Dead Highways: Origins

by Richard Brown

  “This is one time when I feel blessed to have such a small family,” I said. “I can’t imagine what it’s like to be in either of your shoes.”

  After we got our fill on junk food, we got right down to business. Peaches grabbed the pack of cigarettes and went outside for a smoke. She also said she’d get the formula from the car to feed Olivia, who had woken from her nap and wasn’t in the best of moods. Officer Robinson helped me cram as much stuff as I could into my grandma’s old luggage. Clothing. Photos. Bathroom supplies. Ammunition for Sally. Just the essentials. After we were done, he helped me carry all of it down and load it into the trunk of grandma’s Buick. Then he helped me carry grandma down. We loaded her into the backseat instead of the trunk. While Peaches changed and then fed baby Olivia on the steps outside, I loaded up a backpack full of books from the bookstore. Mostly classic science fiction and fantasy stuff from authors like Ray Bradbury, Philip K. Dick, and Isaac Asimov. I also threw in a few zombie books for good measure.

  Then I set the alarm and locked up the doors. As we drove off, following behind Officer Robinson’s squad car, I quietly said goodbye to the bookstore, to the only place I’d ever called home, knowing it may be the last time I ever saw it. My life as I once knew it was officially over.

  How things change.

  Chapter 21

  “Do you think we could stop by my place so I could get some stuff?” Peaches asked from the passenger seat. She had Olivia nestled against her chest.

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “Like clothes.”

  “You have clothes.”

  “More than the ones I have on. I don’t think I’d fit in yours.”

  “Maybe Officer Robinson has something you could wear.” She gave me a look that said—I’d punch you in the face if I didn’t have this baby in my arms. “I’m just kidding. We’ll go get your stuff after we finish up at the police station.”

  “Thanks”

  The police station was about ten miles north of the bookstore, but it took almost forty-five minutes to get there. Officer Robinson led the way, as I had no clue where it was located. As expected, all of the major highways were congested, so once again we had to find a creative way through the traffic. For the most part, Robinson did a fine job navigating. Being a cop, he obviously knew the network of roads well. When we reached the station, I parked the Buick behind him right outside the main entrance.

  “Hold on. I’ll be right back,” Robinson said, and entered the building.

  While he was gone, I scanned the surroundings. There was a large retention pond on the other end of the parking lot.

  “You ever been here before?” Peaches asked.

  “No, first time. You?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think maybe . . . yes.”

  She nodded. “Even spent some time up at the county jail.”

  “Really?”

  “Wasn’t too bad. Just a few nights. They usually went easy on gals like me.”

  “Bet it wasn’t the same for the guys.”

  She laughed. “Not so much.”

  Robinson returned a few minutes later pushing a wheelchair. It looked a lot like the wheelchair at Jerry’s house, only this one had safety cuffs on the arm and leg rests.

  “I was hoping we wouldn’t have to carry him again,” I said, referring to Moses’ massive two-hundred plus pound body slumped over in the backseat of Robinson’s squad car.

  “I thought you’d approve.”

  I helped lift and secure Moses into the wheelchair, told my grandma we’d be back in a jiffy, and then followed Robinson into the building.

  The police station wasn’t nearly as crowded as the hospital but was just as quiet. Numerous officers and other staff lay around blocking up the corridors. The whole place stunk of coffee and government paperwork.

  Robinson led us down a long corridor, past interrogation rooms and dispatch offices, and then through a set of double doors into a rectangular room with two holding cells. I expected the cells to have iron bars like on The Andy Griffith Show, but instead they were just ordinary rooms with small viewing windows on the doors. Robinson grabbed a clipboard off the wall and flipped through some pages, then unlocked the first cell and pushed Moses inside.

  Peaches decided to stay back with Olivia, while I slowly followed Robinson into the cell.

  Moses would have the whole place to himself, all one hundred and fifty or so square feet. He even had such luxuries as a toilet and water fountain, should he eventually wake up, which I secretly hoped he would only so that he could die alone in this awful room. He deserved no less for putting a gun to my grandma’s head.

  “That’s that,” Robinson said, shutting and locking the cell door.

  As we were about to leave, someone began banging on the cell door and yelling, “Help! Get me out of here!”

  Great, he did wake up, I thought. And not a moment too soon.

  “Is that . . . Moses?” I asked.

  Robinson narrowed his eyes. “No, it’s coming from the other holding cell.”

  Damn! How I would have loved to taunt Moses through that little window.

  I stayed back with Peaches while Robinson walked up and peered into the second cell.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said. “I don’t believe it.”

  I took a cautious step forward. “What?”

  Robinson drew his pistol and yelled, “Sit down on the bench,” to the occupant of the cell. Then he opened the door and pointed the gun at the muscular black man with a bushy beard who sat across from the door with his hands up.

  I instantly recognized him. Kevin, the kid who gave me my first joint, had called him Bowser.

  Robinson kept his gun sighted on Bowser. “What are you doing here?”

  “What do you think I’m doing here,” Bowser said. “Couple of your boys brought me in yesterday.”

  “I’m sure they had good reason.”

  “Actually, they didn’t.”

  “Sure. Sure. How ‘bout I check?”

  “Fine,” said Bowser.

  “You stay put,” Robinson said, strolling back over to the clipboard on the wall. Again, he scanned through the pages. “Says you resisted arrest.”

  “And . . .”

  Robinson hung the clipboard back on the wall and walked back over to the second holding cell. He kept his gun lowered. “Why’d you resist arrest?”

  “They tried to keep me off the streets. Said I needed to stay indoors. I wasn’t having none of that.”

  “Sounds like you.”

  “I don’t work the streets, I don’t get paid.”

  “You don’t have to tell me. I know your game.”

  “Plus, I don’t think your boys liked the way I look.”

  “I don’t blame them. I don’t like the way you look either.”

  “Nigga, you know what I mean.”

  “I ain’t your nigga,” Robinson replied. “Ain’t been your nigga for a long time. So drop the routine. I don’t need to hear it right now. We grew up on the same streets, went to the same school, were both born with the same color skin, and you don’t see me complaining. You know why?”

  Bowser shrugged.

  “Oh, that’s right, I forgot. You never cared about nothing but yourself. Well I’m gonna tell you anyway, cause I think you deserve to hear it for once in your life. You don’t see me complaining because I worked hard for everything I got. I worked hard to earn this badge. Worked hard to buy a house. Worked hard so maybe my boy can have it a little easier than I did. Worked hard not to be a statistic. And I’ll be damned if I let the color of my skin be the excuse that holds me back from achieving my dreams.”

  Bowser smirked. “Your dream was to be cop?”

  “You bet your ass it was. And it’s given me the opportunity to be a part of something bigger than myself. What have you done lately, besides sitting in a cell looking like a fool?”

  Whoa, what a battle I was witnessing. And here I though
t Aamod and I had our differences.

  “So what you gonna do then . . . leave me here to rot?”

  “Why not? A lot of people would. Shit, most wouldn’t have even opened the cell door.”

  “You ain’t most people, though, and I know you ain’t forgot about that money I owe you.”

  Robinson began laughing. “I had until you mentioned it. 1993. NBA finals. Only you would bet against Jordan.”

  “I thought the Suns had it that year.”

  “How long has it been, almost twenty years? That’s a lot of interest you owe. Too bad money don’t mean much anymore. Not that I expected you to make good on the bet anyway.”

  “That’s cold-blooded, bro.”

  “Yeah, the truth usually is.”

  “Give me a break.”

  “I am. I’m gonna let you out. Not because I like you, and not because I think you deserve it, but because I don’t want to carry around the guilt of leaving you here to die. If the man upstairs decided to spare you the fate that so many others have suffered, then he has to have some crazy reason. Long as it don’t have nothing to do with me.”

  “I appreciate it.”

  “Go on. Get out of there. Before I change my mind.”

  Bowser stood up and exited the cell. He kept his distance from Officer Robinson. “You mind giving me a ride?”

  “What part of nothing to do with me didn’t you understand? You can walk for all I care. Have a nice day.”

  “Where do you need to go?” I asked.

  “Home.”

  “Well, if your home is anywhere near Shady Villas trailer park then we could drop you off.”

  “Yeah, it’s about a block over.”

  “Thought you were coming over to my place,” said Robinson.

  “We are.”

  “I just need to get some clothes and stuff first,” Peaches said.

  “Oh, all right. Whatever you need to do,” said Robinson. “I’ll give you my address and you can come over when you’re done. As far as this guy goes, if you want to escort him home, be my guest. Just watch for missing change in the cup holder.”

  Bowser responded only by shaking his head.

  Chapter 22

  “Thanks for giving me a ride.”

  Bowser sat shotgun next to me, while Peaches and Olivia kept grandma company in the backseat.

  “I’d be lying if I said I didn’t have an ulterior motive. Do you remember me?”

  “Sure. You’re Kev’s buddy.”

  “Funny, I was gonna say the same thing to you. But Kevin and I weren’t exactly buddies.”

  Bowser smiled. “Same here.”

  “In fact, he kinda got on my nerves.”

  Bowser nodded, still smiling. “Same here.”

  “Have you seen him lately?”

  “Nah. Not for a week or so. Not since all this crazy shit went down.”

  “Who is Kevin?” Peaches asked from the backseat.

  “Oh, Kevin is just this kid who hung around the bookstore a lot,” I said.

  “A customer?”

  “No, Kevin had other interests than books.” I met eyes with Peaches in the rearview mirror. “Remember that joint we smoked the first night we met?”

  “How could I forget?”

  “Got that from Kevin, and I bet Kevin got that from Bowser here.”

  Bowser looked away. “No comment.”

  “By the way, I wanted to ask you about your name. Any relation to Bowser from Super Mario Bros?”

  “It’s not my real name. Just a nickname given to me by some friends a long time ago.”

  “Why Bowser, though? Do you like to pounce on people?”

  “You wanna find out?”

  “No, not really.”

  “I’m just playin’ with you. My real name is Andre, but since everyone I hang with call me Bowser, it just stuck.”

  “I know the feeling,” Peaches said.

  “Hmm. Maybe I should have a nickname,” I said.

  Peaches ignored my request and leaned in between the two front seats to ask Bowser a very specific question. “Hey, you got any . . . you know?”

  “Not on me, obviously,” Bowser replied, knowing exactly what she was referring to. “But I got some at the house. Why?”

  “Yeah, why, Peaches?” I said. “You aren’t really thinking about smoking right now, are you?”

  “Oh, like you hadn’t thought about it,” she said.

  “Not once.”

  I was proud of myself. I had lied without cracking a smile.

  “What was that ulterior motive you had then?”

  I cracked the largest smile and said, “No comment.”

  Bowser said he was fine with walking home from Shady Villas, so we wouldn’t have to go out of our way. I figured he just didn’t want us to know where he lived. Who knows? Maybe it was a shithole. Couldn’t be more embarrassing than the place I called home, or the beat-up tin can Peaches used to live in. Her trailer was about midway into the park, and one of the smallest around.

  I pulled the car into the dirt driveway, and we all got out. Except grandma.

  Before heading off, Bowser said, “If you want some green, I could get you some.”

  “We don’t have anything to give you in return,” I said.

  “You gave me a ride. Believe it or not, I ain’t the dick Robinson makes me out to be.”

  “What’s up with that anyway?”

  Bowser shrugged. “We used to be good friends growing up. Our pops both worked at the Coke warehouse down the road. Then my folks got a divorce and my dad moved away. I got into drugs. And we just went our separate ways. Been at odds ever since. Nothing more to it than that. I guess he’s been holding a grudge against me.”

  “How many years has it been since you guys were friends?”

  “We stopped chillin’ round the time I turned twenty-one or so. Next year I’ll be forty, so you get the picture. How long have you known him?”

  “Just met, really. A crazy asshole broke into my grandma’s bookstore over a month ago, and Robinson was the first cop who responded. We kept in touch by telephone ever since then, trying to catch the guy who did it. A few hours ago, we finally did.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Yeah, that’s why we went to the police station . . . to lock him in one of the holding cells. Even though he was infected. I guess that worked out good for you too, huh.”

  Bowser nodded. “You sure you don’t want anything?”

  I looked over at Peaches. I didn’t want to make any important decisions without first checking with her. She was busy feeding baby Olivia.

  “I think we’ll be fine,” I finally said.

  “Okay, then. Good luck,” Bowser said, and began walking away.

  “You know, Robinson’s trying to gather together as many survivors as possible. That’s why we’re going to his house.”

  Bowser stopped and looked back. “What is he planning to do?”

  “I don’t know. Stick together. Figure something out. If you and him could make some amends, I wouldn’t be against you joining us.”

  “I don’t see that happening.”

  “I could talk to him for you.”

  “Thanks for the offer, but I got my own people I got to check on. And besides, Robinson don’t let go of grudges easily. He’s always been that way.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, come on back. We’ll be here for a little while.”

  After Bowser was out of sight, Peaches said, “He ain’t coming back.”

  I sat down beside her as she finished bottle-feeding Olivia. “I hope you’re wrong. We need everyone we can get.”

  Peaches invited me into her trailer and told me to sit on the couch and hold Olivia while she packed a few bags. I didn’t argue. She had only the bare minimum for furniture—couch, small dining table, TV and stand, and practically no decorations on the walls. I didn’t want to say anything because I felt bad, but her trailer smelled like a mix of carpet cleaner and cheese puf
fs. I know my place probably smelled like my grandma’s arthritis cream, but that wasn’t my fault. As the minutes passed, I began to wonder if she’d ever brought any of her clients back here and done anything on the couch. Luckily, most of the stains in the lime green fabric were of the dark variety.

  After maybe fifteen minutes, she returned from the back bedroom with a suitcase in each hand and a giant bedazzled purse slung around her shoulder.

  “I think that should do it,” she said.

  “Only two bags.”

  “Is that not enough?”

  “I don’t know. I guess I just expected more. Aren’t women all high maintenance and stuff?”

  “You have a lot to learn, Jimmy,” she replied. “And I’m not like most women.”

  I had to bite my tongue to keep from saying something that was bound to get me slapped.

  I helped her load the bags into the trunk next to mine, and the single bag I’d packed for my grandma. Then she made one final look through the trailer to see if she forgot anything. I leaned against the car, holding Olivia, who had already gone back to sleep, and waited for Peaches to return. Someone else beat her to it.

  Gray shorts. Black tank top. Big muscles. Bald head. Black beard.

  Bowser.

  Or Andre.

  Whatever.

  As he got closer, I saw he was carrying a backpack.

  “What happened?” I asked, as he walked up the dirt driveway.

  “My boys are gone. My girl is gone.” He set his backpack down on the hood of the Buick. If grandma were ever going to wake up, that should have done it. “They’re all gone.”

  “You mean . . .”

  “Like everything else. Like everyone else. Gone.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  He shrugged. “That’s the way it goes.”

  Peaches came out of the trailer, noticeably surprised to see Bowser standing next to me. “I didn’t think you’d come back.”

  “Is it a problem?”

  “No, but listening to you and Robinson go at it—”

  “I’ll talk to him,” I said.

  “Nah, I’ll do it. You don’t need to burn any bridges for me. What I got to lose anyway? If he says no, then he says no.”

  “I think he’ll say yes.”

  “That makes one of us,” Bowser said.