pull it out of the garage and hook it to the back of the car." Hank was ashamed that he couldn’t mask his feelings when she said his brother’s name. It was obvious to Marissa and she laid a hand on his shoulder. Hank pulled her into a comforting hug and they drew strength from one another for a while. No words were needed. They both loved Matt and they both worried for his fate, but Marissa was the first to let go. Through sniffles and damp eyes, Marissa said, "He’s not dead, Hank. I know he’s on his way."
Hank looked at his sister-in-law with a mixture of admiration, pity, and a desperate desire to believe her. Then he nodded gravely and swallowed hard. "All right," he said through a cough that was caught in his throat. "Hopefully he’ll get here before we leave." He rolled his head, stretching his neck and gathering his wits. "In the mean time, I’ve got to figure out how two people are going to pull a thousand pounds of trailer and gear from here to Vancouver."
He unholstered Whisper and reloaded it. While he shoved the shells into the cylinder, he said, "You’re fantastic with a rapier, but that won’t do you any good on the roof." Hank handed his weapon to his sister-in-law. She regarded it for a moment. He knew she was not only opposed to firearms in principle, but had a real aversion to guns. As he had hoped, the needs of the moment overcame her objections. Marissa clumsily took Whisper from Hank and climbed the ladder.
"What can I do, Uncle Henry?" Ella was grimly sincere in her offer of assistance.
"Do you really want to be helpful?" Hank asked as he took her hands in his. She stood on the tips of his boots and she leaned back, swaying from side to side.
"Yes," she said coyly.
Hank smiled and blinked with amazement at the spirit of a child. "Okay," he said firmly and pulled her into a standing position. "This is a crucial task. Do you know that word?"
"Of course," she said. "It’s really important," she provided the definition without prompting.
Nodding his affirmation, Hank said, "I need to you to be a lookout."
"But Mommy is looking out from the roof," she complained.
"That’s true," Hank told her as they walked by Steven, who was still despondently sitting on the floor. They went outside and over to the corner of the yard between the garage and road. "But, if you look here, you’ll see where your mommy can’t." He showed her the direction from which he had arrived. The building that abutted the garage extended some ten or more feet toward the road, blocking all but a perpendicular view of that direction. From Ella’s vantage in the corner, behind the fence, she could see what her mother could not. She could see to the end of the block and even to the other side of Interstate 84.
"It’s very, very important, Ella, that nobody is able to sneak up on us." Hank walked his fingers across his palm to illustrate his words. "If you see anything move," he said with a swipe of his flattened hand in the direction of her view, "I want you to call me. Got it?"
"Anything?" Ella asked.
Hank lifted his chin high and nodded. "Anything," he said.
"Okay," Ella agreed.
"Now listen, Sweetie," Hank said, looking over the rim of his glasses. "I’m not exaggerating when I tell you that this is probably one of the most important tasks you’ve ever done. Do you know the word, exaggerating?"
"Of course," Ella said with a condescending roll of her eyes. "It means blowing out of proportion, or in this case that you’re not, blowing it out of proportion."
Hank pressed his lips together, internally debating whether or not he wanted, or should, address her insolent attitude. In the span of a flinch, he decided that the last thing he needed was to contend with a head-strong nine-year-old. "Ella!" Speaking sharply, but with gritted teeth, he said, "We’re in a dangerous situation! You need to take this seriously and quit being a brat."
Without the bat of an eye, because she knew her uncle so well and harbored no fear of him, Ella made the most nonchalant, pouting observation of her life. "I’m not being a brat. I’m being precocious."
Hank hugged the little girl into his belly and said, "Ain’t that the truth." He wanted to hold his niece and protect her forever, but he quickly pushed her away and pointed his finger at her. With a shake of that finger, Hank said, "Don’t get too big for your britches, Little Girl." Then with a devilish wink he added, "Lest ye seeks to draw out me wrath in a sore way."
Ella giggled at her uncle’s perfect imitation of Cap’n Pritchert of the HMS Largo. "Aye aye, Cap’n," she said with a brisk, British salute. They had watched Largo on the Sea for her birthday every year since she turned four. It was one of their bonds.
The smile that lit up Hank’s face was gone almost before it arrived, but he looked away to spare Ella from seeing the strain in his eyes. So much lost, he thought. "Okay, Ella," he said as he cleared the thickness in his throat. "I’m not joking about how serious this is. You see anything, tell me. Got it?"
"Got it," she answered and plastered herself to the gaps in the fence boards.
Hank didn’t linger. He spun the combination on the lock that held closed the bay door at the front of the garage. He thought, with some irony, that after ten years of weathering, it was about time that they replaced this lock. With the door open, he began pulling out tools and equipment and various objects of potential usefulness: A small spool of hemp twine, eight U-bolts, about a pound of three-inch drywall screws, fourteen two-by-fours, and so on…
At first, Hank thought he might assemble some sort of yoke, but the idea of being burdened under such a heavy load gave him a sense of trepidation. Then he looked at the bicycles and found the kernel of an idea.
The tires were flat on both of the adult bikes, but after some attention from a can of fix-a-flat and a tire pump, Hank was satisfied that they would hold air well enough for the job. He set about cutting two boards in half and drilling holes through them using his multi-tool.
"Uncle Henry," Ella called.
Hank scrambled to his feet and dashed to his niece’s side. He scanned the direction she was spying and saw nothing. Looking through the fence boards, Hank asked, "What do you see, Ella?"
The girl pointed up into a treetop. Limbs swayed in the breeze and the green leaves shimmied sparsely. "They just started moving."
"Good girl," Hank praised his niece. "That’s very observant of you." Ella beamed. "W
e’re not going to worry about the tree, though," Hank said. But when Ella’s face dropped, he amended his statement. "…for now. You are doing a good job, Ella." Hank’s commendation lifted her spirits. "I’m going back to work, but you keep watching. Okay?"
Ella nodded and said, "Okay, Uncle Henry."
"What was it?" Marissa asked from the roof, before Hank went back in the garage.
Looking over his shoulder in the direction of his niece he said in a voice just loud enough for Marissa to hear, "Nothing. Just the wind." She nodded and returned to her own search for threats.
As Hank picked up the board he’d been working with, Ella called again. "What do you see, Little Girl?" Hank was at her side in an instant.
"There’s a bird over there," she pointed at a power line. "And a squirrel, and…"
"Sweetie," Hank interrupted, "I think that I wasn’t clear about what you’re looking for."
"Why," asked Ella.
"Because, squirrels and birds aren’t really threatening, you see." Hank tugged on his beard and looked up at Marissa. She was watching them from the rooftop, expressionless. He went around the fence and knelt next to Ella, sharing her view of the street. A few crows squawked noisy protests on a swaying power line. The tree limbs were beginning to wave mightily against rising wind gusts. A calico cat, belly bulging with kittens, slinked across the street and disappeared into a shrub. "There!" Hank brusquely jabbed his finger toward the feline. "Did you see that cat?"
When he looked at Ella, he saw that her eyes were red-rimmed and filling with tears. "Yes," she quavered.
Hank laid his palm against Ella’s cheek. "Oh, Ella," he said tenderly. "I know the world is crashing down on you. And you were doing exactly what you were told, but here’s the deal: Everything can change in a moment, from now on." Ella looked intently into her uncle’s eyes; she absorbed every word like a gospel. "One minute I might tell you to do this and the next I’ll be yelling for you to do that." With a wave of his hand he said, "This is nothing compared to what is coming. Ye’ve got ter be fast as da cheetah. Ye’ve got ter be tough as da tortoise." That was another line from Cap’n Pritchert, but he added, "And ye’ve got ter stay bright as Ella." She giggled a little at being included in the saying.