The Breeders

by Matthew J. Beier

  “They knew we were heterosexual rights activists by our yard sign, apparently. They said soldiers were making rounds over the entire territory for the escaped prisoners they say were behind the attacks.”

  “They were talking about me, then.”

  Moses grimaced. They walked back to the house, shivering as their feet crunched over the dead, frosty grass.

  It was Sam who came up with the solution to get Dex off the farm, unnoticed. “Honey, if your face has been pasted all over the news, we’re not risking taking you into town, just to have somebody recognize you and call the police. But that’s where I come in. Tell me, have you ever been to the Queens of the Midwest drag convention?”

  THAT MORNING, Dex stepped into a dress for the first time in his life. Sam’s drag wardrobe was vast and took up an entire room on their third floor. He was a collector on top of being just a wearer, and there were dresses, feather boas, fake breasts, and wigs of all shapes and sizes. Sam first made Dex shave his chest, arms, and legs, then covered his wounds with makeup. Next, he adorned Dex with a royal blue sheath dress. It was a bit large and fell down his front, but Sam used pins to keep it in place. “The convention doesn’t start until Saturday, but it’s more or less a weeklong party,” he assured Dex while painting his eyes with gaudy blue eye shadow. “It’s been five years since I’ve gone, mostly because I lost a lot of my drag friends after Efron died. They tended to be traditionalists, and if it wasn’t related to homosexuality, they wanted nothing to do with it. Well, my baby boy wasn’t a homosexual, and when he died, they didn’t even pretend to care.”

  “Will they recognize you?”

  “Honey, we’re not actually going to the convention. We just need a viable disguise to get you to Kansas City.”

  “What’s in Kansas City?”

  Sam rolled his eyes. “Dexter, it’s the fourth most populated city on the continent, and you need a chip replaced. All we need to do is find the hetero part of town and ask around. Then, we’ll buy you a com and get you safe and sound back to Minneapolis, if we can get you past the military travel wardens. I saw on the news that they’re making people scan their chips for public ground travel like trains, but roadways in and out of the big cities are only being monitored visually. Too many people to stop and check every car.” Sam hunched down and brought his eyes within five inches of Dex’s face in a careful attempt to apply a shimmering gold lining to his eyelids. “Don’t worry. We’re not going to give you up without a fight.”

  “Sam, hurry up!” came Moses’s voice from downstairs.

  But Sam scoffed. “My husband has no appreciation for the art of drag. If you’re going to pass for a real drag queen, we’ve got to do it right.”

  Dex chuckled, then said, “Either way, I thought of some people who might be able to help us research a good place to find a chip replace—” He was about to elaborate on his idea of contacting Sheila Willy or Linda Glass when Sam gave his face a light slap.

  “Makeup now, planning later! Let me finish my work!”

  BY EIGHT O’CLOCK they were in Moses’s truck, bumping down a narrow dirt road that lined the men’s property. It would be a six-and-a-half-hour drive from the farm to Kansas City. Both men had left their pocket coms at home as a precaution against being tracked, but Dex had looked for three com addresses in the Public Address Database before their departure. Stuart Jarvis was not listed, but Sheila Willy and Linda Glass were. Dex had no idea if Sheila had survived the Sterile Me Susan’s raid with Grace, but if she had, there was a chance they were together. If Sheila was a dead end, Linda Glass would be able to put him in touch with Stuart, who might know something. Dex had decided to forego completely any attempt to contact his mothers. Keeping them oblivious to his survival would help them stay safe. The notion of returning to Minnesota and making no effort to see them one last time was unthinkable, but there was no better option; Dex wanted them to finish their lives in peace. If ever there came a chance, he would let them know—perhaps anonymously, if necessary—that he was alive and still loved them.

  Sheila and Linda’s connections to him were more obscure. He jotted down their addresses on a note pad and tried to put the slip of paper into a pocket, only to remember he was wearing a dress. He shoved it down the front, between his bra and silicone breasts. It was a particularly original sensation. Sam had transformed him completely. As if the dress, makeup, and auburn bob wig weren’t enough, Dex could barely balance in the high heels. He had a change of clothes packed in a duffel bag, of course, but he would have to be a new man under this costume for at least a day. He wondered how many eyes would follow him when he got out of the truck to try calling the two women. With any luck, there would be a public com that had a private booth, so he could default to his true personality while speaking.

  Moses turned onto Old Route 60 just past the town of Essex, and twenty minutes later, he stopped in Poplar Bluff. “Snacks,” the man said, pointing to a Target Express on their left. “Also, I think there’s a public com booth just up ahead, next to the Prism Bank.” He pointed up the main street, and Dex saw the bank’s rundown sign. Below it was indeed a row of booths, each one a closed alcove with an open back. They would be private enough, and they were free for the first five minutes, meaning he would not have to scan his TruthChip.

  Sam gripped Dex’s shoulder. “Honey, remember: balance, and one foot in front of the other when you walk. If anyone talks to you, channel me, and you should be fine!”

  Dex could not help but grin. “Thanks, Sam.”

  He balanced his way down the uneven sidewalk. His confidence was meager at best, and there was no way he would pass for an authentic drag revival enthusiast if his strut wasn’t convincing. Two fags around his age were approaching, holding hands. Dex imagined Sam’s buoyancy inflating him, and suddenly, balance came more easily. He mustered as colossal a sense of fun as he could.

  Test yourself out. Act the part.

  “Good morning, handsome and handsome!” he said, tipping his heart-shaped sunglasses as the fags approached. He made his gaze flit down their muscular, country-fed bodies, then back to their eyes.

  “Morning honey,” one of them said with a polite smile. Dex noticed that both men were focused on the bicep connecting his hand to the sunglasses. He flexed.

  “You off to Kansas City for the convention?” the other fag said.

  “You know it,” Dex replied. He puckered his lips and smooched the air toward them and continued walking. Neither fag seemed to think twice at Dex’s costume as he walked by. But just when he thought he was in the clear, the first one called after him. “Hey, what’s your name, sister?”

  Dex froze. Sam had not helped him pick out a drag name.

  Play the part, he thought. Don’t let them see you hesitate.

  Dex stopped, turned, and sauntered back. He leaned in toward the first fag and touched his pointer finger to the man’s lips. As he did so, the answer appeared in his mind.

  “Papaya Fruitcake is my name. And don’t you forget it, sugar buns.”

  He swung himself around, suddenly feeling worthy of the high heels, and strutted down the sidewalk, toward the com booth. A rush of adrenaline charged his walk. The shoes clacked against the cement, piercing the small Missouri town’s morning peace. If there was one thing Dex had never imagined for himself, it was this. He smiled, hoping Sheila Willy and Linda Glass had survived the attack in Minneapolis. If either one answered her com when Dex called, it would be the miracle he needed to get back into life’s game and track down the woman who had made him a man.

  She’d be laughing if she could see me now, Dex thought with a grin, standing there in his dress. He reached for the public com’s handset and punched in Sheila Willy’s address.

  CHAPTER 43 (HER)

  GRACE HAD BEEN WAITING for four hours in the airport hangar, under the smell of smoke and the continuous wail of the station’s emergency alarm, when Sergeant Linder entered the provisional sleeping bay to address the stranded civilians.
Flanking him were the four commercial hydro plane pilots. Grace recognized hers on the farthest left. Once again, the sergeant was dressed only in rainbow faux-camouflage army shorts, but tonight, he looked sweaty and tired.

  “May I have your attention please!” He spoke it as an order, even though nobody was talking. “Thank you. As you may have figured, we’ve just suffered an attack by the natives. One of your planes. Cher Airlines Flight 212, bound for Sydney. I’ve received clearance from General Thomas Helio himself to start evacuating you from this base within the hour. However, ninety-eight of you are now without a jet. I’ve spoken with your pilots, and we are going to divvy up open space on the three remaining airliners. The remaining two commercial jets have a total of sixty-eight open seats, and Representative Carnevale’s chartered jet has another thirty. Each plane will continue on its planned course, and those still stranded in the wrong city upon landing will be provided accommodations until the restrictions on air travel are officially lifted. Please gather your belongings, and those of you whose planes are still intact, your pilots will be waiting outside. Those from Cher 212, your pilot will direct you onto your new plane. All your identities will be processed upon landing at your final destinations. Questions?”

  Nobody spoke.

  “Good. It’s been a pleasure having you in Los Angeles, and may the colors be with you as you journey onward.”

  Sergeant Linder scratched his chest, then turned, leaving the pilots to gather their respective passengers. Grace stood alone as people began organizing themselves. She offered hopeful smiles to some of the Cliff House women, and they smiled back, but they had other friends to deliberate with. If any of them noticed Marvel’s absence, none cared enough to say anything. In the silence of the ruins, the girl, wherever she was, would hear their plane depart forever, perhaps even see its lights disappearing over the Pacific. The startling truth was that now there really was no turning back for any of them. Despite having told herself this every day for the past month, Grace saw the precipice of her future clearly now and accepted what was imminent: that final leap into a world unknown. The next time her feet touched land, she would be across the ocean, at the bottom of the world.

  CHAPTER 44 (HIM)

  DEX’S CALL TO SHEILA’S COM address rang only once before someone answered. Relief jumped in his chest, then disappointment crushed it.

  “I’m sorry, but the com address 29.323.22.10 has been disconnected,” a mechanized voice told him. “If you would like to try another address, please cancel this call and enter it now.”

  Goddamnit.

  Dex entered Linda’s address. It rang four times before he heard a click, a rustle, and then a woman’s voice.

  “This is Linda.”

  His heart leapt with joy and gratitude. He had five minutes to speak before the com would require a chip scan for payment.

  “Linda Glass?”

  “Yes, that’s me.”

  “Linda, it’s Dex. Grace’s Dex. I’m calling from a public com, and I don’t want to put you in any danger in case your calls are being monitored, but I need help.”

  “Dex!” Linda exclaimed. “Where are you? Where is Grace?”

  With guilt weighing on his chest, he gave Linda as many details as he safely could in the fastest manner possible, including his plan to find a way to replace his TruthChip. Also being very careful not to mention too many details, Linda gave Dex a rundown of events on her side, including the fact that Grace was alive, and she had called her dad from some secure location. Dex wanted to twirl on his high heels with excitement, but the call clock was ticking, and he jumped to the point.

  “We can talk more when it’s safer, but right now, I need your help. I have to see Stuart Jarvis once I get back. Can you arrange a meeting for us? I don’t think I can go to his house, because last time I was there, it was being watched.”

  “I can do that. No problem. He’s been shacking himself up in a hotel to get away from Grace’s father. Apparently the attacks sent James into a bloody fervor against the heteros, and he and her brother have joined something called the Civilian Defense Squad. They’re marching all over the Twin Cities, holding demonstrations and public executions. Even Lars and his Gay Youth are taking part in it. It’s horrible, Dex! Stuart said Grace wanted him to warn me to get the family out of here, but I don’t know where to go!”

  By the com’s clock, Dex had only twenty-two seconds left on the free call. “Linda, my call is running out, but I’ll call you when I get a new chip and a new com. Keep an ear out, and I’ll get there as fast as I can. Tell Stuart I’m alive, and that Grace was going somewhere safe. That’s all I know.”

  “But Dex, she told Stuart—”

  “Tell me when I get there. The clock is out—”

  And the call ended. Dex hung up the handset. He swung out of the com booth, his shoulders back and his head held high, and put on the best drag queen performance he could. One foot in front of the other with complete confidence, just the way Sam had told him. He was too exuberant to feel embarrassed, too thankful Grace was alive to care if he was convincing. When he arrived back at the car, Sam had his wig on and was touching up his makeup using the truck’s visor mirror. Dex told him about the conversation with Linda Glass, and he beamed.

  “God’s looking down on you, honey, you know that?”

  Dex nodded. “Something’s keeping me lucky, that’s for sure. Let’s just hope it lasts.”

  SIX HOURS LATER, they were approaching Kansas City on I-70. The newer skyscrapers were glass, much like those of Minneapolis, but not all of them were coated with the same reflective material that would emit a rainbow under the sun. The metro area here was smaller than that of the Twin Cities, but over the past two hundred years it had become the epicenter of farming and agriculture for North America. Rife with fountains and green space, it was the crown of their vast heartland—a wider open and less murky version of Minneapolis and Chicago.

  Moses was driving near the middle of the six-lane highway as they approached, which left them more or less out of reach when they came to a military checkpoint. As they slowed for the cars to be observed and then waved through, Dex noticed that the sky was abuzz with hover jets. In the city, soldiers patrolled street corners, and he noticed in one downtown park that there was some sort of rally going on with people wearing rainbow arm bands. He thought back to what Linda said about the Civilian Defense Squad and public executions.

  It’s happening here, too. Terror crept into him at the thought, and he had to make a conscious effort not to let it threaten his newfound hope. All he could do was his best, and fear had no place in that.

  Sam had booked a hotel room that morning, just four blocks from the city’s newly rebuilt convention center, publicized on WorldCom as “The Fountain.” It was the site for the Queens of the Midwest convention, so both Dex and Sam would blend in with the rest of the attendees who were staying the week. Moses would simply look like a dragged-along husband (“Pun intended!” Sam had wisecracked as they discussed their plan), if anybody happened to pay close attention to them.

  Hotel check-in was not for another hour. Sam suggested they search out the hetero bars to begin their quest to find an underground chip replacement specialist. It was not particularly easy for upstanding citizens to burrow their way into illegal activities, but they had to start somewhere. Sam was holding a pad of paper, where it appeared he had jotted down a set of directions before leaving his pocket com at the house.

  “Moses, baby, you’re not going to like this, but I’ve got an idea of where we could start.”

  Moses simply glanced at his husband and waited for the answer.

  “I think we should go to the Jayhawker.”

  Dex noticed Moses’s knuckles turn white on the steering wheel. “What’s the Jayhawker?” he dared to ask.

  Sam sighed, then looked into the back seat. Through his curly blonde wig, pink eye shadow, and red lipstick came a twitch of grief, followed by a shake of his head that ruffled int
o a look of emboldened purpose. He blinked twice, then said with a heavy voice, “The Jayhawker is the hetero bar where our Efron was murdered.”

  “I HAVE SET MY RAINBOW IN THE CLOUDS, AND IT WILL BE A SIGN OF THE COVENANT BETWEEN ME AND THE EARTH.”

  —Genesis 9:13

  A MEMORY (HER)

  KEN, THE COOK AT THE SOUP KITCHEN, is crashing around with the pots, pans, and utensils, and Grace knows it is because of the God’s Army attacks in Kansas City and Melbourne. It isn’t just because all those people died but also because it’s just another excuse for the Queen to stay in office another term. This, in turn, is going to make it difficult for him to keep the soup kitchen open.

  “This fucking cucumber just won’t fucking cut!” Ken screams, throwing the vegetable onto the ground. It is the second to last one in his pile.

  Grace is twenty-one and volunteering, as she always has on Saturdays since starting at the University of Minnesota. The soup kitchen smells like years of burned food, and it’s dank and cold, just like everything in Obesaland this October.

  Ken shakes his head, then grabs the last cucumber. This time, the slicer works again, and the phallic green shaft unravels into spirals. It is strange that the salad he is making has become one of Grace’s favorite recipes. “You know,” Ken says, “you’re fucking stupid to be volunteering at a place like this.”

  Everything he says stings; that’s just how it is. Grace lets the thread of truth in it hurt, then roll off her back. She is preparing a platter of a hundred chicken breasts with spices. They don’t look half bad. Healthy food for the fatties. They always come, but they always seem to get food elsewhere, because so many of them remain fat and never get on their feet.

  “We’re living in scary times,” Ken says. “Mark my words.”

  “I still think the world can change,” Grace replies, glad that confidence in the statement’s truth fills her veins. The world is constantly shapeable; she refuses to believe society is set on a single path.