Cages & Those Who Hold the Keys

by Gary A Braunbeck

  “I want you to know something, Dianne. You were the love of my life—you are the love of my life, and whatever happens tonight, even if I never see or hear from you again, my soul was blessed because you were once a part of my life, and even though I didn’t treasure it at the time like I should have, I treasure it now, and wish to God I’d have the chance to treasure it—to treasure you—again. But I don’t think that’s going to happen. Just know that everything you did, all you tried to give to me, all of it mattered, all of it. And whatever happens after I hang up, if this is it, I want you to know that my last thought will be of you and how you made my world rich, even if I was too much of an idiot to appreciate it at the time.

  “I love you. I always will. I just…I just wanted to thank you for all you gave to me when we were together.

  “And it just occurred to me that all of this must sound melodramatic as hell, and I’m sorry. It’s been an…odd couple of days. But it’s almost over now. I love you. Be happy, and never let yourself think that any part of what happened was because of you. You were wonderful—shit, you were perfect. I was an asshole. I didn’t deserve you. This isn’t self-pity, hon, it’s just plain old regret. Six of one, half-dozen of the other, I know.

  “Good-bye, Dianne. I love you. Think about using a little less mayo in the tuna fish, okay? I hear it’s not good for the cholesterol. You may quote me.”

  The beep sounded again, I hung up, covered my eyes with my hands, and wept quietly for a minute or two.

  The lights flickered and I looked up just as Ciera opened the door. “It’s time.” She stared at me. “Are you okay?”

  Wiping my eyes, I shook my head, then said, “Just ducky, thanks.”

  “Nobody wants you to get hurt, Driver.”

  “So I keep hearing.” I wiped my eyes once again, let out a breath, and rose.

  We stared at each other for a moment.

  “So?” I asked. “I take three giant steps, or what?”

  “I wish you wouldn’t be so mean to me.”

  “I didn’t think I was.”

  She glanced down at the floor for a second, then back up at me. There was some genuine hurt in that gaze. “I keep trying to be nice, but you act like you don’t like me very much.”

  “Like you? I don’t even know you. Until a few hours ago, I had no idea you or anyone else in this place even existed! All I knew was that I was supposed to deliver a body so the family could bury it, that’s all. Now, suddenly, I’m right smack in the middle of something pretty seriously goddamn scary, I might be dead before the sun rises, and you’re getting defensive about my bad manners?”

  Her eyes began tearing up. “Please don’t yell at me.”

  “What the fuck would you do if you were in my position?”

  “Please stop yelling.”

  I opened my mouth to really let her have it, then her words—Please stop yelling—echoed back, only this time it was Dianne’s voice I heard speaking them, as it had so many time during the course of our marriage whenever I had been made aware of my shortcomings and was looking for someone to blame, usually her.

  Please stop yelling. Oh, hon….

  “I’m sorry,” I said to Ciera, stepping forward and putting a hand on her shoulder. “I’m not mad at you. I’m just…mad.”

  “Okay,” she said, not meeting my gaze.

  “Hey?”

  She looked up at me.

  “What’s your name—your real name?”

  A single tear slipped from her eye and slid a slow path down her cheek. “I don’t remember.”

  “Really?”

  “Really. Only Road mama and Daddy Bliss remember their real names. The rest of us, we kinda…don’t bring them with us when we come back.”

  “How old were you?”

  “I would have been twenty-one on my birthday.”

  “Christ…I’m so sorry.”

  “Not your fault. I really like you, Driver. It’s been a long time since…well, since a new guy’s been here who’s still got all of his face and stuff.” She shrugged. “I get lonely sometimes.”

  I touched her face, using my thumb to wipe away the tear. “How bad is it, being trapped here?”

  She stared at me for a moment, blinked, then gave her head the slightest shake. “I’m not trapped her. None of us are.”

  “You stay here by choice?”

  “Yes. Everyone here is given that choice. The Highway People bring them back, and if you choose to stay, then your Repairs begin.”

  I really couldn’t get my head wrapped around this one. “But…for God’s sake, why would you choose to stay here and take part in all of this?”

  “The people we leave behind. If we choose to stay, they are protected. I mean, it’s not like it can be all the people we leave behind, but our immediate family and closest friends, they’re okay.”

  “Their numbers are withdrawn from the order?”

  “If they have a number, yes. If, like, my sister didn’t have a number—and she didn’t—then I got to pick an extra friend.”

  “How long do you have to stay here?”

  “Until the people we pick die of natural causes, or however it is they do die. Just not by the Road. Once they’ve all passed on, then we can follow them.”

  I tried doing a little arithmetic in my head—if you picked five people, and the youngest was only twelve, then how long…?—then realized it was pointless. She was talking about a long time, no matter how you looked at it.

  “Can I ask you stupid question?”

  She smiled. “You can ask me anything. I won’t think it’s stupid.”

  “How do you get by on a day-to-day basis? How do you stay sane?”

  She thought about this for a moment, and then shrugged. “Like everybody else does, I suppose. You go to work when you’re supposed to, you do your job, then you go home, eat dinner, maybe watch some TV or put in a movie. Hang out with friends. Y’know…normal stuff.”

  “Watch TV or movies?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Hang out with friends?”

  “Uh-huh…?”

  “I guess I’m asking…what do you do for fun? What do you do to relax?”

  “I like to take walks.”

  For a moment I thought she was joking, then just as quickly realized she wasn’t.

  She took hold of my hand, leaned up, and kissed my cheek. “We really need to get going.”

  “Ciera, please, please tell me what’s going to happen.”

  “I can’t. I could get into a lot of trouble if…” She broke off, stared at me, and smiled. “Let me ask you something, okay?”

  “Okay…?”

  “Am I prettier than Dianne?”

  No way was I going to lie to her—she was the closest thing to an ally that I had (and something told me she’d know instantly if I tried bullshitting her)—but maybe I could respond without actually answering the question.

  I touched her cheek and said, “I think you’re beautiful.”

  “Thank you. You’re going to race Fairlane.”

  I remembered Daddy Bliss’s words from earlier—Some of us have been able to be Repaired almost immediately, while others—like myself and Fairlane, who you’ll be meeting later on—have to make due with more…primitive results—and felt myself shudder. If Fairlane had to make do with results even worse than Daddy Bliss’s, I wasn’t sure I wanted to meet him at all…so sayeth the King of Understatement.

  “A race?”

  She nodded. “The Road decided long ago that a race was the most direct and just way to settle a matter.”

  “What happens if I win?”

  She almost giggled. “Silly—you get to leave and go home.”

  “And if I lose?”

  She stared at me for a moment, and then threw her arms around my neck and planted a kiss on me that would have killed a kid half my age; as it was, it left me weak in the knees.

  “Then,” she said, “you and I can be together.”

  So it wa
s that simple; win, and I could leave; lose, and here I’d remain. It seemed almost too simple, but at the time I didn’t dwell on it. I was only interested in getting the hell out. In one piece, if possible.

  She took hold of my hand and led me from the holding room, through the offices, and to the front doors. I looked out the windows and saw a long, dark limousine parked at the curb, engine purring. Ciera opened the door and out we went. As we neared the limo I saw, at last, how it was that Sheriff Hummer’s car was able to drive itself; a deep groove ran all along the center of both street lanes: the whole city was built on a gigantic HO track.

  Ciera opened the back door of the limo and held my hand until I was seated inside.

  “This is as far as I go,” she said. “I have to do a couple of things to get ready, but don’t worry, I’ll see you there in a few minutes.” She started to let go of my hand and I did something that surprised both of us: I tightened my grip and put my free hand on top of hers.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “I…I don’t want to…let go just yet.”

  She gave me a tender smile and nodded her head. “I can hang for a minute.”

  “Good.”

  I sat there trying to steady both my breathing and the beating of my heart. Ciera neither moved nor spoke, just kept hold of my hand until I was ready to let go.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “You’re welcome. Tell you something weird—I kinda hope you win, but I also hope you don’t, you know?”

  An idea came to me. “You could come with me.”

  “What?”

  “You and me. We get the meat wagon and hightail it out of here.”

  She pulled in a breath, held it, then released it with a soft little moan as she leaned in and kissed me again. “Do you have any idea how tempting that is?”

  I sure hoped so. Shame on me.

  “But you know I can’t. I couldn’t do that to my family and friends. But thank you for asking.” She pulled her hand from my grip and closed the door, which locked automatically.

  The limo pulled away, and I looked through the back window, watching her stand there in the street until the car turned a corner and she was gone.

  Strange as it might sound, I missed her.

  I looked up front to see that the divider window was up; it was tinted, so I couldn’t make out anything about the person driving. I looked around until I found the intercom button, pressed it, and said: “Can you lower the window, please?”

  There was a soft click, followed by a low, steady hum, and the window glided downward. There was no one driving. I should have known.

  There was, however, a small television mounted on the dashboard, and as the window finished lowering, the screen flickered to life and I was looking at Daddy Bliss’s face.

  “This is a pre-recorded message, Driver, so please don’t do anything so pointless and predictable as talking back to the screen. They lock people up for that sort of behavior.

  “I’m fairly certain that you’ve by now managed to charm some information from our dear Ciera—I was, in fact, counting on it. So let’s proceed on that assumption, shall we?

  “You are being driven to the only stretch of road in our fair metropolis that is smooth blacktop from beginning to end. A three-mile straightaway that my children long ago named ‘Daddy’s Dead Run’. A bit over-the-top, I know, but their hearts were in the right place and I’ve never been able to bring myself to tell them that I think it’s a silly, melodramatic name, but what is one to do?

  “Once this limousine—and isn’t it a lovely vehicle? You should help yourself to some snacks and the wet bar, both are well-stocked. Now, where was I? Ah, yes.

  “Once this limousine comes to a stop, you will be taken to your vehicle for this evening’s contest. You will be driving a car that I personally chose for you. I call it ‘The Ogre.’ Yes, I know—I have the gall to make fun of ‘Daddy’s Dead Run’ and then name a car ‘The Ogre’? It’s the little contradictions in one’s character that makes one fascinating to others. An enigma, so to speak.

  “‘The Ogre’ was a1964 Triumph Spitfire in its previous life. Allow me to gloat a bit of its history—after all, I designed and supervised its metamorphosis myself, so I think I’ve earned the right to boast.

  “I began with a Spitfire frame that was made ready for a Chevy V-8 engine, Muncie transmission, and modified Corvette rear suspension. When the chassis was complete—with engine, transmission, rear suspension and third member, brake lines, front suspension with stock rack and pinion steering, as well as new body-mounts—the body from the stock Spitfire was prepared and set on the frame. The electrical systems were re-established and the bonnet added. Its present engine is a 383 Stroker. On the Dyno, she checked out at 470 horsepower and 500 ft-lbs of torque. This a small but very powerful car you’ll be climbing into, Driver. It has a maximum speed of 180 miles per hour, and goes from 0 to 90 in just under ten seconds.

  “For the first ten seconds of the race, both The Ogre and Fairlane’s vehicle will be under the sole control of The Road. Once you have passed from the sight of the crowd, control of the vehicles will be given over to you. I trust you can drive a shift. If not—well, then, this could be a short but spectacular contest.

  “You have a few minutes before you reach your destination, dear boy. Why not raid the refrigerator and wet bar? Godspeed, Driver. No pun intended.”

  And with that, the screen snapped off.

  I looked out the window and saw the lights reflecting from the massive car-cubes along Levegh Lane in the distance, and realized that these dead piles rose so high they could be probably be seen from any place in the city.

  I wondered if, very soon, the smashed corpse of the Ogre would be added to them for future Repair material.

  12

  FADE IN: a seemingly endless stretch of smooth two-lane blacktop emptying into shadows. Crowds of people line both sides of the road, the men looking tough while clutching at their bottles of beer, the women looking anxious while clutching at the filtered tips of their cigarettes, and the kids—especially the really young ones—looking like they aren’t sure how they should be feeling while they clutch at the hands or coats of the tough beer drinkers and anxious cigarette smokers.

  …and this is where we came, isn’t it?

  I climbed out of the limo and saw the Ogre parked in the left lane up ahead, Sheriff Hummer leaning against the driver’s-side door. He saw me, gave a little wave, and gestured for me to join him.

  I kept glancing at the crowd as I approached him, but after a few seconds of that realized it wasn’t the best idea; the people who comprised this crowd—men, women, children (God, the children…)—were all Repaired to varying degrees, and the fusion of flesh and metal, rather than repulse me as it had before, now seemed to possess an organic correctness that I was suddenly all too willing to accept as being normal…or what passed for normal, here. One little girl who couldn’t have been more than seven years old smiled at me, displaying a mouthful of spark plug tips that took the place of her teeth. She seemed so proud of that smile, like she was showing off. I smiled back at her, and she blushed.

  Don’t look at them, I told myself. If you don’t look, then they’re not there.

  Pitiful, I know, but it worked. They were shadows, props, decorations on the periphery, not real, not flesh and bone (and metal and steel, said the voice in the back of my head), and maybe, if I concentrated hard enough, I could Zen-out of this whole mess for a few moments.

  “You seem tense,” said Hummer.

  I looked up at him but couldn’t think of anything to say.

  Then he did something that surprised me; he stepped forward and put a hand on my shoulder and said, “You’ll be fine. It’s almost over.”

  I heard the grinding of a large engine in the distance behind us, and as I turned the crowd broke into wild shouts and applause. More lights came on, illuminating the road, and a few seconds later the object of their adulation rolled into s
ight.

  A great semi tractor-trailer crawled out of the darkness, pulling a car-cube, smaller than the ones I’d seen before but still fairly massive. Atop the cube four large torches burned, flames snapping against the night, one set at each corner, and in the middle of it all was a raised platform. Daddy Bliss sat there, the wheels of his chair held in place by clamps attached to the base. Large concert speakers were positioned at the sides of the platform, angled outward. Ciera stood at Daddy Bliss’s side. She’d changed clothes; she was now dressed in a paisley skirt and tight short-sleeved sweater, her blonde hair pulled back into a ponytail, a scarf tied around her neck. She held a long red kerchief in each of her hands.

  The truck crept by, rumbling and growling like a constipated dinosaur, then began a slow, wide turn, moving forward, then back, a little to the left, forward again, the driver doing an impressive job of reversing, until, finally, the car-cube was well off the road and at an angle facing the crowd.

  Ciera walked to the side of the cube and pushed something over the edge; a long rope ladder that reached to the ground. She turned, blew a kiss toward Daddy Bliss, and began descending.

  Daddy Bliss smiled—a celebrant at the beginning of Mass—and the crowd’s cheering grew even louder. He smiled, nodded his head a few times, then cleared his throat; amplified by the speaks, it sounded as if a section of the ground were splitting open.

  The crowd fell silent.

  “My children,” said Daddy Bliss.

  And the crowd exploded once again. Daddy Bliss waited until the roar died down, but it took a minute; Ciera was already on the ground before he started speaking again.

  “My children. As you know, our dear Road Mama has been returned to us, and is, as I speak, being Repaired. She will be back among us soon. For that, we have Driver to thank.”