Domino Falls (ARC)

by Steven Barnes

  “We are so in,” Ursulina murmured.

  “I love this place,” Sonia whispered.

  Kendra looked like she was still making up her mind about Wales. She leaned closer to study his every word and gesture.

  “Old friends.” Wales raised an imaginary glass. “We’ve had another week, and grow stronger every day. For my new friends, welcome to Domino Falls, California. We’re one of fifteen surviving townships we know of in the western United States, and there are probably more out there, just layin’ low. You could take your chances on the road or some of you will stay with us. Let’s get to know each other and see if we can make a home together. The world gets rebuilt one family at a time.”

  The crowd hooted. Terry noticed he’d called the town Domino Falls, not Threadville. And he wasn’t pushing his Threads philosophies at dinner.

  “Did you hear that?” Kendra said. “Fifteen townships.” She wasn’t ready to fall in love with Threadville until she knew where she wanted to be. But what if Threadville was as good as it got?

  Terry watched the families that were barely listening, completely at ease while they ate and spoke in low tones. The longtimers were simply living their lives of hot food, running water, and soft beds. The novelty had worn off.

  “One thing: if you’re new, please come on out to the ranch. I built it to share—anyone who knows me knows that. Take a look around the grounds. Pick up some of our literature …”

  The hard sell, right on schedule.

  Wales gave a parting grin. “Take a look at us. And let us take a look at you. Oh! And folks, don’t forget next week’s Christmas parade—” He had raised his arm midway for his good-bye wave when a man’s voice boomed from the dining hall’s doorway.

  “I want to see my daughter,” he said. “Please let me see her.”

  His voice was loud, but his tone was gentle. Pleading.

  Van Peebles looked embarrassed, jumping to the stage and standing in front of Wales as if the man had pulled a gun. “No one’s keeping you from Sissy,” he said, looking pained. “We’ve been through this, Brian. I’m a father too—I know how you feel—but Sissy wants something different. You know this isn’t the time—”

  The dinner crowd stirred, restless. “Leave it alone, Brownie!” a woman called.

  The patient smile never left Wales’s face as he watched it all unfold.

  Kendra was disappointed. She’d just started to think maybe … just maybe.

  Now real life was creeping inside the dream, pulling up the pretty rugs. This problem with Brownie was giving her a stomachache, as if she’d just feasted on stolen food. The man was standing erect, a SF Giants baseball cap politely held across his chest. A grown man was near tears, begging to see his daughter.

  Brownie spoke slowly, like a tourist who hoped the locals would magically comprehend English if he slowed his speech. “I just want to talk to my little girl.”

  “That’s no little girl!” a man called from the back, and a few men laughed. Brownie stood stoically, ignoring it all, trying to catch Wales’s eyes. Van Peebles bobbed his head between them.

  “My office, Brian,” Van Peebles said. “Not here.”

  “I just want five minutes.”

  “Brownie?” Van Peebles said gently. He gestured with his eyebrows, and Kendra noticed the Gold Shirts sidling up to him on either side of the hall.

  The air crackled. In that instant, something terrible was poised to reveal itself. Then Brownie nodded and turned away, leaving the hall with loud, solitary footsteps in the room’s silence. The skin on the back of Kendra’s neck itched.

  Kendra whispered to Terry. “That was …”

  “Don’t worry about it,” he said, cutting her off. She was annoyed, but his pointed gaze told her he merely didn’t want to be overheard.

  Wales went back to the mic, waving. “Enjoy Nettie’s chicken! Good night!”

  Like nothing had happened. Or like it happened all the time.

  A spattering of applause, although Brownie had changed the mood.

  Kendra kept studying Wales and his smile, looking for signs of anger as he walked down the stage steps, came close to their table almost as if he meant to greet them … and walked past, unruffled.

  Sonia leaped up, blocking Wales’s path. A Gold Shirt walking behind Wales moved as if to touch Sonia, but Wales winked at him and gave a subtle shake of his head. Sonia looked oblivious to everything except Wales’s face.

  Sonia awkwardly held up her hand to shake Wales’s, but he raised it and gave the back of her hand a polite peck. Clark Gable style. Sonia blushed.

  “I’ve seen all your movies,” Sonia said. “You have no idea. I still have my Better Thread Than Dead button in my locker.” Her eyes defocused with sudden remembrance. “I mean … I used to.”

  Sonia had transformed into someone unrecognizable. Wales eyed her carefully.

  “Your name, young lady?”

  “Sonia,” she said. “Sonia Petansu.”

  Wales looked at the closest Gold Shirt. “Did you get that?” he said.

  “Yessir,” the Gold Shirt said. “Sonia P. with the Washington crew.”

  Wales still held her hand, lingering. “Be sure you come to the ranch, Sonia.”

  “I wouldn’t miss it.”

  When Wales woke from a kind of momentary daze, he gestured to the table. “Bring your friends. We love new people. You’re all welcome.”

  This time he stared squarely at Kendra, and she felt his charisma jolt her like static electricity. The power of his eyes startled her. His eyes were like a laser light portal that made his features exotic. Warmth rushed to her face. What the—

  Wales went past them to the next admirer on the way to the door.

  “I may never wash this hand again,” Sonia said.

  “That was pathetic,” Piranha said. “You were drooling.”

  “What do you care?” Sonia said.

  Kendra felt Terry watching her, but she avoided looking at him. She didn’t want Terry to see any sign of Wales’s appeal in her face. She was already embarrassed enough.

  “He’s got a dozen just like you back at the ranch,” Piranha said.

  “You don’t know a damned thing about him,” Sonia snapped. Piranha and Sonia usually hid their arguments. Maybe it would be harder for them to stay together now that they had other choices. Would that be true with her and Terry too?

  “And one last thing, ’fore I forget,” the mayor’s voice rang from speakers. “Let’s give a warm welcome to our visiting traders from Santa Cruz Island, off Santa Barbara. They’ve hauled us building supplies and lots of other goodies you’ll want to take a look at. Next three days, they’ve set up camp out by the old thrift shop on Washburn.”

  A man in rumpled clothes at a table near theirs waved his hand. Santa Barbara was in Southern California, Kendra remembered. That must be close to Devil’s Wake! Grandpa Joe used to say that when God closes one door, he opens another.

  Kendra jumped up. She’d had her eye on another drumstick, but food could wait.

  “Where are you going?” Terry said.

  “I have to hear about Devil’s Wake,” she said.

  She went to the islander’s table. He was thin-faced and professional, like a college music teacher. His upper lip had been smashed sometime in the recent past, and he was missing fragments of his front teeth. Other than that, he looked fine after his trip.

  She introduced herself.

  “Donald Crisp,” he said. “Nice to shake hands and use manners again.”

  “What have you heard about Devil’s Wake?” she said. “It’s an island.”

  He nodded. “Sure. Hard to get in—they’re at capacity, or near it. We’re not built up like they are.”

  Kendra’s heart bounded. “It’s not just … a myth?”

  Crisp shook his head. “It’s as real as Domino Falls, although I’d never get a dinner invitation there. Wish I could. On an island, you don’t need the fences. It’s a fortress.”
r />   Kendra felt as if a stone had rolled off her heart. She suddenly imagined herself back in the truck with Grandpa Joe, seeing his frightened eyes as he told her to go to Devil’s Wake. Grandpa Joe seemed to be standing beside her again.

  “I have an aunt there,” Kendra said. A great-aunt, actually, but the details were none of his business. “My grandfather said she can get us sanctuary.”

  Again, he nodded. “They take care of their own,” Crisp said. “To a fault, some of us say. Hell, put in a good word for Donald Crisp. C-R-I-S-P.”

  “And … my friends?”

  He shrugged. “Depends. Some they let in, some they don’t. Their reasons don’t always make sense.” He thought of an idea. “But they broadcast on 3950 kilohertz. Try to talk to them. Can’t hurt. Be sure you know your kin’s name.”

  Kendra had forgotten that her heart could race with joy and excitement, not just fear. She didn’t remember meeting her great-aunt, but she was a piece of her family left behind. She had memories Kendra wanted to learn, or no one would be left to put the pieces of her family’s story together.

  Devil’s Wake was real! The possibilities left Kendra speechless.

  “Thanks, sir,” Terry said, steering Kendra away from the table while the man repeated his campsite’s location. “I don’t know what that look on your face means,” Terry told her, “but it’s not that easy, Kendra. We don’t know if we have a bus yet. And even if we did … that’s a long way down.”

  “I have to talk to them,” Kendra said. “Right now.”

  Terry looked flustered, but he trailed after her as she searched the crowd.

  “Who are you looking for?” he said.

  Kendra almost didn’t know. Her plan was formulating by itself. “The mayor,” she said. “I need a shortwave. He said to ask him any questions.”

  Van Peebles was standing over the dessert table, picking over the last crumbs in a pie tin. Kendra wasn’t as brazen as Sonia, but she put on a bright smile when she reached him. He looked delighted to see her.

  “Having a good time?” Van Peebles said.

  “Very much,” Kendra said, remembering Sonia’s charm. Smiling a bit longer.

  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

  “I need a shortwave,” she said. When he asked why, she told him. Would he try to keep her from communicating with the outside?

  Van Peebles didn’t hesitate or blink. “Few of those in town,” he said. “Closest one’s the gas station. They might let you use it, might not.”

  Nine

  The mom-and-pop Arco station was a block’s walk south. It was after dark, but a man was lighting the lamps and a few people were still outside, men and women. Citizens Patrol teams strolled the streets, recognizable from their powerful flashlights. A sole Gold Shirt astride a horse passed at a steady clip, another guardian. Despite the incident at dinner, Threadville seemed a safe place to walk after dark.

  “You might not find what you’re looking for,” Terry said. “It might always feel this way for a while, Kendra. No matter where you are.”

  Kendra was surprised by Terry’s insight, and a bit nervous. She stared at her grubby sneakers walking on the street’s smooth cobblestones. “I don’t know what I’m looking for,” Kendra said. “I just know I have to talk to her. At least this one time.” She paused. “That man was begging to see his daughter.” She couldn’t forget it, even now.

  “I know,” Terry said. “It creeped me out too. But let’s keep a low profile.”

  They stopped talking when two men approached from the opposite direction. Kendra was glad to feel Terry’s gun pressed to her side as they kept close. The men strode past them without slowing, leaving plenty of space among them, all of them pretending they weren’t trying so hard to keep out of one another’s way.

  A dim light was on inside the gas station, although the first gas pump wore a sign that said NO GAS TILL FRIDAY.

  The gas station’s convenience store was small, its shelves modestly stocked. Each item for sale had a detailed label instead of a price: Will trade for batteries, said the label beneath a precious-looking bottle of motor oil. A box of Almond Joy candy bars was marked Make an offer. Tempting.

  The young woman behind the counter was buried in a copy of Mademoiselle dated the year before, and Kendra wondered how many times she’d flipped through the wrinkled pages. “No gas till Friday,” she said. “Probably Saturday, truth be told.” Kendra spotted the small ham radio under the counter. The black box-like device looked like a bulky CD player covered with knobs and windows.

  “Do you let people use your radio?”

  “Depends,” the woman said. “Why do you want it?”

  “To call Devil’s Wake? I might have family there. It’s—”

  She glanced at the wall clock, an old glittering image of the Bay Bridge, something from a tourist shop. It was after seven-thirty. “Might be a little late for Max to be there,” she said, “but let’s give him a try.”

  The drumming began in Kendra’s chest again. Terry gave her a warning look—Don’t get your hopes up, he seemed to say. What was wrong with hoping?

  The attendant operated the radio for her, calling out with a cigarette-roughened voice. “This is CrazyLady, Domino Falls, California. Looking for Devil’s Wake,” she said. She waited a few seconds, and then repeated her call. “Devil’s Wake—do you copy?”

  Kendra’s chest felt tight. What if no one answered?

  The radio sputtered to life. “CrazyLady?” There was static. “You’re dropping out.”

  “Newbie asked me to give you a holler,” the woman said, and gave Kendra the handheld transmitter. “Quick, I might lose the signal.”

  For a moment, Kendra didn’t know where to begin. “My name is Kendra Brookings. Is there a … Stella Carver on the island?” She was so surprised to reach Devil’s Wake, she’d almost forgotten her name.

  She expected a long wait while he flipped through records, but he answered right away. “Stella? Sure! The librarian.” Kendra froze, wondering if she was dreaming. Maybe that was it. She’d been dreaming since they first drove into Threadville. The attendant smiled, happy for her.

  “She’s my great-aunt,” Kendra said. “Can you get her on the line?”

  The guy on the other end, Max, laughed. “Hey now, I’m not a phone operator. Doesn’t quite work like that. I’ll have her here at noon tomorrow, though.”

  The woman behind the counter shook her head, taking the mic from Kendra. “You know I’m dead air without the power,” she said. “I’ve got juice for another twenty minutes. Can’t you go run and get her?”

  Half of what Max said next was lost to static. “—your own personal valet service out here, Gloria, I shoulda been home an hour ago—” When his voice cut out again, Gloria’s mischievous smile gave her away. She was interfering with his transmission.

  “What’s that?” Gloria said into the mic. “I didn’t copy that. So you’ll go run and fetch Stella Carver so she can talk to her surviving family? Her name’s Kendra.”

  This time, the radio buzzed with silence, and Kendra was afraid he was gone. Finally, Max sighed. “If Wales ever sends you out here on a goodwill mission or whatever, you better duck if you see me coming, lady. I’ll get her, but you owe me.”

  “Hurry, Max—seriously, blackout in twenty minutes.”

  Max cursed, and the radio went quiet.

  For the first few seconds, Kendra held her breath as if she expected Aunt Stella to simply materialize. “Thanks so much,” she told the girl. “Will he really go get her?”

  “He’s gonna try.” She stared at the clock warily. “Don’t know if he’ll make it.”

  Kendra’s heartbeat pulsed in her fingertips, so she squeezed Terry’s hand.

  “Thanks so much for helping us,” Terry said to Gloria, the first to remember his manners. “Just the way you’re trying like this …” He didn’t finish. “Just … thanks.”

  Gloria shrugged, winking at him. “You kidding?
With everything going on out there, I get a chance to bring a family together? You just made my week! Braiding the Threads, like Mr. Wales says.”

  They shared a moment of giddiness, which veered to anxiousness as the bright red second hand ticked around the clock. Terry and Gloria made small talk about Threadville, but Kendra didn’t hear a word of it. Ten minutes passed like an hour, but the next five sped by. We don’t have enough time, she thought.

  Gloria glanced at the clock. “Sorry, my radio’s about to die,” she said. “Max is gonna kill me, but come back in the morning. Or go to the main radio station—”

  The radio hissed with feedback.

  “Threadville?” Max’s voice said. “You copy? I’ve got Stella Carver here.”

  Gloria shrieked, overjoyed. At first, Kendra could only stare at the radio. The dreamlike sensation came back, stronger than before. Just as she’d felt at Portland General, and then with her parents, she couldn’t believe it was true.

  “Hello?” a garbled woman’s voice said. Kendra had expected her father’s aunt to sound like an old lady, but the woman sounded vibrant if breathless. “Who’s this?”

  “Aunt Stella?” Kendra said. She forgot to press the Talk button at first, so Gloria patiently reminded her. “Aunt Stella? It’s me: Kendra.”

  “Kendra!” the woman shouted, and this time her voice was loud and clear. “Devon’s Kendra? He said it was a Karen.” Her voice was muffled as she said something off to the side. “This is my grand-niece Kendra! From Washington!”

  Gloria pointed at the clock, made a move-it-along motion. Kendra pressed Talk again. “My grandpaJoe said to call you—”

  “—all right, baby?” Aunt Stella said. “Are you with your dad and mom?”

  Kendra breathed through the bubble of grief. Stella Carver might be the only person left who had known her parents. “No,” she said. “Mom and Dad didn’t make it.”

  A painful pause, then, “I understand,” Aunt Stella said, clipped. “I’m sorry for what happened, sugar, but you survived. Are you all right? You hurt?”