by Robert Brown
~ Excerpt from This Dark and Twisty Road
It was late in the morning when we started out, and we spent the better part of the day watching the trees and marshes of the bijou become more sparse, until finally as the sun started to set we broke through the last line of trees and back out on the prairie.
The crickets, or cicadas, or whatever bug it was that sings at night were so ferociously loud I could hear them over the small bike’s sputtering engine. Chloe, the oldest girl, was now asleep. Her eyes where tightly shut under her small goggles and her red pigtails were waving in the wind. Isabella, the tiny girl in the white lace dress, was nearly to the land of nod, but under her heavy eyelids she watched the sun stain the sky and distant mountains crimson.
I’ve got three wheels, and a frame of rust.
Blue skies above, and behind me dust.
Half a tank of gas won’t get very far.
But you’re safe from apocalypse, in Daddy’s sidecar.
- Lyrics from “To the Apocalypse in Daddy’s Side Car”
Honestly, I would have camped out at sunset myself. Laid my bedroll down and slept by my bike like a cowboy sleeps near his horse, except for the fear. I was afraid to stop moving for fear what would catch me if I did. Earlier in the day, the girls pointed out several large beasts feasting on a dead thing. Their fresh kill rendered us completely uninteresting, but I was haunted by the thought that we would eventually meet hungry versions of these beasts.
Finally, just before dawn, I determined the danger of falling asleep on my handlebars was just as life threatening as being eaten in our sleep, so I pulled the bike off the side of the road into a cluster of trees, laid on a patch of dried grass, and fell instantly asleep.
Some hours later, I found myself struggling to keep my eyelids covered enough to sleep, while the harsh hot sun slow-roasted my skin. I rolled over, threw my arms across my head, threw my coat over my head, which was way too hot, and finally remembered where I was, and the fact that we were out in the open, and I pulled myself awake.
I sat urgently up, and gazed blearily around waiting for my eyes to get used to being opened. “Kids?”
I heard a tiny, “Yes, Daddy?”
“Where are you?” I asked, standing.
“Look! Sand castles!” I heard a pair of small voices say.
The girls were crouched on a little sandy beach by a small lake. Around the lake were various hot-climate trees including a few palms and a cactus or two. It was a perfect little desert oasis, and it looked like I had slept late into the morning while the girls had woken early and made palace after palace in the sand. From somewhere in the sidecar they produced a pair of toy princesses, who stood on top of their sandcastles.
The two were so engrossed with their peaceful play, that I couldn’t bring myself to force them back on the road immediately, so I dug into the trunk (there was a little trunk area behind the seat in the side car) and pulled out the only food I had brought with me; canned chili. Upon pulling out the can, I realized I had not brought a can opener, but I had a big bowie knife, so I put the can on a large rock, put my boot on the can, and attempted to saw the top off with the knife.
“Daddy, what are you doing?” asked little five-year-old year old Isabella. Still calling me Daddy…that was going to take a bit of getting used to. Honestly, though, I must have been built for this job, since I found I wasn’t even formulating a plan to pawn them off somewhere else. In a different era, I would have to ‘take them to the authorities’, whatever that meant, and never see them again. But this was not a time to pawn your troubles and responsibilities off on the system. This was a time to step up, and do things your damn self.
“Making breakfast,” I said, while still struggling with the knife.
“We had oranges for breakfast. They were on the trees!” said Isabella.
“Would you like an orange?” asked Chloe, holding three freshly picked oranges in the upturned front of her skirt. I guess these little urchins were self-sufficient.
So we shared a few more oranges, then I buckled the kids back into the sidecar, and were off. I never did get that can of chili open.
We were crossing back over the open plain again. Hundreds of miles of pale yellow grass, unendingly speckled with little dry bushes. In the blue distance were mesas, and occasionally an airship could be spied far overhead, heading off on business I could not guess.
We passed more elelopes,or whatever they were, lumbering along with that same look of mildly nervous placidity. The girls were thrilled with these, excitedly pointing and yelling to each other over the wind and road noise.
Half of the massive mesas were crested with small towns. These only seemed accessible by air travel, much to our frustrations. The girls were getting hungry, and the chili would require a longer stop then I wanted to make, so I’m afraid we spent the larger part of the day trying to find road access to one of the mesa-top towns. The irony that I spent half the day trying to get to a town so we wouldn’t have to stop a make camp, which would have taken less time, was not lost on me. But now the sky was turning blood-orange, and the kids were looking exhausted and hungry.
Finally, after I was about to give up on finding town access and was starting to settle on the idea of stopping and making a fire to heat the damn chili (which I’m sure these little girls would have not enjoyed) we stumbled upon a beautiful little temporary city of tents. They were all colors of the rainbow in deep dry jewel tones, with tassels, golden ropes, flags and pikes. This mobile town lined both sides of the road with carts, shops, food stands and hauls.
There were dogs, too. One or two or three per tent. Beautiful, well-cared for beasts, and only of the largest species. Great Danes, and Dobermans, and Mastiffs all stood watch over their family’s homes. Although cleaned and well-fed, these were working beasts. They carried loads when the town was on the move, and they fought for their families’ defense if beasts attacked. Many had deep scars, or were missing ears, but all were loved and respected.
This town was not just one Neobedouin tribe, but many, and the colors of each tribe could be plainly seen on the tents and flags of each triangular block. These torch-lit blocks all pointed toward a center square where a huge bonfire was blazing. As such, the bazaar/town formed a sort of pie-shape, with every road leading towards the center.
Our little bike sputtered straight toward the crowded plaza without attracting any undue attention, and we came to a stop in front of a cluster of oil bin fires, on one of which skewered meat was cooking. I lifted the girls out of the sidecar, and hand-in-hand we walked to pick out our dinner from the friendly looking cart vendors.
All ages wandered the square, from bent old men to tiny children holding their parent’s hands. They shopped, ate, played, and rested from the heat and labor of the day.
While we quietly ate in the growing blue shadows of the surrounding tents, musicians began to tune and play, while dancers stretched and strapped on their shoes and bracers around the fire. The music was the energetic blend of musical styles that I heard from the Neobedouins before: Middle Eastern dance music, American blue grass, and Eastern European gypsy folk. This music was infectious, and it was starting to affect my little girls, just as it affected all the young around us. Their feet twitched, and they rolled around on their bottoms. I often had to remind Isabella to sit back down and finish eating this long sought food – she kept standing to dance
Finally, as the sky was starting to settle into deep purples and midnight blues, the dancers began. They circled the fire like children circle a maypole, weaving in and out. At the same time, they spun flaming balls on short ropes, and the musicians played their fiddles, darbukas, banjos and massive kettle drums. Then the circle broke into numerous sets of square dancers, and they locked arms and spun, while swinging fire with their outside hands.
I was just taking notice of a dog barking and jumping at something unseen away to the north of the town center when we were approached. A girl of eighteen, as brown as terra-
cotta, with white blond dread locks and skin laced with fresh peeling henna, approached pig-tailed Chloe with a gentle smile. She handed the girls lit sparklers, took their hands and danced with them, teaching them how to spin arm in arm like the square dancers, and how to break and spin like a dervish when the music called for it.
I watched the kids in amazement: after an exhaustive, grueling day’s journey with nearly no food, all they needed was music and a bit of inspiration to be on their feet and spinning hand-in-hand like a carousel. I remember the thought flickering through my sleepy mind, I wonder if young kids love to dance because it in subconsciously reminds them of spinning in their mother’s wombs. The beat of the drums matching the beat of their mothers heart, they themselves spinning like they spun inside the amniotic fluid. I sketched some lyrics in my tiny note book:
Dance, child dance. Dance child, dance.
Daylight is waning, night times refraining,
So dance my child.
Dance, Dance, My Isabella.
Safely, in your carosella.
Dance through the spinning,
Just like your beginning.
Dance my child.
Dance my child.
~ Excerpt from the song Sleep Isabella
Then a young man ran through the center of the square with a panicked look on his face, waving his arms to try to get everyone’s attention. When he reached the musicians, they stopped playing, and in the absence of the huge drum beats we heard it: the dogs were all viciously barking!
Immediately the whole town was in motion, running to their tents, and vehicles; swinging onto horses, kicking motorcycles to life, jumping onto the sides of dune-buggies. The dogs were let loose as the families took down their tents, and the beasts all ran to the northern edge of the town and stood in a pack barking into the darkness. I grabbed Chloe by the hand, and took Isabella under my arm and ran back to our Bandersnatch. They were scared, eyes wide and tearful. It didn’t help that they were utterly exhausted. Placing the girls in the sidecar, I half-turned the ignition key to check the fuel. Shit! Less than a quarter tank. This was going to mean trouble.
I looked to the northern edge of the town, where the dogs were barking, and could see a glowing cloud of dust was building in size and growing closer. I began the bike’s starting ritual; prime carb, turn throttle once, kick, wait, et cetera. As I did this, I could see what was happening past the dogs. Low flying airships were stampeding beasts towards us. What kind of creature didn’t matter much, as there were thousands of them, and anything cow-sized or larger would trample this town flat. From what I had seen, there were lots of different beasts in the prairies big enough to trample this town to dust. Carnivores would strip the place clean like meat from a bone.
Scarred men and women in their twenties and thirties were strapping long split blades to their forearms. These were the “beast dancers”, and they trained since birth to fight hand-to-hand with the likes of tigers and wolves, and hyenadon. They stood stoically in the midst of the pack of dogs, while the less combat-capable nomads threw the last of their camps onto their hauls and started heading south.
Seeing this heroic last-stand, I felt the familiar tightening of my chest, and steeling of my resolve. I pulled my shot gun from the holster that held it to my front fork, and turned the bike toward the oncoming stampede. I gunned the throttle, and the bike leapt forward, but this caused the girls to scream. Every foot towards the stampeding beasts increased their horror. I looked into the sidecar. They were terrified, clutching each other, wet wild eyes reflecting the fires and torches around us.
Here is where I realized something that had never occurred to me before. My heroic responsibility was no longer for this “the town”, or any strangers who needed saving. My responsibility was for these children. I was their hero, now, and no one else’s. If I plunged into battle, and died, they would shurly die. If I left them here, I would likely not find them again. If I took them into battle they would die. Heroics is not a game for parents. Or say, parents are heroes daily, but only for their kids; they can’t be spared elsewhere.
So I spun the bike around and headed south with the rest of the caravan, while the warriors met the beasts head on. I’m not sure how that ended for them, I was not around to see it.
REUNIONS
I decided it was best to drive all night, and being agitated as I was, staying awake wasn’t hard. The girls slept peacefully in their side car. Sometime just before noon on the last day we arrived at the designated crossroads just south of Tucson, Arizona.
Chloe saw it first. The HMS Ophelia hanging in majestic splendor fifty-feet off the ground. To an eight year old girl it must have look like the flying pirate ship from the end of Peter Pan. Actually, it kind of looked like that to me as well. She gasped, and woke her sister, who let out an “OOooo”. The two of them started squirming with excitement, since they had been told they were going to live aboard this magnificent flying ship.
We waited in its shadow, as Jean-Paul lowered the hook to hoist the motorcycle and sidecar. As we waited, up lumbered Gyrod. Around his neck was a rope, and on the rope hung one small gear.
“Is that the old one, or the new one?” I asked, nodding to the gear.
“It is the new one,” he said. “I was too afraid to remove the old one. I will, when I know nobody is dependent on me. But you need me to guide you into the city to find Father.”
The hook interrupted us at that point, as it swung close to our heads. “Watch it!” Jean-Paul warned from above.
I grabbed the hook, looped it around the bike. Soon, bike, girls, and I were hoisted. Up we rose, with Chloe, the eldest girl, getting more and more nervous as Isabella, got more and more excited. Finally, we were above the ships railing, and the small wooden crane swung us on to the deck. There was a crowd of sailors gathered as I unhooked the biked and tossed the rope back over for Gyrod.
Daniel stepped up and said, “What is this?”
“This is Chloe and Isabella.” Chloe and Bella smiled up at him. But seeing the sternness on his face, and then looking around at the scarred and dirty faces of the rest of the sailors, they started to look scared.
“Yes,” he said. “How long are they staying?” he added in a slow monotone.
“Well, they…” I began, but Kristina then walked up to us.
Upon seeing her, Chloe stepped out of the side car and curtseyed. Then Bella ran to her, and hugged Kristina’s legs. That was it, that was all it took. Kristina had that look on her face now, the look of a girl who just found a soon to be put-down kitten at the “humane” society. The kitten mews as if to say, “love me now, or I die”. That small hug said all this, and Kristina melted.
Next we hoisted up Gyrod, and he stood stoically over the crew, looking around. He was at least a foot taller than the tallest of us, and all the sailors looked back at him reverently. When he finally spotted Timony he strode over to her, and scooped her up in his arms. She giggled like a little girl should when hugged by a big brother – but it was still odd to see, as he was only vaguely human shaped, with she was perhaps too human shaped.
That night we sat around the dining room table, discussing what had happened on my trip to find Gyrod, and what needed to happen next. Gyrod and Timony told us with disgust about the cities, and they way the treated their captive population. They told us of their father, a master inventor and craftsman who had been imprisoned in a tower in one of the cities. If anyone could repair our ship, it would be him.
Each city was build like a fortress, walled and well defended. Flying this massive airship over the wall would be suicide. We’d be seen and shot down. The cities were not self sufficient, however. Huge armored trains came in from all over the countryside, bringing in supplies, and occasionally officials from other cities.
So we planned to jump a train, and ride it into town. Gyrod would accompany me, and together we would free his father, and in return hopefully the scientist could fix our ship.
The “jumping the
train” proved surprisingly easily. Gyrod and myself waited in the bushes by a bridge a few miles from the girls’ shack. The train had to slow down to cross the old and fragile bridge. As the train lumbered slowly by, we stepped out of the bushes, and climbed aboard. Nobody was inside the one and only passenger car, so we took seats at a table and looked out the window as the train ambled back up to speed on its way into the city.
If I had to guess why it was so easy to jump a train into town it would be this: nobody wanted into the city.
THE CHANGE CAGE
The iron giant rattled heavily down the tracks. Every bump was bone-jarring. The view out the window gave a distinct sense of arriving in a land of oppression and control. The beautiful foliage was slowly replaced with dry cracked, mud fields, strewn with rock. It was as if nature itself was staying as far away as possible.
The first thing I saw of the city was immense clouds of black twisting up from a hundred chimneys like huge vines. The sky was darker here, because of the smoke, and I wondered how the emperor justified that pollution.
Then we saw the city. We came over the top of a hill, and for a moment we were looking down at its huge labyrinth of walls. Each city block was contained in a fifty foot high wall, creating an uneven grid like pattern as the blocks stretched out across the city. On top of the walls were roads and tracks, with a few obvious police trains on them, pointing their searchlights to the city below.
In each walled block were buildings, twisted, old and blackened from the coal fires. Some of the ‘blocks’ were very large, and had hundreds of buildings in them, while others were tiny and crowded, holding just one or two massive tenements. In either case, the walls were high enough that the windows of the buildings either looked at another building, or at the walls themselves, but not a one could view out into the wastelands.