The guards looked at each other, trying to sort out whether Annette was kidding or crazy.
“I will overlook any assault charges.” She nodded graciously toward Beth. “I think that’s fair under the circumstances.”
The tall guard cocked his rifle. “We’re only supposed to take two. Her and her. Not her.”
“She’s a witness,” Beth said, voice rising. “We had to take her.”
“I understand, ma’am. Now she’s our responsibility.”
“Excellent,” Annette piped up as if she’d just filled a large, expensive shoe order. “If someone has some aspirin please.”
Zelda stepped between the guards and Annette. “She comes with us.”
“I don’t think so,” Annette sneered.
“Just shut up for once.”
“See the abuse I’ve received for being nice enough to visit her? I even brought green daisies. Any idea how hard they are to find this time of year?”
Two guards grabbed Annette. Mick and Beth stepped forward, earning rifles in their sides.
“Do you know who she is?” Zelda asked. “Fiance to a Third Cousin.”
“That’s right, thank you. I have very important connections.”
“He’s also Commissioner of Sport.”
“And entertainment,” Annette added. “Soon to be a Second Cousin so get your hands off my expensive blouse.”
“You gain nothing by shooting her. She might have value as a hostage.”
“What?” Annette bleated.
Shut up, Zelda gestured.
The guards conferred, clearly divided between taking Annette and shooting her. Another spirited debate sent the tall guard forward.
“She comes as a prisoner. Not like you and the girl.”
Annette was quickly gagged, blindfolded, handcuffed and dragged towards the black woods. The tall guard gestured impatiently with his rifle. Zelda held up a finger. Mick caught the looks between the two women and took Clary’s hand.
“Come on honey, let’s see who can run faster.” He and Clary raced into the forest, Mick limping noticeably.
Zelda laid her head on Beth’s shoulder. “Thank you.”
“Thank Puppy. He’s the mastermind.”
“But you risked your life.”
Beth shrugged shyly. “Love and all that.”
Zelda seemed a little unsettled. “You love me?”
“Yes.”
“Love love?”
“Love love.”
“I just got over losing Diego…”
“I understand,” Beth said. “It might take time. Unless there’s really no basis.”
“No, there’s a basis.”
“You’re not just carried away by my heroism?”
The guards muttered for Zelda to hurry.
“A little.” She paused, eyes tearing. “We’re not exactly looking at a great future.”
“That’s what Puppy said.”
“He has a crush on you.”
“I know. Are we going to waste our last moments for a while talking about Puppy’s sexual fantasies?”
Zelda leaned forward. “I’d much rather focus on mine.”
Their kiss was broken by a rifle wedged between their squirming bodies. Zelda insisted on watching until the van crunched back down the path to return the coffins, which Puppy had ordered for the special Basil Hayden Funeral Home commercial display outside Section 227B which would be seen by more than fifty thousand potential customers.
Zelda and Clary sat in the back of the SUV, feeling Annette’s rage through her stuffed mouth and eyes. As they turned onto a narrow path, a large tree loomed ahead. The SUV headed right toward it. Zelda held Clary’s arm and yelled a warning, but the guard was oblivious.
Like a zipper, the tree parted in half, swallowing them into a huge, brightly lit cave. Clarry applauded and shouted “Viva America.”
38
No one really left.
Nearly two million visitors, the Blue Shirts estimated, were still there. The few citizens who’d run screaming into the streets cursing Allahs and wailing about a new attack had fled home. Some drunks, believing that in forty-two minutes of darkness the world was about to end, were arrested for disorderly behavior. There were several scuffles along the Grand Concourse when people ran into the wrong tents and hugged the wrong partners.
But there was no violence. No fear. No hysteria. People gasped, whispered, wondered, but pretty much just sat there patiently in the dark, passing food and drink and blankets besides the glowing stadium lights and the cheers of the lucky fans inside.
Ellen Paille from Burlington, Vermont, thought the blackout was a brilliant part of the show. Allinor Del Strada of Lynchburg, Virginia, who insisted her grandfather had been buried in a Washington Nationals uniform before cremation, was disappointed that the Bronx lights came back so soon. And Papi Torryes from Amarillo, Texas, wondered if there’d be fireworks for the next game.
“Not a single person was hurt,” Grandma said, laying out some freshly baked biscotti on the serving table in her House the next day; she poured Kenuda and Puppy ginger tea. “This is how a Family behaves in a crisis.”
They nodded agreeably.
“How many did you eventually strike out, Mr. Nedick?”
He blushed, trying to think of very simple answers that would keep him from blathering like a fool in Grandma’s Living Room.
“Thirteen, Grandma.”
“That’s good.”
“Nine straight games of double-digits.”
Kenuda patted his knee paternally. “We’re proud of our Puppy.”
“And I’m proud of both of you.” Grandma swirled her spoon. “The blackout was perhaps unnecessary.”
Puppy had prepared for this. “Totally my fault.”
“No, mine,” Kenuda said. “I’m the Commissioner. Everything should’ve been checked.”
Grandma smiled faintly. “The report said a rerouter had been installed.”
“And somehow, uninstalled, ma’am.” Kenuda didn’t back down. “It’s a first time. A lot of chaos. But considering the age of the electrical system…”
She held up her hand. “It was a good air raid alert.” They joined her in a relieved smile. “I think the rest of the season should be all night games.”
Kenuda and Puppy exchanged delighted looks.
“Without blacking out the city.”
“You have my word,” Elias assured her.
“I’m sure someone will lose the use of a hair dryer somewhere, but…” she airily dismissed that. “There are about two million extra people in and around the Bronx. They don’t want to leave. In fact, they’re still coming.”
“They’re called Baseball Buses, Grandma,” Kenuda said.
Highways, country roads, you waited at an official bus stop or under a billboard or by a bridge and the bus stopped and took you along. Everyone chipped in for gas, shared food, water, toilet paper. Thousands of buses, flatbed trucks, pick-ups, vans, station wagons, plain ol’ cars. Gas stations were closing for lack of fuel. Factories went on hiatus. Makeshift first aid stands and portable potties popped up. Physicians and dentists pitched tents with welcome signs. Grills dotted roads from Colorado to Westchester, serving free food.
Everyone had seen what the game was like. Everyone wanted to experience this. There were no tickets left for the final twenty-one games.
“I’d like to take the Forgiveness campaign one step further,” Grandma said. “Puppy, back when, didn’t baseball teams honor special groups during a game?”
“Like?”
“First Cousin Cheng had an interesting idea. What if we honored our veterans?”
He and Kenuda exchanged uneasy looks.
“There were Veterans Days around the old national holidays,” Puppy said slowly. “Memorial Day, Flag Day, July Fourth…”
“What happened?”
Puppy hesitated.
“If I’m asking, I want an answer,” she said, her smile a bit colder.
Once even thinking of such memories was outlawed. “A color guard carried the flag. Veterans would be allowed into the game at a discount price, or free.” He swallowed deeply. “We’d sing the Star Spangled Banner. Also God Bless America.”
Grandma grimaced slightly.
“Everyone would salute the flag. Then there’d be a moment of silence for the fallen in the wars.” He paused. “All of them, ma’am. Maybe a veteran would throw out the first ball.”
“What’s that mean?”
“It’s ceremonial. They’d go to the mound and toss the ball to the catcher. The pitch didn’t count, but it was just a way to start the game.”
“What do you think, Commissioner?”
He squirmed visibly. “I appreciate the extraordinary success of the Forgiveness campaign.”
“Cut the crap. You’re a Third Cousin.”
Puppy muffled a smile.
Kenuda cleared his throat. “If I could put together a night game in two days, I can do this. But with all due respect to Cousin Cheng, we must proceed carefully. There has still been a lot of anger since…” He caught himself.
“Since The Story, yes. Forgiveness only goes so far until you really do.” Grandma looked through Puppy, who felt as if she were shampooing his brain. “But you don’t like this idea at all, do you?”
He avoided Elias’s disapproving stare. “No, ma’am.”
“Why?”
“I don’t want veterans trotted out like pugs in a midnight march.”
Grandma’s eyes narrowed. “Is that what you think I’d do?”
“Puppy’s not saying that…” Kenuda defended him.
“Yes, he is.” Grandma leaned forward.
Puppy shook away the water dribbling into his ear. “That’s how they’ve been treated before.”
Kenuda paled, but Grandma kept stirring her spoon. “Very true.”
“I grew up in the DV. I saw their lives. The bitterness of being forgotten.”
“Like your father.”
Must be the soap in his eardrums. “Excuse me?”
“Lt. Alvin Nedick, Second Marine Corps. He was wounded in one of the first battles in 2058 when the Allahs attacked Spain.” Grandma squinted and a video seemed to hop out of Puppy’s forehead; his father, lean, grim, hobbling onto a trooper carrier, handsome despite the grime-streaked face. His father, sober? Alvin half-turned toward Puppy, who pressed in terror against Kenuda; the Commissioner patted his shoulder, but he was also shaken. The vid faded away into a few still moments.
“Mine died, too,” Elias said softly. “In Denmark.”
“He got the Silver Star,” Grandma added quietly. “You shouldn’t have thrown it away, Elias.”
“I was twelve. And angry.”
“You still are. Perhaps this is a bad idea. Look at the two of you. I can imagine…” Grandma sighed and drifted a moment as if circling overhead. Kenuda and Puppy exchanged subdued stares; they couldn’t let Grandma down.
• • • •
SWEEP SWEEP SWEEP like Cinderella, Annette muttered, poking at the pile of dust near her tent. No, a cell. Zelda and Clary had a cabin down by whichever direction down was in this stupid place, while she was locked in this black tent. Knock knock guard, I have to piss. Last night she hooted like an owl for fifteen minutes until they let her out; she thought it was fifteen minutes because that’s all guesswork since they took her watch and engagement ring and necklace.
Annette glared at the large infants running past. Everywhere, large infants. Singing, racing, dancing, laughing, balls bouncing every which way; Annette ducked under a wayward volleyball so another part of her face wouldn’t be ruined.
Lots of large infants but few adults other than the skinny guards who were friendly to everyone except her. Wandering around, retrieving balls, joining in the games. It was like a giant camp or casual prison; she couldn’t decide.
Only that she had to escape. When they threw her into that horrid tent, she figured it’d be a matter of time before Kenuda ransomed her. But then it was morning and one of the skinny guards handed her a broom. Was she a prisoner or not? A prisoner had certain rights, they had toilets in their rooms like Zelda had at the Courthouse. They had mirrors so they could see disfiguring bruises.
She was Cinderella, sweep sweep sweep. That’s when she realized there would be no ransom. Dara was behind all this to get her out of the way so she could have Elias. Sure sure sure, there’d be the period of mourning, a month, where Kenuda would moan for her loss, but after that, into the arms of that tart. He’d never loved her. Why’d he bother with her then? She had no real money. Sure, she was pretty, but she wasn’t good in bed. She had a good body but her thighs were getting gooey. She really wasn’t very nice. Or smart. She was surprised Elias didn’t dump her a long time ago. Now she was going to be worked to death without even knowing where she’d be buried. Who’d visit her anyway other than Puppy?
Annette sniffled away self-pitying tears and dragged over a green garbage bag. She leaned on the broom and watched the wretched little things chanting around a few other wretched things playing baseball at the base of a hill, shielded by trees. Chanting in different languages, too. Probably all Miners.
There had to be a way out. If they came in they could go out. Annette went up on her toes, looking for a door or window; the bottom of the bag broke. She wanted to cry, but wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.
Yankees cap backwards over her thick hair, Clary reluctantly helped Annette shove dead leaves, apple cores and a thick bone, among other delicacies, back into the bag.
“Thank you.” Annette tried smiling, but failed.
Clary grunted. “Gracias. Vieja loca.”
“Gracias loca means thank you?”
Clary rolled her eyes.
“Can’t you speak English?”
The girl grinned impishly. “Depends.”
Clary suddenly let out a cry. Blood streamed down her thumb. She viciously kicked the offending plastic fork against a rock.
“Hold still.” Annette wrestled with Clary, tearing a strip from her handkerchief and wrapping it around the wound, tightening the bandage a little more than necessary; the child bit her lip, determined not to show pain.
“That hurt?” Annette asked.
Clary stared sullenly at her finger and shook her head.
“I was a nurse once.” Annette applied more pressure and Clary groaned. “Nurses training anyway, back when I was looking for a career after Puppy and I broke up.”
“Puppy Beisbol.” Clary’s eyes watered.
“Whatever. I made it through three months but the sight of blood was disgusting. Sit still. The bleeding stopped.” She wiped away Clary’s tears. “That was my last clean handkerchief.”
“Gracias,” Clary mumbled.
“You’re welcome.”
“De nada.” The girl sighed impatiently. “De nada. De nada. You are welcome.”
Annette smiled grudgingly. “De nada.”
• • • •
TOMAS WALKED AROUND the four-foot high plastic mock-up of Yankee Stadium on Grandma’s coffee table, shaking his head.
“What if we need to evacuate?”
“Why would we?”
“Because shit goes wrong. Look at the night game.”
“There were no problems.”
“It was a light show, magic. Veterans Day can’t be a show.” Tomas stared pleadingly at Grandma, who offered only a shrug. “The emotions are off the charts.”
“That’s why we’re doing this. They need to be controlled and channeled to positive goals.”
Tomas wagged his finger at the area bordering River Avenue. “Will this be cleared?”
“There’ll be paths to allow the veterans to pass.”
“I don’t have enough soldiers to provide security.”
She sighed. “The BTs will be there.”
Stilton about left his boots. “BTs at a ceremony honoring veterans at Yankee Stadium? That’s a disaster in wait
ing. No, I don’t like anything about it. There’s going to be rogue demonstrations, has to be. And I don’t see any way out unless it’s vertical. I don’t like relying solely on the ’copters. If something happens, you’re trapped.”
Grandma smiled gently. “There are escape routes.”
“Where? Show me.” Tomas kicked the table and the stadium tipped over. He didn’t help her straighten the model. “And what the hell is John Hazel doing other than building replicas?”
Grandma gently tugged Tomas back into the chair. “He’s coordinating with the veterans groups.”
“He was in the service for three months.”
“Enough to lose a leg,” she said sternly. “He’s plugged into the Apollo Brigades.”
Apollo Brigades were baseball players who signed up for duty after 10/12. Players, amateur and professional, had swarmed into recruiting offices, eager to show they disapproved of the Miners. Tomas had commanded some, all wiped out at Nice. Guilt did not make good soldiers.
“What about the other soldiers? The real veterans?”
“They’re invited, but we’re only honoring the Apollos. Keeping a simple theme. Again, Cheng’s idea.”
“I want to see all the names,” Stilton insisted. “Every single honoree who’ll be on the field. Every single veteran who goes through the gates…”
“Tomas,” she cut him off sharply. “Cheng’s handling that.”
He stared dully. “Your security is my job.”
“Not for this.”
“I go where you go,” he rasped.
“And you go where I need you. It’s been more than a week since the Son left. I’m afraid something’s happened.”
He bristled. “I put him on the plane personally.’
“I’m not blaming you.”
“Maybe his friends killed him.”
“I would’ve heard.”
He paused. “Maybe he changed his mind.”
“Why would he do that? Stop already. I’m tired of arguing. Do as I say.”
He stared. “As your head of security?”
Grandma busied herself dusting the armoire, making him wait in agony for an answer he already knew. “No. As my friend.”
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