When It Rains

by Joel Shaw

  “You feel good,” he whispered.

  “You need a bath.” Faye replied, then pulled his pants off with one swift motion.

  “Now?”

  “Later. Next time you better be clean.”

  “Yes mamm...what ever you say.” He closed his eyes as he felt her moist lips draw in his erect penis one inch at a time.

  “You have a nice dick, Mister Cooke.”

  “OOOOhhhhhuuuuoooooOOOOh,” Harold said, “that was great.”

  “That was fast.”

  “I know...,” Harold blushed deeply “...I...I’m out of practice, I guess. Can I help you...you know...have an orgasm?”

  “You are obligated, sir. Let me give you a quick lesson.” Faye guided his fingers to the spot and established a tempo before letting go completely allowing herself to enjoy the moment. She experienced one explosive orgasm after the other until she was exhausted and could take no more. She pushed Harold’s hand away and emitted a long satisfied sigh.

  “Like you said, Harold, It’s been a long time.” She drew Harold face to her’s and planted a wet kiss on his lips.

  “You did real good, Harold...real good.”

  Harold, embarrassed, turned his attention once again to the window and the weather. Was it his imagination or had the clouds thickened? He got up and put on one of Faye’s many robes before taking his post at the window.

  “Do you see it?” He looked over his shoulder at Faye. She was dressing hurriedly.

  “I see something, unusual, she grinned...and it isn’t the weather. I’m going downstairs to check on Amber.

  “How is she?” Harold asked.

  “She’ll be fine, it will take a couple of weeks for her ribs to heal. I’m not too worried about her, it’s Jerry that I’m really worried about. He is quite ill and dehydrated. He needs plenty of rest but he doesn’t take care of himself. Never has. He thinks he’s indestructible.”

  Harold did not respond. There was a new formation of clouds coming into view. Cumulus clouds.

  “Look Faye...you see the grey in those clouds?” He turned to make sure she was seeing what he was seeing but she had left the room.

  “The grey indicates moisture...it’s going to rain...it’s going to rain.”

  #

  Chapter 38

  Milton was sweating profusely. His hiding place, a metal locker adjacent to the massive, churning, diesel was trapping the engine’s heat, turning it into an oven. The noise was deafening and the combination of heat and noise triggered the panic reflex. He tried to maintain his composure as he watched the thermometer’s needle, visible through a narrow vent in the door, rise above one hundred and three degrees. When he heard Jordan’s vehement outburst his knees became weak and began to tremble while his hands, slippery from perspiration, allowed the bronze lever to slip from his grasp clattering like a marble inside a tin can as it bounced against the thin wall before hitting the floor with a resounding metallic clunk.

  Milton panicked, certain that he had given away his position, he brought his full weight to bear against the door and soon realized that he was locked in. He peeked through the vent slats as a shadow passed then returned. He tried to hold the door closed as Jordan pulled on the narrow latch. After a brief struggle Jordan won the tug-o-war and jerked the narrow locker door open. He was seething, still, but did not waste energy on Milton, he zeroed in on the bronze lever and stooped to retrieve it, determined to possess it before beating the tar out of the silly black man.

  Milton was having none of it. He reacted quickly placing one foot on Jordan’s hand, pinning it to the floor under his boot, mashing flesh and bones into the steel diamond-plate floor, preventing Jordan from recovering the tool.

  The standoff continued for several seconds as Jordan struggled to free his hand. He feared another debilitating injury to his person. If he suffered broken fingers he would be unable to properly defend himself. Worse yet, he had no weapons on his person, having foolishly assumed that he was free and clear of danger. His ego suffered terribly. He began to question his ability to complete his mission. He was exhausted from his multiple encounters with the locals. They were defeating him, wearing him out physically and mentally with unpredictable assaults on his person and pride. They kept him guessing...and worrying. And now it had happened again.

  Meanwhile, Milton was trying to extricate his Colt .45 from his belt without letting up on Jordan. There wasn’t room in the narrow locker for his shoulders and elbows to pivot. He had to get out. In order to do so, he would have to remove his foot from Jordan’s hand. So be it. Without further deliberation, he stepped from the locker placing his one-hundred and thirty pounds of flesh and bones directly on top of Jordan’s hand and gave his boot a twist as he propelled himself forward. The tearing flesh caused Jordan to again howl in agony. Milton was grinning as he stepped over Jordan’s doubled-over body, removing the Colt from its holster, he continued down the narrow corridor for a few paces before turning, leveling the business end of the Colt at Jordan who was sitting, now, on the floor, nursing his broken hand, glaring at him with brilliant, blue eyes.

  “GODDAMN YOU,” Jordan yelled, “YOU BROKE MY FUCKING FINGERS.”

  Milton could see Jordan’s lips moving, but could not read them. He quickly retrieved the lever and tucked it inside his shirt for safekeeping before he responded.

  “WHAT?” He yelled, pointing to his ear’s and shrugging. The engine’s noise and heat combined with the smell of diesel fuel was making Milton ill. He signaled Jordan to advance forward into the engineer’s cabin. Jordan, unable to use his left hand, hopped along the corridor like a three-legged dog. Once inside he closed the fire door, the decibel level dropped significantly.

  “What’s that you said?” Milton asked, not really caring.

  “I said you fucking broke two of my fingers,” Jordan replied, a tiny drop formed below his tear duct and began its descent to his upper lip. Embarrassed, he quickly licked it away.

  “Good, I’ll break your arm next time.” Milton said smugly. Full of himself, his confidence had been restored. He had the upper hand; now he must keep it. He could see that Jordan was physically suffering. Maybe he would be willing to make a deal. Milton dismissed the thought with a shake of his head. Ridiculous, how could he trust this guy? Who was this guy, anyway? He appeared out of nowhere, caused all kind of trouble, and now he was trying to steal the supply train. Milton grinned. Everyone had an interest in the train and now he had it under his control. He was in charge. He was the boss, now.

  “There won’t be a next time.” Jordan growled. He was furious with himself and decided at that instant to show no mercy the next time he met one of the fucking townies. Fucking townies were destroying his plans one incident at a time. Fucking backward, retarded, townies. And now they had him crying. He wanted to scream, but resisted the urge, not wishing to alarm the fucking no-good son-of-a-bitch townie who was pointing a large-bore semi-automatic pistol at him. He might accidentally pull the trigger and accidentally hit him. Why take the chance?

  “What’s your name?” Jordan asked.

  “I told you earlier, man. My name’s Milton...Milton Webber.”

  “Well, Milton Webber, would you mind not pointing that gun at me. I’ve been shot already and...”

  It was Milton’s turn to sneer. “I know,” he laughed, “you shot your own stupid ass. That was pretty fucking...stupid, man.”

  Jordan wasn’t to be mocked. “You want to know stupid? You goofy bastards thought you killed me. That was stupid. As you can see, you didn’t get the job done.” Feeling triumphant, Jordan tried to stand but pain vanquished his victory and he slumped to the floor.

  “No time like the present.” Milton slowly pulled the hammer back until it locked.

  “I’ll do a better job this time, I promise.” Milton smiled as he took a step forward, pointing the weapon at Jordan’s forehead.

  “You got anything else to say before I send you to hell?” Milton’s threat was hollow. Shooting
a man point-blank...in the face, conjured up horrific images for him. He did not relish the thought of exploded brains contaminating the compartment. A compartment that might serve as his home in the near future. His mind whirled through various killing scenarios as the gun he clenched wagged wildly. The tension intensified as Milton placed his index finger on the trigger to scratch an itch.

  “WAIT.” Jordan bellowed. You’ll never get this train moving without my help.”

  “Oh? What makes you think I want to take this train?”

  “Why else would you want the lever,” Jordan asked. He hoped to keep the skinny black man engaged in conversation while he formulated his escape plan but the formula was not forthcoming.

  “OK,” Milton confessed, “I was thinking about taking a little railroad trip, but I don’t think I want you for company...”

  “You had better think again, partner,” Jordan scoffed, “You have no idea what you are doing...you need me.” And I need you, he thought as he managed a sliver of a smile. Dammit all to hell.

  “We ain’t partners, fool. You are my hostage; I’m in command. I’m the engineer, now.”

  On a better day, Jordan would have challenged the statement but this was a bad day. A very bad day.

  “OK commander...what’s next?” Jordan asked.

  Milton glanced at the sun, as if he had a timetable to meet, then turned to Jordan with his decision.

  “We’er taking this train to Florida.”

  “FLORIDA.” Jordan bit his tongue to prevent himself from laughing hysterically. Another tear formed, then another and another. He thought to wipe them away but was too amused to care. Florida, of all places.

  “Florida Territory is restricted, has been for ten years or more. Nothing and nobody get’s across that border without credentials...besides, Florida is for whites only...and Mister...you ain’t white.

  “Bullshit, since when did that happen?” Milton was hungry for news...he wanted to know what was happening out there. How were other’s surviving? Was every town like this town?

  Jordan was happy to oblige. He was not a dispenser of hope. “Since the union of the states was dissolved in 2050. Don’t you hicks get any news up here?” He knew they didn’t. “Let me give you an update. Communication networks do exist but they use restricted frequencies, serving only those with the proper equipment and authorizations to access them. All of those jack-offs live in secured communities called Colonies. Most of the Colonies are segregated...you know, blacks living with blacks, mexicans with mexicans, Somalis with Somalis, Chinese with...well you get the picture?”

  Milton nodded excitedly. He was eager for more news.

  Jordan remained quiet for a moment, studying his foe. These hicks had no clue as to the condition of North America much less the world. Living in ignorance...that was the plan...it seemed to be working. The less the peons knew the better and the folks in this dirt-bag town didn’t know shit about the real world and had no way of finding out. Jordan’s mood was slightly elevated, knowing that only he knew the truth. The United States were no longer united. That was the plain and simple truth.

  “What I’m trying to get you to understand is this. You, being black, will not be welcome everywhere you go.”

  Milton snorted, “Nothing new about that.”

  “It’s worse than that. If you are caught out in the open by any one of a thousand or more tribes that roam the land between the colonies you will likely become someones slave or worse, unless it’s a black tribe, then you’ll probably be OK.”

  “Any black women in those tribes?” Milton grabbed his crotch. Willy was lonesome.

  “Of course there are women. Life goes on man, it’s just a whole hell of a lot harder to survive.”

  “Where can I find one of these black tribes?”

  Jordan hesitated, part of him, the evil, wanted to send him to the Colony of Philadelphia, the heart and home of the Tea Party Fundamentalist Order where he would disappear within a matter of minutes, never to be seen again. Or...the good...would send him to the colony of Detroit, Michigan home of the Black Panthers.

  “Detroit Mr. Milton is the place for you. Yes sir, Detroit, Michigan.”

  “Can I get there by train?”

  “This train?”

  “Yeah Mr. Ranger or whatever the hell you are, this train.”

  Milton was trying to wrap his head around the news when Jordan threw another truth bomb at him.

  “The Union is dissolved.”

  “What do you mean dissolved...like under water?”

  “Not like under water you dipstick, like not united...torn apart...” Jordan had to be careful about giving away too much information. His clothes also carried eMites. If his supervisor was at his post, listening, he would be in serious trouble. The thought caused him to pause. He hadn’t heard from his supervisor in weeks and that was unusual, especially for a micro-manager. If he needed backup, and that was looking more and more likely, would anyone respond? He hoped so.

  “You mean this ain’t the United States of America no more?”

  Jordan shook his head. He had volunteered enough...too much...information. Not to worry, though, Mr. Webber would likely believe anything he was told. All he had to do was point him in the right direction and send him on his way with a few eMites for company. Transporting them to where they would be most useful...Michigan...home of the homeless, beacon to the blind, monument of the inconsequential and misinformed whom amused themselves with debauchery, inspired by delusions of a new world...a better world. A veritable cache of information that no eScout had been able to penetrate successfully. And here, before him was the perfect infiltrator...a black man. His skin color was his credential.

  Jordan smiled at his captor, “What are you going to do?”

  Milton shrugged. He was overwhelmed by the news...and frightened. There had to be a better place to live...didn’t there? Detroit might be his best bet. He wanted a woman...a black woman.

  The Colt hung loosely from his hand, like his dream, it too had lost its power and appeal. He carefully lowered the hammer and stuffed it back in his belt before turning to stare out the window of the cab looking for a way out.

  He studied the parallel rails, following them with his eyes, wondering where they could take him. Into the unknown for sure. If Jordan was telling the truth, the world had changed and not for the better. His dream of going on walk-about had turned into a nightmarish reality. Where could he go...he wondered as he gazed through the windshield of the locomotive at the unusually dark clouds that sailed over head. His thoughts turned to Harold. What was he doing now? Probably freaking out and doing his rain dance, a weekly ritual that had produced nothing but wind and dust. These clouds were different...low altitude, slow moving harbingers of an approaching storm? And the air...it was different, humid. By God, maybe Harold was right. Maybe it was going to rain.

  Jordan interrupted Milton’s daydream. “I have a suggestion Mr. Webber.”

  “Oh, what’s that?”

  “I think you should go to Detroit.”

  “I’m thinking about it...”

  “From what I hear it’s the place to be. You’ll fit in. You’ll have gambling, whores, food, water...might even find some kin of yours up there.”

  “Ain’t got no kin...not that I know of. Don’t gamble, never did, but a whore...that’s something a man can appreciate.” Milton’s eyes’ glazed over as he tried to remember the last time he had been laid. He couldn’t recall the date but he did remember the woman, Sharon. Not a whore. A fine woman. He smiled...lost to the past...until he saw the rain drops splattered on the windshield.

  #

  Chapter 39

  Amber was awakened by slow tender caresses. She opened her eyes and saw Sheila sitting next to her on the cot, stroking her hair with a dirty hand.

  “Where have you been?” Amber said as she reached for Sheila’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

  Sheila sighed. “I was taking care of a last little business.”
>
  “And?” Amber coaxed.

  “And it’s all over,” Sheila said. Her tone was unusually calm.

  “For real?” Amber felt a sense of relief engulf her. She was tired of doing battle, she wanted to recover from her injuries and explore this new world she had come to by chance and circumstance. She wanted a family...no, she needed a family. What did Sheila need?

  “For real. I knew it the instant I killed the last Swan standing.”

  “Are you OK?” Amber asked.

  “Surprisingly, I am,” Sheila said.

  “You look tired. You should get some rest. I’ll stay here with you...forever if you like.” Amber was sincere in her desire to spend more time with Sheila...but there was that small, persistent voice inside of her that desired a man’s touch.

  “That won’t be necessary, Amber,” Sheila said softly then closed her eyes and fell asleep where she sat.

  Amber rose slowly and allowed Sheila to collapse into the comforter. She pulled a loose blanket around herself and turned to enter the kitchen.

  Faye was standing at the door. “It sounds like your girl there has taken care of her business. Any idea what you two are going to do next?”

  “Not really,” Amber said as she took a seat near the stove for warmth. “It kinda depends on you.”

  “Why me?” Faye asked, suddenly on guard.

  “Because of this,” Amber said indicating her well-stocked surroundings, “you have food, water and shelter...and friends. I have nothing.”

  “You have a brother and you have Sheila...that’s something.”

  “I know, all yall have been real good to me. I like it here. I would like to stay.”

  “I...”Faye had anticipated the question, in one form or another, and had formulated an answer. Truthfully, she had rehearsed the answer several times, choosing her words carefully so as to not be misinterpreted.

  “I want you to know that I have enjoyed meeting you and Sheila. I’m glad I was able to be of some assistance to you in your quest to seek justice and...”