The Outcast

by Rik Thompson

  Donnie Greeted the man, “Hello there, and welcome to the Balmorhea Library. It is quite wonderful that you are here. My name is Donnie, and this is my sidekick, Book”

  Book rolled his eyes.

  “Do any of you’s have a cigarette?” the disheveled man asked all of a sudden.

  Book told the man that neither of them smoked.

  “What I cannot figure is, why do humans do that sort of thing anyway,” replied, don’t you know that those things will fill your body with all things carcinogenetic?”

  “What’s a carcinogenic? And . . . what do you mean about humans? You mean to tell me that you are not human?”

  “Well, actually – “

  “Uh,” Book interrupted, “no matter. Are you from here, and if you are, do you know where me and my partner could find a decent day’s work?”

  · * * *

  Frank Lawson looked at his Seiko. He had patrolled ten minutes into his lunch. He had promised his wife he would stop by the library and pick up the book, Procedures of Traffic Control for Law Enforcement, and bone up for the test. Fact was that Lawson had climbed a couple of notches in the department simply by studying the various law enforcement books that were placed into the library system to educate the local police.

  Lawson guided his patrol car into the library parking lot.

  · * * *

  Donnie and Book sat in the back of the vehicle looking precariously restrained at the view of the road and how the car swerved about the road. If there was any doubt that the driver, the man they met at the library was drunk, those doubts had evaporated quickly.

  “Watch out for that stop sign!” Donnie admonished.

  “I got this,” the scruffy man, whose name was Jim Booker replied,” now I will admit that the eyes aren’t as good as they were yesterday – “

  “Look out!” You’re about to run off the road!” Book exclaimed.

  “Why don’t you let me drive?” he asked.

  “Do you have a license?” Jim asked.

  “No,” Book answered.

  “Then it will be all right. I got this under control.”

  · * * *

  JO’S BAR AND GRILL

  The place was quite dark as they entered the tavern, and Donnie had to adjust his optics just to follow along. Locating a table, they took a seat, and took a minute or two for the joint to come into focus. Book bought Jim a beer, all the while scanning the bar’s inhabitants for potential trouble. Jim saw a man standing by the pool table, dimly lit by a bulb hanging down from the ceiling.

  “Ahoy,” he shouted at the man, “over here Kevin. Come over, take a seat, and take a load off”

  The long haired and graying man sauntered over and grabbed an empty chair at the table.

  Jim introduced the pair of strangers; Book had to remind him of his name, and explained to Kevin that the two were looking for work.

  “Let me see . . . what is that place over on First Street, Jim? You know the one with the big dump trucks?”

  “Oh, what is that place?” Jim questioned, and finally, “Oasis Excavating.”

  Kevin drove Book and the metal man to Oasis. A half hour later they were on the job shoveling earth, rocks and flora off the side of the road into a ditch to make for a proper right of way. In less than an hour later the boy began to tire. He stopped work, looked at his palms and could see small blisters beginning to rise up. He took a break and leaned on his shovel, and watched as Donnie labored away.

  “Well at least this is something we can put on our resumes,” Book said gloomily.

  “What’s wrong?” Donnie asked, managing a slim smile.

  “Guess I am not ready for hard labor. I mean, just look at my hands,” he replied holding them out for Donnie to examine.

  · * * *

  Frank Lawson styled into the precinct, and made a bee line into the Sheriff’s office. The sheriff, Remy Johnson was sitting at the desk reading the morning paper. Frank dropped the book on his desk.

  “Whaddya trying to do, Lawson, take my job?”

  “Who, me? Not on your life, Sheriff. Just thought I would add another notch to my belt by studying for the test on traffic control. I see there isn’t much happening around here today. Any news in the paper?”

  “Not much,” Remy answered,” no, not much at all. But we did get some new wanted posters in though. Here, check out these characters,” he said as he handed the posters to Frank.

  Frank shuffled through the posters.

  “Hey, this one is right here in town,” he said as he looked up at the Sherriff, and dropped the poster of Book and Donnie on the desk. “I saw these two at the library about thirty minutes ago.”

  “No kidding?” Remy asked as he lit up a Camel.

  Lawson continued, dropping his gaze down and onto the poster of the boy and the robot to absorb the details.

  “Ran into him with Jim the drunk, and another man I had not seen before, at the library.”

  He read silently to himself in a muffled tone, “Wanted, by the Population Control Board, ah, what could that be about?

  “Why does the PCB want these two fellas?”

  “Got a call from a, woman, Sylvie Robers, just before you walked into the door. She wants these two badly. She told me the boy is a fugitive from an escape.”

  Lawson smiled, “And where do they claim he escaped from?”

  “The Moon.

  “And we need to pick him up pretty quickly. That Robers woman is flying down here, and should be here, in two hours,” Remy said as he glanced down at his watch.

  · * * *

  Lawson slowed his squad car down and crawled to a stop looking left, then right into the main drag. Deep into the second block he spied Jim’s green truck parked at Jo’s Bar and Grill. He took a left at the red light, and parked his car directly behind Jim the Drunk’s green truck. He got out of the car, stepped onto the curb, walked into the tavern, and slid into the booth that Jim was sitting in.

  “Been drinking this morning?” he asked raising an eyebrow, and staring dead into the eyes of Jim the drunk.

  “No Sir.”

  “Your breath tells me a different story, Jim.”

  “I swear Officer; I have not touched a drop.” Jim answered in a semi-swear, face masked in concern.

  “You’re not taking me down for – “

  “Just relax, Jim. Not this time; providing you can do me a big favor, Mister Jim.”

  “What can I do for you, officer?”

  “Those two guys I saw you at the library with, where are they now?”

  · * * *

  OASIS EXCAVATION COMPANY

  Narrow, white coquina covered roadways run along the levy and give way to a steel perimeter fence. Inside the protected property are three double wide trailers. Inside one of these trailers, the Admin trailer, is seated Josh Walters, the area foreman. He sits behind a spacious oak desk pouring over future contracts his company will pursue in the not too distant future.

  Lost in thought, he considered the two men he had just put to work. Their assignment would be to clear a right of way a few miles from his location. Although they would be unsupervised, there would be a checkup performed by the region supervisor inside an hour.

  He returned to his rumination of present and future company moves and ambitions when the door to the main entrance opened and in spilled Frank Lawson.

  Lawson removes his official baseball hat, takes a breath and encounters, Peter Templeton, who looks up from his paperwork.

  “Can I help you with something, Officer?”

  Lawson takes a quick glance around, “Yes, you the boss?”

  “Well, no. I am up the ladder, so to speak, but unfortunately not at the top rung as of yet. The man you want to see is, Josh. You want to head down the hall there, second door on the left.”

  · * * *

  “Yes, those two men work for me, and even so they did not use the names you gave me, the description fits perfectly, so I believe those are the two men you se
ek. Why, what do you need them for? Have they broken the law?”

  Lawson considered Josh for a brief moment.

  “I’m afraid that is on a need to know basis, and you don’t need to know.”

  · * * *

  “We should just quit, Donnie.”

  “Why?”

  “Just look at my hands, all torn up from this constant digging. I believe our time would be better spent somewhere else. Don’t you?”

  “It’s nothing on me,” Donnie began, “but, as you pointed out a while ago, we could use some extra funds for the trip, and as I am after all, a machine, and labor does not affect me whatsoever, as it does you, I have to agree with you, seeing your condition as it is, that we continue our journey to California.”

  They loaded their shovels into the back of the company pick-up and proceeded to walk down the road when they spotted a patrol car approaching.

  “Donnie, run!”

  Frank Lawson observed the two running from the road into the bushes, and floored the accelerator. He braked hard at the point where he saw the two enter the woods, and grabbed the microphone from the squawk box and radioed in.

  “Need backup, and a chopper, First Street, and Slawson.”

  He flung open the door of the patrol car, hit the ground running and proceeded to give chase.

  They ran fast and hard and feeling all the while as if the cop was just out of reach, and breathing down their necks. Motoring along they noticed a large clump of bushes just ahead. Book checked quickly behind, and motioned for Donnie to head for the brush and with a concerted leap they landed into the green and obstructing foliage.

  Lawson barely thirty yards behind passed the bushes, stopped, sniffed the air, and craned his neck in all directions.

  Did I hear, smell something? He brushed it off after further contemplation and proceeded on north.

  Book and Donnie lay still for a few moments and then emerged from the brush and proceeded in an uncompromising gallop back the way they came.

  “I have a plan,” Book said as the two made their way back to the road south. Minutes later they found themselves standing at the police car and debating, which came about, as the two peered into the car and noticed the key in the ignition.

  “I’ll drive.”

  “No, I’ll drive,” Donnie replied.

  “How is that? Do you know how to operate this vehicle?” Book asked.

  “Why certainly. Remember? I got us here into this chaotic situation in the first place, and I am sure if I can pilot a space craft, this will be no problem at all.”

  A few moments later, Donnie at the wheel, Book in the passenger seat, they turned onto Fort Stockton Street, and headed north to Interstate Ten. Donnie looked over at Book, attempting to understand a row of switches on the dash randomly flips one on. This results in the lights on the roof bar flashing on and the siren coming to life.

  “Hurry, turn that off. We don’t want to draw attention to us.”

  Book flipped the switch again. Nothing happened.

  “Well that doesn’t work. Not to worry, there’s no one on the road out here anyway.”

  That did not stop Donnie from his frantic search of the dash for the remedy; a search so frantic that he did not notice the vehicle veering to the left, and smashing into a tree.

  The squad car impacted the tree throwing the pair into the windshield, and exploding the air bags.

  Book recovered, shook his head, and looked over at Donnie.

  “You, all right?”

  “Yes, I think. Let’s get out of the car so I can assess the situation better.”

  “I thought you could operate this vehicle, Donnie?”

  “You saw I was doing great until you had to play with those switches.”

  “How far up do you think the interstate is?”

  “Can’t be too far up the road,” Donnie answered.

  · * * *

  “One in the front, one in the back,” the man from Texas said. “It doesn’t make no never-mind to me.”

  They both hopped into the back of the late model pick-up.

  “Were there any injuries in the wreck? I expect that police cruiser was yours, wasn’t it, you two off duty?”

  “Uh, yes, we are, and no, we are okay,” Donnie replied,” we just got changed into our street wear and I was taking my partner home, to Van Horn, when this truck drifted into our lane, and we hit that tree.”

  “I hear that,” the man from Texas said, “got to watch out for those truckers “

  “Absolutely.”

  With that the pick-up eased on down the road toward Van Horn.

  · * * *

  Aslan's Coffee Shop W Broadway, VAN HORN, TX

  Donnie and Book walked across the street where the man from Texas let them off and entered the coffee shop. They ordered coffee, and a beef stew for Book, and began debating the safety of being in the main part of town, but figured it would be okay for now, according to the seventy miles up the road from Balmorhea.

  The conversation switched to a less controversial subject.

  “You know, I wonder how my parents will take me when I am standing right in front of them, provided we find them in the first place.”

  “Oh, we will find them. Just as I found you when we were separated, we will find them.

  “I have it already planned out, the scenario that is, well in advance.

  With all his brilliance, Donnie could not quite ascertain how it would be. He did say to the boy it would be quite the surprise, a mystery in the making, entirely speculative, and joyous in the extreme.

  SIXTEEN

  Just outside of town, just to the west of The Hampton Inn, the two boys ambled around the curb.

  “There is a great highway north of here, if memory serves me right.”

  Book, in his own thoughts of the current scenario, answered lazily, “Uh, what?”

  “Route sixty, six; The Mother Road. There are books, written on the road and about the road. One is, The Grapes of Wrath, by Steinbeck; and then there is Jack, Jack Kerouac, the famous Beat Writer. All the road trips, all those miles; you have to believe he got, his kicks running down that road, back in the old days.”

  “That’s a great analogy, my metal friend. You’re just an incredible history buff of a machine, aren’t you?”

  Donnie displayed a thin smile, “Yes, well, I imagine my engineers did a quite a job filling up my data banks with tidbits of trivial subjects.”

  A nineteen sixty-three Mercury Monterey cruised by, slowed and stopped.

  “Come on Donnie, we got a ride.”

  They trotted up to the baby blue car; the back window curved at a forty-five-degree angle.

  Book opened the front passenger door and slid into the seat. Donnie slipped into the rear seat.

  “What is that smell?” Book said sniffing the air.

  Beside him was seated a young man wild blond hair, windblown, a grease stain streaked across his forehead holding what looked like a home rolled cigarette, and the source of the pungent odor.

  “Welcome, welcome guys,” the strange young man said. Climb into my love machine as we race toward tomorrow. Here, you want a hit?” He passed the funny smelling cigarette to Book.

  Book took it, sniffed it, and looked at the odd smoke.

  “Marijuana. It will put your head into a brand-new bag, and here, I can turn on the tunes, and we can take a magical mystery tour together.”

  Is this guy for real? Book thought.

  Book took a draw from the joint and blew the smoke out. It wafted about in a think plume.

  “That’s fogging up my sensors.” Donnie said.

  “Sensors?” the driver inquired.

  “. . . Er, I mean, I cannot breathe back here.”

  “Oh, why didn’t you say that in the first place,” the driver said. He flipped a switch on the dash and the back window retracted. The smoke was drawn out. “Better?”

  “Yes, thank you much.”

  “Oh, by the way gang, my
name is Mark, Mark Chastain, from California.”

  “Name’s Book and my friend is Donnie.”

  Book handed the joint back to Mark, “You mean we are smoking Marijuana?”

  “Well, I am. You’re not.”

  “What do you mean?” Book asked a bit light headed.

  “You have to take a big toke, hold it in really good and see what develops.” Mark said demonstrating. He handed the joint back to Book.

  “Okay, let me give this go.” Book took a long drag of the joint, and held it in. A few seconds pass by.

  “Exhale friend, let it all out.”

  Book exhaled.

  “There you go – let your mind wonder. Here let me set the mood,” Mark said as he turned on the music player, and Long Time, by Boston, fired up.

  Mark Catches Donnie in the rear mirror. “Hey, there, how ‘bout you.”

  Donnie waggles his head, no. “I’m trying to quit.

  “By the way, this car; it is Mercury, and at least 70 years old. How can it be on the road still running?

  “Rust sleeps, in Cali. Was Mom’s car, and was parked in her garage from almost the time she bought it brand new. And believe it or not this ride only has fifteen thousand miles on it.

  “I got a hold of it and tore the engine out, installed the latest ceramic, used plutonium for the power and off I went, and I haven’t stopped yet.”

  “That is amazing,” Book replied, “Do you realize this car could be worth a lot of money?”

  Before he knew it, suddenly the reefer hit him. The world of the road was becoming magnified. It was like seeing something for the first time, the stripes on the road, merging into ribbons. It began with the swaying of the trees which seemed like they were alive, dancing to the music. The grass alongside the road jittering. . .

  “How ya feeling over there, dude?”

  “Different, really, quite different.”