by Mark Souza
A block behind them, a quartet of security agents trailed; a trawling net seining through milling fish. Perhaps it wasn’t a net at all. Perhaps they were being driven, herded like buffalo to the cliff. Maybe the real trouble lay ahead.
The temperature rose as they neared the end of Michigan Street, chasing any hint of humidity from the air. A ten meter high chain link fence stretched between buildings as a barricade to the collector fields. Signs fastened to the fences bore warning pictograms for those who couldn’t read, which in Labor Housing was most. Figures showed black panels with wavy red lines of heat rising off them and a running man with flames sprouting from his back and head. To the left, the fence had been peeled back. Moyer pulled on the fencing and opened the hole wider for Robyn and Hawthorne.
Sunlight hit the wall at a sideward angle. There was an orange quality to the light, and though it wasn’t strong, searing heat still radiated off the collector panels and the backs of the buildings. Daily expansion from the furnace-like heat had opened fissures in the concrete facades.
A trail led south along the outside of the tenements, a trail Moyer had traveled before. Ahead, the roofline of the old brick rail terminal poked above the collector panels. Moyer kept an eye behind them. If the agents were still following, they would come through the fence soon. And if they did, the trail offered no cover and they would be spotted easily.
Moyer started to jog. The bags slapped against his legs. He looked back. Robyn kept pace. Hawthorne was fading. Moyer ran faster, putting distance between he and Robyn.
After rounding the corner of the terminal, Moyer dropped the bags and headed back for Hawthorne. As he passed Robyn, he had one word for her. Hurry.
Moyer closed in on the Judge. An agent rounded the corner. Moyer hit Hawthorne near the waist and toppled him to the ground. Air whooshed from the old man’s lungs. Hawthorne’s eyes gaped, betrayal frozen on his face. They rolled off the trail and came to rest under a solar panel. Moyer brought a finger to his lips and pointed back along the trail at the buildings near Michigan Street. A second agent rounded the corner, then a third. “We can’t use the trail,” Moyer whispered. “They’ll spot us.”
Moyer crawled on his belly under the solar collectors with Hawthorne close behind. Beneath the panels, heat from the baked soil penetrated Moyer’s clothes and scalded his skin. He rolled to his feet and helped Hawthorne up. They walked briskly in a low crouch until they were well away from the trail. Ahead, train tracks sliced a swath of open ground through the collector field. To the left was the west end of the terminal. Rails ran into the building through the gaping opening where the train would enter. Moyer latched onto the Judge’s hand and crossed the tracks to where he’d left Robyn. There was no sign of his wife or the bags. Moyer peeked back at the terminal. Agents were closing in. They could not remain where they were. They needed to hide deeper within the collectors away from the tracks.
“Moyer, over here.” Robyn’s voice came from the darkness deep within the collectors. She stepped closer and Moyer saw the glow of the Oshun logo on her shirt. She waved for them to join her. Moyer and Hawthorne ran. They ducked into the solar panel array as security agents filed inside the terminal.
The agents collected again at the door and seemed disappointed. After a brief conversation, three continued down the trail along the city’s outer wall, while the fourth remained to stand guard at the terminal entrance.
Moyer gathered up the bags and moved deeper into the shadows. “What are we going to do?” Robyn asked in a whisper.
“I don’t know,” Moyer said.
“Can we walk to Mannington?” Hawthorne asked.
Moyer shook his head. “It’s sixty kilometers to the other side. We can’t make it before daylight. We’d be burned to death if we tried.”
Moyer tried to come up with a plan. If they couldn’t board the train, they would have to return to Labor Housing the next morning before the collector field heated up. How long would Security Services post a guard on the terminal? How long could the three of them afford to hide with no resources and no friends? Vibrations from the approaching train rattled through the rails though still kilometers away. Time was running out.
Darkness fell and though the agent in his black armor was no longer visible, Moyer knew the agent was still guarding the station house. They moved to the tracks two hundred meters from the open end of the terminal. Hawthorne dropped his bag and used it as a cushion. Moyer and Robyn did the same with their backs to the building so the glowing ads on their shirts wouldn’t give them away. A thin blue gloaming hung on the horizon, the last vestige of the day. Independence Day.
Chapter 33
The train was invisible in the darkness but Moyer knew it was nearing from the rumble of the earth and the swell of noise. They followed the railcars toward the terminal. The train slowly passed by and eased to a stop inside the building. They waited outside; helpless, their ride to Mannington meters out of reach.
Moyer peeked around the corner. An amber glow from the city drifted inside through broken windows and glinted off the shiny armor of the agent posted on the landing. In minutes the train would leave without them.
Moyer tapped Hawthorne and emulated a gun with his hand. Hawthorne rifled through his bag. He looked up and wagged his head. Moyer searched the bag himself and found nothing but clothing.
The train started out of the station at a crawl and slowly gathered velocity as the old nuclear engines whirred to life. Moyer hurriedly zipped the bag. The front landing of the first car eased past. Moyer waved his arms to get Robyn and Hawthorne’s attention. He pointed two fingers downward moving them rapidly to imitate a man running. When the rear landing of the first car passed, he threw his and Hawthorne’s bag aboard. Robyn’s bag went into the front landing of the next car. He grabbed Hawthorne’s hand and ran with him to the landing and helped load him aboard. Robyn followed.
The train picked up speed and they were loosing ground. The front landing was no longer a possibility, and the rear landing was gaining fast. Moyer put an arm around Robyn’s waist and moved her ahead of him. When the rear landing came alongside, he boosted her up until she was safely aboard. He clutched onto the handrail and ran alongside, but the car outpaced him. His foot slipped on crushed rock. He stumbled and hung by his arms. His legs skidded and bounced behind him as he was dragged scattering rocks and thumping over concrete ties.
“Moyer!” Robyn yelped. She grabbed his collar. Moyer feared if he was jerked from the railing and she didn’t let go, they would both be pulled off the train. If he fell, he couldn’t push away, and they might both be swept under the wheels.
Hawthorne appeared from inside the car and snatched Moyer’s arm. With both of them on the landing, Moyer had no place to go. Lactic acid burned inside his arms. His grip weakened. He couldn’t hold on much longer. Moyer tucked his legs. His feet hovered suspended centimeters over the rocks. Hawthorne’s eyes widened with alarm at the additional load. The Judge’s grip was slipping.
Moyer punched his legs into the gravel. The jolt buckled his knees but not before he was propelled upward. He landed atop Robyn, knocking her backward. His legs still dangled off the train and he slid back. Robyn screamed and clutched him around the chest in a bear hug while Hawthorne pulled at his belt. Moyer slid forward and rolled to his side, feet still hanging in air. He was safe.
Hawthorne slumped against the wall of the railcar huffing to catch his breath. Robyn lay on her back, hands covering her face. Moyer’s arms and legs quaked, the last of his adrenaline consumed.
“That was scary,” Moyer said.
“Don’t ever do it again,” Robyn wheezed.
Hawthorne laughed between gasps. “I’ll second that.”
Moyer looked down at his legs. Blood and dirt stained his pants. His shins were battered and sore. Scuffs marred his shoes. In the city he would have discarded them, but out here, they were the only shoes he owned. He stood to check for damage. His knees ached and were wobbly, but nothing
was broken. He helped Robyn to her feet and followed Hawthorne into the car.
They clustered together in separate seats. It had already been a long day. They were all tired. Each of them reclined and stretched their legs out across the aisle, Robyn on one side of Moyer, Hawthorne on the other. As they entered the dark tunnel of trees on the far end of the collector field, the signal from the net ebbed and the illuminated logos on their clothing dimmed.
In the darkness, Moyer wondered if the agent guarding the station had heard them or spotted the glow from their clothing. If so, a hover plane would be dispatched and they probably wouldn’t live out the night. He was amazed they had made it this far. Robyn’s warm hand slipped into his. He closed his eyes for a moment and his muscles relaxed. The gentle rocking of the railcar lulled him to sleep.
Something tapped Moyer’s foot. He opened his eyes and for a moment didn’t recognize where he was. Hawthorne’s face hovered close to his in the darkness and Moyer jerked.
“The train is stopping. I think we’re here,” he said.
Moyer sat up and gazed out the windows. Robyn was gathering up the bags in the aisle. He attempted to get to his feet and his legs buckled. They were brittle pillars of pain, stiff, battered and beaten. The scrapes and cuts from earlier had become knots and bruises.
The dark silhouette of Mannington Station stood out contrasted against a starry night sky. The train squealed to a stop. Moyer braced himself against a pair of seats to keep from toppling over.
He moaned when he stepped down onto the platform and was relieved security agents weren’t waiting for them. He found a wooden bench and sat while he removed the gold mesh cap from his head. He dangled it from his hand and called to Robyn, “You don’t need to wear the cap anymore. There’s no signal out here.”
She peeled the cap off her head, tossed it to Moyer, and plopped down beside him. A puzzled look crossed her face. She tilted her head first one way then the other probing for a signal. When she didn’t find any, she didn’t seem either upset or happy. Moyer chalked it up to exhaustion.
He opened his bag and stuffed the caps inside. The back of his hand flashed with pain and he snatched it out again. There was no blood, but he had hit something hard and sharp. He opened the zippered compartment.
“I found your pistol, Judge. Our bags must have gotten mixed up.”
Hawthorne took the weapon, popped the clip out and examined it, then popped it back in. He glanced at the bag in Moyer’s lap. “They do look an awful lot alike, don’t they?” he said. Hawthorne put the gun in his pocket and collected the bag from Moyer. “It’s just as well, though,” he said, “If we had killed that agent back at the terminal, they would have found the body and known where we were headed. Where do we go from here?”
“I was thinking we can stay here until morning,” Moyer said.
Hawthorne grimaced. “Is that your legs talking?”
“Why, is something wrong with that, Judge?”
“It’s just that if they start randomly searching probable escape routes, it might be a good idea to be a little further from the terminal and under cover to make it a little harder for them, don’t you think?”
“I suppose you are right.” Moyer stood and groaned in pain. He took up his bag and Robyn’s and hobbled toward the stairs. Robyn managed a weary smile and they started off in the direction Moyer had come with the giant.
As they approached the church, the rush from Harter Creek swelled. Sounds emanated from the night Moyer hadn’t heard in decades, crickets and tree frogs. The darkness seemed alive.
Moyer couldn’t keep his eyes off the sky. He had never seen so many stars. It was as if glitter had been scattered across a Prussian blue velvet blanket. In the trees, tiny yellow lights flickered on and off as if signals of their arrival were being relayed.
“Fireflies,” Hawthorne said. “It’s been so long I’d forgotten.”
A howl rang out in the distance, and was quickly joined by others. A shiver ran down Moyer’s spine. He had never experienced a sound like it, though something within him knew to be afraid. Perhaps agents weren’t the only dangers to guard against. When Robyn grasped Moyer’s hand, he flinched. How he wished he had the assurance of Hawthorne’s gun in his pocket to bolster his nerves.
The old church spire ripped a black hole in the night sky. The doors were ajar. Inside, darkness enveloped them. The building reminded him of Poe stories his father had read to him as a child. Now Moyer wished he hadn’t.
Moyer entered and was assaulted by the acrid odor of old urine. “Animals, I think,” he said. “Let’s try to get some sleep. Tomorrow could be a long day.”
Hawthorne selected a pew and dropped his bag near the end. He lay down and leaned his head on the bag and curled into a fetal position. Robyn picked one further from the door and did the same. Moyer slid a pew next to Robyn’s, and lay facing her. In the darkness, he could feel her mind whirring. When he heard her snuffle, he reached across and stroked her cheek. It was wet with tears. “What’s the matter,” he asked.
“Whenever I close my eyes I see Jessica.”
Moyer didn’t know what to say to make her feel better.
Thursday, 5 July
Moyer woke to searing pain. He struggled to clear his head unsure of his surroundings. After a moment Moyer realize the pain wasn’t from his legs, and in fact wasn’t his at all. He allowed his mind to open again, to receive the pain and follow it to its source. Part of him drifted into the apartment of Robyn’s parents. They were strapped to chairs surrounded by security agents, being tortured with wands, and questioned over and over about the whereabouts of their daughter and son-in-law. Over the next hour, he felt their last vestiges of strength ebb, their ability to feel pain fade. They died as dawn pushed horizontal shafts of colored light through the stained glass windows of the church, first Robyn’s mother, and minutes later, her father.
Moyer watched Robyn sleep. She and he now had one more thing in common – they were both orphans – and he could never tell her. If she knew, she would insist on going back to see for herself, and she, too, would be murdered. He lifted a tendril of blond hair caught between her lips and pushed it behind her ear.
From the entry, a sharp clicking sound approached. Moyer peered over the top of the pew. A black dog stood in the doorway. Its ears perked. It moved toward him tentatively. A second black dog, a twin to the first, strode in and stood next to his brother, nose raised testing the air. Four more dogs trotted in, nails clicking on stone.
They clustered together, silent, glancing side to side and at each other. Then, as if coordinated to some tacit signal, they advanced in unison, three to the right and three to the left. They closed from all sides. Lips curled back exposing fangs, ears pressed back tight along their skulls. They inched forward simultaneously in measured steps. Low guttural growls projected at Moyer from six directions. Moyer’s instinct was to run, but where?
A shock wave rocked Moyer. The dogs flinched then scrambled in all directions, tails tucked, running in place at first unable to get purchase on the slick floor. They homed in on the door and raced out single file at a dead run.
A high pitched whine rang in Moyer’s ears. Robyn jolted upright confused. Hawthorne stood behind them with his pistol in the air, a plume of blue smoke dissipating above his head.
“What was that?” Robyn asked.
Hawthorne pushed the pistol back into his pocket. “If you ever read fairy tales as a child: that was the big bad wolf.”
“Wolves?” Robyn said.
“Dogs, actually. But they look to have been wild long enough to be more wolf than dog.” Hawthorne’s blue eyes locked on Moyer. “We need to be much more careful from now on. We can’t afford to leave ourselves so vulnerable.”
Robyn stretched and yawned. “I’m hungry. What do we have to eat?”
Moyer unzipped his bag. Tucked inside a mesh pocket were a dozen nutrition bars still in the box. He opened the container at one end and withdrew three bars in wr
appers, handing one each to Robyn and Hawthorne.
“Is that all we have?” Robyn asked.
Moyer nodded.
“How long will they last?”
“I don’t know. It depends how fast we eat them – one day, three days, it’s hard to tell.”
“Then what do we do?” she asked.
Hawthorne listened and remained quiet.
“There are people here who can help us,” Moyer said. “We just need to find them.” He hoped he sounded convincing. He had only met the giant and the pregnant woman, Margret. The fact that there were others was a guess.
They finished their meager meal in silence. Robyn asked, “How long before they stop looking for us?”
He knew she viewed this visit to Mannington as temporary. She would want to visit her parents again and maybe try to slip into her old life. Moyer struggled for a response to keep her at bay. “I don’t know. I think it could be a while. Things might calm down in a few months. After the winter they will probably assume we’re dead.”
“And then we can go back?”
Moyer shook his head. “The minute a computer picks up our image on a surveillance camera, or our chips register on the net, we’ll be killed. We no longer have a home in the civilized world.”
Moyer felt sadness stir in Robyn, and was thankful she didn’t ask the question he couldn’t answer – when can I see my parents?
“Do you know where these people are, the ones that can help us?” Hawthorne asked.
Moyer shook his head. “No, I don’t. I got the impression they live someplace near town. They use the library as a survival tool, and I think they use this building for religious ceremonies.”
Hawthorne brightened. “A library? Let’s go. At least we’ll have something to do while we wait.”
“Why not?” They packed their things and Moyer led the way. Robyn and Hawthorne craned their necks taking in the town that darkness had hidden from them when they’d arrived. However there was no town in any meaningful sense, only massive trees engulfing remnants of broken houses. They walked in stunned silence. Dejection registered on Robyn’s and Hawthorne’s faces.