Irwin frowned, trying to remember her name, one of the most influential women in the Coalition. It was on right at the edge of his brain, then he snapped his fingers. “Beatrice Ford! She’s the northwest quadrant leader. If I croak, she’s in charge.”
“Wait! You can’t remember her name and she’s next in line? That’s scary.”
Irwin looked up at the security officer looming over him. “What’s scary about it, dude? I’m sixty-five years old. Just wait, smart ass.”
Putting his hands up, the officer took a step back. “No malice intended, Sir.” But his movement exposed Irwin to the woman and she called him on it immediately.
“Irwin Razor! Are you hiding from me?”
“Oh God, no ma’am,” he said, laughing heartily. “Thank you for coming, Chief Ford.”
Meeting in the middle of the sidewalk, they shook hands and Irwin led the way to the steps. “We’ve calculated that I have the furthest to travel, Irwin. This better be good.”
“You’ll see,” he replied. “I’m going to reiterate some key strategies. Things have gotten lax.”
He was out of breath climbing the stairs, sorry they hadn’t taken the elevator.
“Not out west, they haven’t,” she said. “In my quadrant, if you don’t work, you don’t eat.”
“You have a younger population,” Irwin said. “Anyway, the laxity isn’t among the populous. I’m talking about members.”
Scowling, Bernice Ford was taken aback. “Am I to understand Irwin, that you’ve called me two thousand miles away from home to admonish your administration? I, Sir, do nothing that isn’t by the book. It’s insulting that you’re even grouping me in with the rest of the riffraff.”
Irwin giggled again, a coping mechanism responding, Bernice intimidating in the extreme. “Of course, you’re not grouped in with the others. But everyone has to be here for these meetings, and that, dear lady, includes you.”
“Yes, I suppose someone in my position, with the stature it affords me, has to make some sacrifices. Lead the way.”
These meetings were the high point of Irwin Razor’s life. He loved being in charge, setting rules for people to follow, and then making sure they were carried out. Having a moment of self-actualization, Irwin stood a little straighter as he walked into the auditorium, directing an usher to show Chief Ford to her seat.
The only negative about being in charge was the exposure. Irwin wasn’t comfortable sitting in front of hundreds of people with his buttons straining over his belly; his last memory as he mounted the steps to the stage, pulling jacket sides together.
***
George was working in town Tuesday morning, behind the wheel of a bus when chaos let loose. Near the station at Fort and Cass, he’d pulled the bus up to the curb, waiting for a passenger to mount the steps, as a blast hit, so powerful the vehicle rocked back and forth, prompting screams from his frightened passengers. Nearly falling out onto the sidewalk, the passenger was saved when George grabbed her arm and pulled her inside. In seconds, his fears it was an earthquake segued to the realization that bombs had gone off nearby as percussion finally reached his ears, searing his eardrums with pain. With each blast, the screams of his passengers and pedestrians running toward the bus filled the air. From the east smoke billowed, rolling toward them.
Buz had left City Hall with his life, and ran the blocks in minutes, reaching the bus. Backing up, he signaled for George to open the door.
“You’d better get out of here,” he shouted. “City Hall is occupied by rebels.” A sob escaping, he continued catching his breath. “And the Renaissance Center was just bombed. It’s rubble.”
“What part of it?” George asked, horrified.
“All seven towers, man! You’ve gotta move.”
George hesitated masses of people ran toward his bus. “Where is everyone going?” he asked.
“Leaving the city. The west gates are opening up now.”
George turned the bus engine off, putting the keys in his pocket.
“What are you doing? Take the bus!”
George looked in the review mirror and yelled. “I’m leaving the city. If you want to stay, you’d better get off now.”
Several passengers scurried off, in tears, frightened and confused.
“Do you live in Europe Town?” Buz asked. “I’ve seen you on the bus.”
“Get on,” George said, throwing the bus into drive. “I doubt if we’ll make it to Europe Town in the bus.”
Turning the bus in a circle, laying on the horn, inching along he narrowly missed fleeing humanity. Once he had the bus headed west, he could see it was going to be difficult getting around the people in the street. “We’d do better running with everyone,” he said.
“Try to get across to Michigan Avenue,” Buz said.
“I’ll try,” George said, weaving in and out, laying on the horn.
Every block or so he stopped the bus to let more people get on until they were packed in as tightly as possible. Less than a quarter mile from the main west gate, the crowds were impossibly thick.
“I’m can’t take the bus any further,” George said, afraid he was going to run someone over. He put the breaks on and turned the key, preparing to leave it. “You’d better take the key,” Buz said, thinking of the riders sitting behind them.
“Right, good idea,” George said, pocketing it, imagining someone driving away with the bus, killing a pedestrian.
Reaching behind the seat, he grabbed his bag and jumped off into the street. They ran for two blocks before George started to feel it in his chest. Slowing down, they were jostled by the crowds running in the same direction.
“Just a little longer,” Buz said, encouraging him. “We should just get beyond the gates to Fake City, then we can slow down. I don’t think we’re in danger outside of the city.”
Buz grabbed his arm, pulling him along and the men ran together in the middle of the hoard. “Not all of these people come from Europe Town, do they?” George asked, the ethnic mix of people a giveaway.
“No, but the west gate is the only gate open. They’ll have to figure out how to get home from there.”
“How do you know this?” George asked, panting.
“I just know,” Buz replied.
They kept running until they were through the gate, the guard house unmanned. Unlikely groups of Asians and Hispanics and Africans bunched together alongside them, Buz was revolted.
“I don’t like this,” he said, sneering. “Everyone needs to keep their distance from me.”
“It reminds me of the old days,” George said, slowing down. “We worked hard at equality for everyone. In twenty years, it’s destroyed.”
“All these different colors together? I would have never survived that,” Buz said, looking around. “I’m used to it in the city, but not outside these gates.”
“I have to stop for a minute,” George said, moving over to the sidewalk. He bent over, panting, his hands on knees.
Crowds of people continued to pour through the gates and finally George thought of Steve. “I hope my son is okay,” he said, standing up.
“Where is he?”
“Someplace here in the city, living with another family. He got into trouble and the Council took him away from us. It just happened yesterday.”
“I’m sorry,” Buz said, reaching out to help George move. “We need to keep going. I’m committing insubordination by leaving but I have to get home to my wife. She’s due to have a baby soon.”
“Why? What do you do for a living? Because I’m probably going to be executed for leaving the bus.”
“I’m a driver,” Buz answered, leaving out for whom he drove. “I think your boy is going to be okay. Members will be safe as long as they’re not around Woodward and Jefferson. There would be no reason to bomb the Pointes.”
“What do the Pointes have to do with it?” George asked, a surge of heat flowing through him, realizing Buz knew where Steve was.
“All separat
ed children go to government housing in the Pointes,” Buz said.
“The Pointes? I guess that is better than Europe Town,” George said, defeated. “I think I can walk now.”
Waves of guilt pounded George. Rose was going to be incensed that he didn’t go after Steve before trying to save himself.
They eased into traffic again, the amalgam of humanity most of it lost, continuing to move west. “Can you help me?” an older Asian lady asked. “I don’t know where to turn to get to my home.”
“Up here at the next intersection, turn left onto Wyoming. That will take you south. I don’t know how far you’ll have to walk. But it’s going to take you a while.”
Buz knew Asia Town was the furthest town from the city, in the downriver area.
“I’ll go with you,” a younger woman called out, running over to the group. “I’m from Asia Town, too.”
“Briana?” Buz asked, concerned.
Briana escaped with her life, her face tear stained and dirty, her clothing askew. She was holding her shoes, unable to run in high heels, her stockings ripped and filthy. “I’m glad you got out,” Buz said.
Sniffing, she choked on a sob. “I think Irwin is dead,” she cried.
“Irwin Razor?” George asked, incredulous.
Buz pushed the threesome out of the middle of the street to the sidewalk again. “Keep your voices down, please. You ladies shouldn’t risk trying to get home just yet. Come back to Europe Town with me. My house is only three miles from here. We’ll wait to see what the repercussions will be. It could be nothing, but it could be bad, too.” Asia Town would be vulnerable, right on the river.
“I have to get home,” the older woman said crying. “My husband is unable to care for himself. He waits for me all day as it is.”
“Come,” Briana said, grabbing her arm. “Thanks anyway, Buz.”
They watched the women run off together.
“Let’s go,” Buz said, shaking his head. He couldn’t save the world.
The men walked quickly along Michigan Avenue toward Europe Town, the crowd numbers dwindling as people figured out in which direction they needed to turn to get to their homes.
“I wonder what will happen next.” George said. “I mean, what do you know? Did you drive for the Council?”
“Yes,” Buz said shortly, leery about broadcasting that he drove the Chairman, making him a potential target. “The only thing I’m worried about is food. There won’t be food distribution after this.”
“Yeah, most people don’t have big stores of food unless they put it up themselves. Where do you live?” He thought of their stash, thanks to Rose and Eleni. Maybe it wouldn’t be smart to broadcast that just yet.
“I’m in east town,” Buz said. “What about you?”
“South west, just a few miles from Tiresias. My son snuck out at night and went in search of it. That’s why he’s gone.”
“Some kid is always doing that,” Buz said. “Why’d they make such a big deal of it?”
“He got involved with a girl and her father smuggled Steve inside. It was real mess. We haven’t seen him since yesterday morning. My wife is in bad shape.”
“What about his eyes?” Buz asked, appalled. He slowed down his pace. “If he gets the virus, he could lose his sight.”
“We were told he was fine,” George replied, trying to remember exactly what the officer said to him.
“I can’t stand the thought of that place,” Buz said, shivering. “The whole idea of crippled people, diseases, blindness, it makes me sick. How can you stand living so close?”
“It was never a problem until a neighbor put a curse on my son and his friends when they were making too much noise. They’d never heard the word before.”
“What’d she said to them?”
“I don’t remember the exact words, but it was something like, ‘I hope you go to Tiresias.’
Like you’d shout at someone you didn’t like, telling them to go to hell. She opened up a shit storm.”
“Did you report her?”
“We didn’t, but someone else did, and The Council Police shot her in the head in front of everyone on the block.”
Walking in silence for the next mile, Buz felt tainted hearing the story. Maybe the block of Europe Town George lived in was low-life. The idea of grouping like people together made sense to him; it was a means of protection from unsavory characters. There was positive things about the rules, after all.
Apparently, the neighborhood Buz’s family was assigned to had a younger demographic than most of Europe Town. It was all young families like George’s, a husband and wife and one child. But the breadwinners were employed by the leadership of the city; Buz drove Irwin, the next door neighbor worked in the maintenance department of the city hall building, the man across the street an office manager at the state bank. Buz fought snobbery, thinking he might need George on his side someday.
“Did you drive Irwin?” George asked, the fact sinking in.
Buz, guilty of conceit even in his thoughts, thought carefully before he spoke again.
“Not anymore.”
Chapter 21
Steve
My first night in a strange bed, two things stood out. One, the fog horns on the lake. I loved the sound, even though it was a little eerie, a little sad. The first blast came right after Darleen tucked me in bed, like I was a little kid. I’d figured it was the horns because I’d read about the cargo ships on the lake. The author used the word eerie to describe the sound, and he was correct, eerie and melancholy.
I lay in bed, a night light leading the way to my own bathroom cast a green glow bright enough to bother me. The light symbolized a precept which came to me suddenly, a burst of knowledge so intense it almost hurt. The reasons for conserving resources didn’t exist there in the Pointes. Lights blazed, everyone showered before bed, and even though it was cooler than it had been in weeks, the air conditioning blasted away.
“What’s that?” I asked, hearing the drone of the compressor and then the fans churning cold air through the ductwork.
“Why, that’s air conditioning!” John said. “We should turn it off and open up some of these windows but then the fog horns will wake us up.”
“Let’s open up,” Darleen said. I could sense her awkwardness in front of me. “We’re not being good stewards of our resources.”
Earlier that evening while we sat in the atrium, Miri brought out dessert; a huge layer cake covered in white, whipped frosting. The fat and sugar of the frosting was amazing in itself, but what really got to me was the cake. Our cakes at home were dense due to the flours my mother was forced to use. This cake was a light as air, four layers high filled with delectable whipped cream.
“What’s this made of?” I asked, holding the plate up, licking my lips.
They looked at me like I’d asked where babies came from.
“The same stuff all cakes are made of,” Miri said. “Why? You want the recipe?”
They laughed, and it hit its mark. I squirmed, embarrassed. “No, I just wondered. It’s good.”
“Flour, eggs and sugar,” Miri said.
“Wheat flour?”
“Oh, right,” Darleen said, nodding. “Yes, wheat. I forgot there for a minute you can’t get wheat outside of the city.”
Jackie looked away, smirking, but not before he caught Darleen’s eye. The worried expression I’d recognized earlier was on her face, as though she wanted to impress me but bragging was forbidden.
“Can you get sugar?”
“Yes, we get sugar,” I said. “We have maple sugar, too. We tap maple trees and boil it down for syrup.”
“You tap them?” Jackie asked, skeptical.
“Well, not me, but my grandmother and mother and father, and I go along to help.”
Clarity shot painfully through my brain. We didn’t have what we needed in Europe Town, not because it wasn’t available as we were led to believe; we didn’t have it because the government didn’t want u
s to have it. I wondered if my parents knew the truth, and then it occurred to me that my father saw wealth and plenty every day when he came to work and never said a word.
“Does anyone work in your family?” John asked, frowning. “I mean, it’s clear they work. But does your father have a job in the city?”
“His father is a bus driver, Dad. You know that,” Jackie said. “’Every head of household who is physically able must work.’”
“He drives dignitaries around town,” I said.
I was proud of my dad, yet there seemed to be an undercurrent of derision about my family, and it succeeding in making me feel a sense of shame.
“Well, this cake is wonderful,” Darleen said, changing the subject. “And for breakfast, we’ll have pancakes.”
It would be gluten filled evening, with cookies for my bedtime snack.
While I lay in bed thinking about all of this, my finger throbbed from a paper cut. John had given me a glossy magazine filled with photographs of cars displayed at what he called the Auto Show and leafing through it, the heavy stock sliced my finger. “I’ll get a Band-Aid,” Darleen said.
“Don’t get blood on the magazine now,” John said, reaching for it.
“Here. I bought him a Mickey Mouse,” Darleen said, laughing.
“Where the heck did you get that?” Jackie asked.
“I gave it to her,” Miri said. “Dad found a box in the chest when he was setting up your old room for Steve.”
Peeling paper off the bandage, I’d never seen Mickey Mouse. “Who is it?” I asked.
“He’s a famous cartoon character,” John said. “You wouldn’t know him, but someone maybe five or ten years older than you would.”
Laying in that soft bed, the slight fishy smell of the lake, the fog horns blasting occasionally and the rumble of my stomach not accustomed to the rich desserts, waves of sadness combined with an emotion I couldn’t identify immediately rolled through me. I looked at my finger in the dim light, at the smiling mouse with the red shorts looking up at me. Turning to the wall, I started to weep, and when I was all cried out, I realized the other emotion I felt was guilt. Comfort, cake and Mickey Mouse combined, my possibilities had increased exponentially by the simple act of leaving my family.
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