When It Rains

by Joel Shaw

  “How do you like me now you bastard?” She was screaming at him. Adrenaline was pumping through her veins.

  “You still want to have me for breakfast?”

  She wanted to hurt him, again and again. A quiet storm had been building within her for years, fueled by the injustices she saw around her every day growing up. This...this...shell of a man was not her target. He was vermin and not worthy of her wrath.

  She could hear Jordan’s words now, “while the bad guy is on the ground, get the hell out...” She studied her emaciated attacker. He was spent, weak and suffering, he lay in the dirt, clutching his bloodied chest, studying her with one open eye. He was about to speak but stopped when Amber feinted another squeeze of the Tazer’s trigger.

  “Are you a Ranger?” She asked it casually, indicating that she no longer felt threatened.

  “Hell no, I ain’t no Ranger. I...”

  Amber pointed the Tazer at him again. “I didn’t thinks so... Now, shut up.”

  “You won’t be so lucky if you meet up with one of them Rangers. They live underground...”

  She pulled the trigger again. The wires danced with the dirty man. “I said shut up and I meant it.”

  The man lay mute in his stained underwear. Amber wondered where this man had come from. Did he live in this town? Where there any others and what the hell did he just say...they live underground? Jordan didn’t mention anything about...she looked at the worm again. Was he telling the truth?

  “What? Who lives underground?”

  The beaten man closed his mouth and slowly shook his head from side to side.

  Amber ejected the spent cartridge, reloaded, then holstered the Tazer. She was shaking still from the attack and had difficulty packing her gear all the while keeping her eye on the dude in the dirt.

  Once packed, she opened the cycle’s throttle and put some miles between herself and Comanche before pulling over to get her bearings. She sucked on the Hydro-Pack straw and got bubbles. The Hydro-Pack was almost empty. She pulled the Kansas State map from the top pocket of the backpack and spread it out before her. Looking for the FWC icon that Duane used to indicate Federal Water Dispensers, she saw there was an icon at the intersection of State Highways 135 and 70.

  "Hello Salina,” she said.

  Tracing her route with her index finger, she performed some rough calculations aloud.

  “Fifty miles to Wichita, then about a hundred to Salina. I'll get there around 11am. Four hours to recharge. Hydrate, Eat. Rest. Look around a bit and try to make it into Nebraska before dark. Sounds like a plan.”

  She folded the map, giggling to herself, happy to have found that her voice was sufficient companionship for the time being. She tucked the map under her windbreaker. She liked the paper map. There was something organic about the feel and the smell of the paper. She decided to leave the GPS packed away for the day saving the batteries. She knew she would need it that evening to find a water dispenser.

  As the sun began to heat the Kansas soil, she donned her back pack, tightly cinching the straps, adjusted the mouthpiece that led to the hydropack then mounted the Brammo. While adjusting her goggles, she marveled at Brammo for its quiet efficiency. She didn't know where Italy was but she was grateful that the... what did they call themselves? Whatever...the Italy people had made such a fine machine. She sparked the electrons to life with a twist of her right hand and rode her muted mount north following Highway 81 not noticing the black dot in her rear view mirror.

  She got lost where the road split near Wichita and had to resort to the GPS to get her back on track. The Kansas roads were bad, large weeds sprouted from cracks in the road causing her to slow to 40 miles an hour for long distances, zig zagging around one obstacle after another.

  She arrived in Salina during the heat of mid-afternoon. She exited Highway 81, pointing the front wheel of the Brammo east toward what appeared to be the center of town. Following the service road that paralleled the railroad tracks she hoped to find an abandoned building and some shelter. She saw people every now and then and an occasional truck. Part of her wanted desperately to interact with another human being, but her most recent encounter was enough to dissuade her from doing so.

  Following the tracks east for several miles, she arrived at a point where the rails split like branches of a willow tree, fanning out across a hundred yard expanse to the north. Some tracks were filled with graffiti-covered railroad cars and some lay empty. Two pair of rails split south in the direction of a massive structure that looked like a fifty-foot tall eighteen-pack of concrete cans. She stopped at the end of the chain of cars that disappeared into a distant tunnel at the base of the eighteen pack. Every few minutes the cars would slowly grind forward a few yards then stop. She could see that odd funnel shaped cars were being loaded inside the tunnel. A cloud of dusty material periodically swirled out of the tunnel. Interested, but not eager to be seen, she rode behind a concrete building, out of the glare of the sun, and parked her scooter near an empty dumpster. She busied herself for a few moments with a damp rag, wiping the road grit from her face, neck and goggles, nursing the welts on her cheeks and jaw caused by collisions with bugs. She had slowed soon after she realized what was causing the welts. At 55 miles per hour, colliding with a large bug was like being stung by a bee the size of a baseball.

  She peed and ate before exploring her surroundings. Careful not to walk into the open, she walked the perimeter of the building staying in the shadows of the building testing one door after another. Finding none open, she sat in the dirt between two discarded electric transformers and surveyed the area with the small monocular given to her by Jordan.

  She studied the activity at the base of the towering, cylindrical buildings. She could see soot belch from the engine, a mile down the track as, it jerked the chain of cars, one by one into the shaded tunnel, stopping for several minutes while a chute would swing out over the top of the car and release a wide stream of dusty brown granulated material. The engine would jerk the train, like steel dominoes, pulling forward another twenty yards, stopping again to repeat the routine. She couldn’t see any people but she sensed their presence. Whoever was commanding the operation was not visible. Whatever the cars were being loaded with, birds loved it and she was happy to see that birds still thrived in some regions. While traveling, she had seen few birds other than turkey vultures and hawks, circling, watching, and waiting. The birds she was now watching were fat and seemed to be enjoying themselves as they flitted about the monstrous steel bird feeders. She watched the train-loading operation for several hours dozing off in the afternoon heat every now and then until the sun was kissing the Western horizon. The last car was loaded and jerked from the mouth of the tunnel. The train pulled forward and stopped a hundred yards to the East. The loading chute was retracted and the scene fell silent.

  As the dust settled the fat birds swarmed to the mouth of the tunnel, pecking at the ground as if it were edible.

  Then they came. As though the first gate to the Super Bowl had been opened, stampeding people emerged from behind the surrounding buildings carrying containers and scoops, racing toward the tunnel, pushing, shoving, falling, trampling, they converged on the loading area like roaches at a crumb fest, scooping and sweeping spillage from the ground into their multi-colored containers. Some of the trampled, obviously injured, rose and limped onward without scoop or container; they picked like birds, one bite at a time, placing bits in their mouths with calloused fingers. As quick as they appeared, they were gone. Amber sat motionless. Stunned. What was it that these people so desperately needed? Then it dawned on her...food.

  "Those people are starving," she whispered to herself.

  The train cars were loaded with some sort of food. What was it? Where did the people go? Suddenly she was uneasy. If those people were fighting for bits on the ground, what would they do to get what she had. Her gut told her. They will do whatever it takes to take whatever she has. Surprisingly she was not afraid. She fingered th
e Tazer then checked her knife. Her heart was pounding, though. She had never seen such desperate people. What about the cloaking veil thing. What better time to try it? She plucked off her dirty, beige hat and gingerly pulled the veil from the crown. It was thin and delicate to the touch. The wind pulled at it as she put her hat back on and let the veil drape to the ground.

  "I can still see myself," she whispered.

  She felt silly. How in the world would she know if she were visible or not? There was one obvious method but she didn't yet have the courage to put it to the test. I wish I had a mirror, she thought and instantly remembered the dual side mirrors on the scooter.

  Jordan told her that she must remain motionless for the veil to be effective. It had something to do with light dispersion and refraction; whatever that was. She stood and quickly returned to her bike, clenching the veil with both hands so it wouldn't be lost to the wind. She sat on the Brammo saddle and let go of the veil, trying to find her reflection in the mirrors. She could see her shoes below the veil, nothing else. There was a slight shimmering as the wind moved the veil. That's what he was talking about,she thought. The shimmer would be noticeable if someone looking closely. She clutched the veil, held it still and studied herself or her not-self as it were. The shimmering ceased and she was invisible save for a slight, barely visible line where her veil met the atmosphere. She smiled. She looked in the mirrors again, wondering if she could conceal herself and the scooter while wearing the veil. Imagining herself speeding down the highway unseen and unheard. The veil was too small to fulfill her fantasy, however.

  "Impressive," she said softly, as she pulled the veil off and carefully folded it into the crown of her hat. She had a safety net. Feeling confident, she parked her cycle between a warehouse and a dumpster, then ate, drank, and dozed, waiting for the cover of darkness before doing any more exploring.

  She awoke from her nap with an involuntary jerk of her head. She could hear the familiar thrum of approaching diesel engines. She crawled to the end of the dumpster and looked for the source. A convoy of small trucks rapidly approached the building. She panicked.

  "Hide," she told herself.

  She found a foothold on the dumpster and hoisted herself above the rim, peering inside. It wasn't empty, but there was room for her and her scooter. She jumped down and groped for the handle of the hinged door on the end of the dumpster. Pushing a lever up, she was able to swing the steel door open. She ran to her Brammo, pushing and pulling it into the dumpster. She tossed her backpack in and pushed the steel door shut, engaging the lever before climbing up and over, falling down to the floor of the dumpster as the convoy came to a halt at a nearby loading dock a scant distance from where she lay sprawled on the hot, steel floor in a heap of cartons. She heard doors slamming, then voices, wonderful voices.

  A male asked, "Who has the keys?"

  "Julian."

  "Hey Julian. Open the doors."

  “I’m...I will...I’m coming man, damn, I gotta take a piss, first.”

  They were close. Very close. Voices echoing in the steel chamber. Amber listened intently, trying to muffle the sound of her pounding heart, hat held close to her mouth to muffle hyperventilating. She thought about the veil, wondering if it would protect her, now. Should she try? No way she was going to move, unless she absolutely had to. She heard a stream of liquid hit the rear wall of the dumpster and then a long sigh of relief.

  "You should be urinating in the Recycler, Jules" It was a woman's voice. Amber relaxed a little. She longed for her mother’s voice.

  “Next time; I could’t wait...my eyeballs were floatin'."

  Julian walked the length of the dumpster, tossing something into it that came to rest between Amber's legs. She heard metallic sounds of doors being opened and rotating metal rollers as the overhead door was retracted. A red glow emanated from the interior. It cast an eery glow over the dumpster, illuminating her hideout. Amber slowly got to her feet and tried to peer over the top edge of six foot deep dumpster. It was too tall. She hopped a couple of times but couldn't see over the rim. She crowched on the seat of the Brammo and slowly stood, balancing on the seat, gripping the warm steel to steady herself, she peered over the rim.

  Inside the building, several people were piling boxes onto carts and pushing them toward the overhead door. Near the door, a human chain of a dozen or so people loaded the boxes into dual-wheeled delivery vans like the kind that used to deliver packages to her house when she was a child. On the side of the trucks was emblazoned in large blue letters HS layered over a logo of a gold stem of grain in a blue bottle. HS sounded familiar to Amber but she didn't immediately register it until she thought about the uniforms that resembled what she was wearing. Health Services; that's what it was.

  "Hey,that's my cover. I'm supposed to be a Health Services courier." she whispered. She snickered a little, not feeling so threatened by the strangers.

  She peeked over the rim of the dumpster one more time. She could tell by the way boxes were being tossed around that they weren't heavy, just bulky.

  "Ten minutes to go." Another female voice said. The sound was welcome. Amber wished the women would come closer and have a real conversation so she could listen to the soothing tone of their voices. She wanted to jump over the rim and introduce herself.

  "Everybody loaded?" a woman shouted.

  "Check, check, check, voices called one after the other. The overhead door was closed as the truck engines rumbled to life. Amber stood more erect on the seat of the Brammo to get a better view.

  A voice from behind startled her, “Who the hell are you?"

  Amber twisted suddenly on the Brammo's seat catching a glimpse of a tall black woman with a green afro and a shorter brown-skinned male with a doo rag wrapped around his dread locks looking directly at her from the loading dock. Her rapid motions caused her to loose her to loose her footing; the Brammo fell to the right and she to the left.

  Immediately, the dumpster door swung open as she disentangled her foot from the spokes of the scooter.

  "Hi," she said, hopping to her feet like a jack-in-the-box. She didn't know what else to say.

  "Hi, yourself," the woman said. "Are you alright?"

  "Sure, just a little bruised, I guess."

  "What are you doing in this dumpster?"

  Amber paused. Be honest she told herself. "Hiding."

  "Hiding from what?"

  "Hiding from you."

  "I see. Well, when you aren't hiding, what are you doing?"

  "Riding this...and...” She thought about her cover story but decided not to go there. She pointed at the contorted Brammo beneath her feet. “That’s all, just riding around...” She was embarrassed by her silly reply and wished she hadn’t said it.

  "What is that? It looks pretty cool." This from the young man whom stood beside the woman.

  "It's my Brammo Enertia Transport manufactured in Italy in 2021." She repeated the exact words that Jordan had used.

  The young man laughed. "That's awesome. What's a Brammo Enertia Transport? It looks like a motorcycle."

  Amber reached down and grabbed hold of the handlebars, attempting to lift the three-hundred and twenty-four pound cycle to it's wheels.

  "Let me help," the young man said. The two of them managed to erect the Brammo and wheeled it out of the dumpster.

  "Where's the engine?"

  "Julian. Control yourself, would you? We have work to do."

  The black woman extended her hand to Amber. “Hi, my name is Shania. This inquisitive young man is Julian."

  "Everyone calls me Jules."

  "Jules, hush."

  Amber shook the hand. “Hi, my name is Amber."

  "That's a cool name. Amber." Jules was studying Amber intently.

  "OK, Amber I would like to hear your story, but I suspect that it is a long one and we have to get to work."

  Shania clicked on her headlamp and studied Amber for a few seconds. Do you work for Health Services?"

  "Ye
s. I'm a courier. I'm on my way.." She stopped. Oh shit. She was going to rehearse an answer to that question but hadn’t. Her mind raced. She decided to take a chance. These people should be OK, otherwise Jordan wouldn’t have given her the uniform. Tell the truth. What’s the worse that could happen?

  "I'm on my way to St. Cloud, Minnesota."

  "Good God. Really? With a message?"

  "Sort of."

  Shania laughed. "I knew it would be a long story. Well Amber, like I said we have to get to work. Is your Inertia whatever still working?

  Amber sat on the saddle and gave the throttle a twist. Nothing happened. "I guess not. Something must have happened to it when it fell over."

  "Do you know how to fix it?"

  "No mamma, but I think I can figure it out. I’m pretty good with mechanical things.”

  "I could fix it." Julian interrupted.

  "Or you would die trying, I'm sure," Shania laughed.

  "Cmon, Amber. You come with us. We work for Health Services, too. You can't spend the night out here. It's too dangerous. We'll push your bike into the warehouse and deal with it later.

  "That's a suggestion, Amber. You do what suits you."

  "That suits me fine, mamm. I haven't had any company in days. I was feeling a bit lonesome."

  "Well, come on then. We have to catch up to the group."

  #

  The group sped west on I70 for several miles before turning their lights off, exiting onto a narrow gravel road. Shania and Julian turned on their headlamps, bathing the cab of the truck in red light. They bounced along the road for forty minutes before pulling into a field.