THE CLOUD SEEDERS

by James Zerndt

  “A little head’s up would have been nice.”

  “Wasn’t thinking,” Twink says. Then, once he’s sure I’m not going to pursue it, adds, “Dustin doesn’t know who Luke’s father is, does he?”

  “No,” I say. “We haven’t seen that one yet.”

  “Good. Then I didn’t ruin anything.”

  He seems pleased by this.

  Like he’s single-handedly saved Dustin’s childhood.

  *

  Later that afternoon, Twink hands a bill to Jerusha, poking his finger at a number circled in red on the bottom.

  “Only fourteen debits,” he says. “Told you it wouldn’t be too bad.”

  Jerusha smiles, hands him her Citizen card.

  “By the way, your Juice allotment is pretty near low. Just thought you should know,” he says and disappears into the shop again.

  We toss our gear into the car and when Jerusha turns the key, the thing absolutely hums. She pops the hood and there’s even a fresh diaper over the batteries.

  “See,” she says. “It pays to be friendly.”

  “I was friendly.”

  “Nobody cares if you’re friendly.”

  “Yeah,” Dustin mimics. “Nobody cares.”

  “Really?” I say and just as I have Dustin lifted off the ground, his legs pin-wheeling in the air, Twink comes back, his face white as a cumulus.

  “I don’t quite know how to tell you this, but I think you may have a problem.”

  I put Dustin down.

  “When I ran your card, the machine locked onto it.” When we just stare at him, he says, “If you don’t believe me, I can show you.”

  We go inside, and, sure enough, there’s Jerusha’s card stuck in the card swipe, a red light blinking, the message Authorities Notified flashing on the screen.

  “Are you guys in some kind of trouble?”

  The charging station. Why would they let us go only to pull something like this?

  “Maybe,” I say.

  Jerusha rolls her eyes at me. “Definitely. I spit in a Water-cop’s face at the last check-point.”

  “For good reason, I hope,” Twink says and smiles nervously at her.

  “If attempted rape is a good reason, then, yeah, it was for good reason.”

  “I’m sorry,” Twink says and walks over to Jerusha, gently placing his hand on her shoulder. “I might be able to help you though. If you’ll let me, that is.”

  We go from staring at Twink, to staring at each other, then back to staring at Twink.

  My mind is stuck on the word Authorities and my knees start to go all funny on me.

  “I knew this was going to happen,” I say. After that, the rest of the conversation comes in patches. Mostly I hear Twink, urgent but also calm somehow.

  Like he’s done this sort of thing before.

  ...need to clean up a few things...

  ...a hidden camp. Leftovers. They’ll take good care of you...

  ...goats...

  Dustin eventually helps me back to the car and from the backseat, I watch as Twink runs inside the shop, returns with a backpack and a small box. When he climbs in next to me, I can make out the words Do Not Open written on top of the box.

  Under that are the initials R.B.

  It’s from Dad.

  Twink places it on the floor, then leans over the front seat. “Drive,” he says to Jerusha. “And don’t stop until I tell you to.”

  Passive-Aggressive

  It’s okay if you don’t want to read this poem.

  Really,

  It’s no big deal.

  And yes,

  i swear i wrote this one-

  that it’s not another test

  like that time i showed you two poems

  and told you they were both mine,

  but one was by a famous poet.

  When you chose mine as the better of the two,

  i said it only went to show

  you knew nothing about poetry.

  But this isn’t like that-

  i promise.

  And besides, you’ve probably got something better to do

  than read a silly poem

  that’s all about you.

  So i guess you’ll miss the part

  where i write a word

  really small

  i love you!

  and when you lean down to read it,

  the poem grabs your nose

  and squeezes so hard your eyes start to water-

  which is good

  because the sad part is coming.

  The part about how i’m jealous

  of my little Cloud Seeder

  and your love for silver oxide.

  But, yeah, i know

  you’re tired

  and all i do is talk about poetry.

  Poetry this and poetry that,

  blah blah blah.

  All you had to do was read the stupid thing,

  then say thank you

  for the tan you got

  while basking in its brilliance.

  It doesn’t matter now anyway

  because the poem’s over,

  and i’m leaving you.

  Thanks.

  Thanks a lot.

  7 Kick the H20 Habit

  We spend the day driving up and out of the heat, into the mountains and the coolness there. I’m not sure how fast Jerusha’s going, but the scenery looks even thinner than usual.

  Please, I think. Blur everything.

  Blur, blur, blur.

  My temple is super-glued to the window so I don’t have to think about the fact that Twink’s joined our little road trip. Dustin keeps turning around, like he’s looking to see if we’re being followed, but I know he’s checking up on me.

  Probably a little of both, but, still, it’s sweet.

  Useless, but sweet.

  Outside the window I imagine the cops from the check-point playing cards inside their cruiser, talking about how sweet Jerusha’s ass is, what they would have done to her if we hadn’t been Water-cops. I can see the young one, playing along, his heart not really all that into it. I imagine blowing up their truck all Rambo-style, maybe with a grenade launcher or something. There are flashes of yellow and white, screaming, the young one crawling out, his body grilled and seared. He looks around for the tank that must have leveled them, sees me standing there, my dusty hair blowing valiantly in the wind as he slowly pieces together what happened.

  The entire montage takes about a second for my brain to put together and various versions of it have been playing over and over since the incident with Jerusha.

  The incident.

  The nightmare, more like.

  The other footage on the reel consists of our house being ransacked by Water-cops, the remaining stash of water being found in the basement, a search-warrant issued for our parents, barking dogs brought in, paws gleefully scratching, frantic hands clearing away dirt as the truth slowly comes to light.

  That takes another second.

  When this sick scenario finishes playing itself out, I try to distract myself by doing something I’m quickly becoming an expert at: daydreaming.

  I become a giant bounding over the sterile landscape passing us by, jumping over old barns. Next I’m riding a ten-foot tall motorcycle bouncing from cactus to cactus, suspended in between like a frozen ballerina.

  I’m Godzilla, drop-kicking imaginary cows across the open desert, destroying all I see.

  I am king of everything.

  Outside the window.

  *

  “Stop here,” Twink says and Jerusha eases the car off the road into a stand of barely breathing Evergreens. “Pack only what you need. The rest can stay.”

  “You don’t have to go with us,” I say to Jerusha as she rummages around in the trunk. “You can still go home.”

  “Have you seen my pencil?”

  “Jerusha.”

  “I’m going. End of discussion. Now where’s my pencil? I need my pencil.”

&nbs
p; She starts poking around in the trunk again and my eyes naturally fall to her butt. I can see the string dangling from her back pocket. Like the pencil’s trying to rappel its way to freedom.

  “You’ll find it,” I say. “Just keep looking.”

  I go see how Dustin’s fairing and catch him placing Lando and Yoda on the dashboard, both of them with hands raised, facing opposite doors.

  Lando with a gun. Yoda a staff.

  “They going to watch over the car for us?” I ask.

  He startles a little at the sound of my voice.

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “You sure you don’t want to take them with? I don’t know how long we’ll be here.”

  Dustin gets out of the car, grabs his backpack and Mom’s book. “They’re just toys,” he says, slamming the door and I can just about hear the first nail being driven into his childhood.

  I go through the car one last time, remove anything we might need: body-wipes, water, an extra pair of balls.

  “You going to bring that old battery?” Twink asks as I’m cramming stuff into my backpack. “We could use it.”

  “A little heavy, don’t you think?”

  “You’ll manage.”

  “What about the license plates?”

  “Leave ‘em,” he says. “Wouldn’t hurt to camouflage the car a little though. No need to advertise.”

  Dustin and I cover the car with twigs, dirt, whatever is around. When we finish, Dustin says, “We should burn it. Just to be on the safe side.”

  “Nobody’s burning anything,” Jerusha says, locking the trunk. “We’re coming back. Got it?”

  The car battery weighs about a thousand pounds, so I fashion a papoose out of an old t-shirt and sling it over my neck.

  “Why does that look so natural on you?” Jerusha says, and I swear if Twink so much as lets out a Wookie giggle, I’ll drop him.

  “Let’s just get moving, okay?”

  Jerusha gestures for Twink to lead the way and when he starts lumbering uphill, she turns to Dustin, asks if he’s seen her flipper.

  “Nope,” he says. “Can’t say that I have.”

  Jerusha turns her back to us, the string still dangling there, and Dustin looks at me, smiles for the first time since we left Twink’s.

  *

  We find the trailhead right where Twink said it would be, just past a brown government sign.

  CAMPING PROHIBITED- VIOLATORS SUBJECT TO SEVERE DRYING.

  The trail is thin, barely worn, which is a good sign. The trees here are stubborn, still standing though it’s obvious they’re nearly hollow. When our arms brush up against the branches, there’s this crackling sound like something might spontaneously combust. Still, it’s better, damper somehow, than it’s felt for weeks.

  We walk for maybe ten minutes before Dustin stops, wants to know if it’s time for a water break yet.

  “No,” I tell him. “Suck on one of those berries if you’re thirsty.”

  We’re down to six bottles of water now.

  Mere crumbs.

  “What’s a piñata?” Dustin asks out of nowhere, his words garbled by berries.

  “It’s a big animal made out of paper and stuffed full of candy,” I tell him. “They blindfold you, spin you around, then you try to hit the thing with a baseball bat.”

  “What’s the point?”

  “The candy is the point.”

  “Oh,” Dustin says, sounding more confused than when he started.

  I’m beginning to think I should have burned Mom’s book of poems. Maybe buried it. He’ll be looking for clues in it, for answers, the rest of his life.

  We walk along in silence until Twink says, “This is it,” and kicks a tree stump with a small X whittled into the bark. “We hang a left here.”

  We huddle up near the stump and scan the area, but there’s nothing to see but more dead brush.

  “Hey, D. You bring your ticket book?” I say, trying to lighten the mood. “Bet you reach your yearly quota in like ten minutes.”

  Dustin stoops a little, hefts his shoulders to adjust his backpack. “No more tickets,” he says and spits on the ground. “What’s the point?”

  Nail number two.

  “We should go now,” Twink says and eyes the surrounding trees like maybe vampires are about to come swooping down. “The others will worry.”

  “How many Leftovers are there anyway?” Dustin asks.

  “We don’t call ourselves Leftovers out here.”

  Dustin just stares at Twink, waiting for the number.

  “There are twenty-six of us. A few more won’t hurt.”

  Dustin seems a little disappointed.

  Maybe he did bring his ticket book.

  “We’ll help out as much as we can,” Jerusha says, covering for Dustin’s silence. “We know this can’t be easy for you.”

  “You’re one of us now,” Twink says, his eyes still on Dustin. “C’mon, it’s not that far from here.”

  When Twink turns to lead the way, Dustin looks at me and I know exactly what he’s thinking.

  It’s what we’re all thinking.

  I want to go home.

  *

  From up above, we see a city of tents quilting the valley floor. It looks like there was a music festival of some kind, only everybody forgot to leave.

  “What’s that?” Jerusha asks, pointing to a log cabin.

  “That’s for the hot springs,” Twink says.

  “You’re kidding.”

  “This place belonged to my great grandfather. The springs were sort of a family tradition.”

  “And nobody knows you’re out here?”

  “Not yet,” Twink says. “We have strict rules though. No fires at night. No walking beyond the boundaries. And absolutely no outside contact with Gridders.”

  “You mean Citizens,” I say.

  “Yes. What you used to be.”

  “We used to be Water--”

  “I know what you were, Thomas,” Twink says and walks toward me. For a second I think maybe he’s going to punch me, but he just stands there, his eyes narrowed.

  “It doesn’t matter when a man stands up inside himself, Thomas. Just so long as he stands up.”

  “I’m not my father,” I say, my voice as thin as the air. “I’m no hero.”

  “Nobody said you were,” he says and turns away from me. “But you can help by telling us everything you know.”

  “About?”

  “We’ve had people on the inside before, but never as close as you.” He stares down at the camp, seems to reconsider something. “And make no mistake. We may have a hot spring here, but this is no spa. We’ll need all the help we can get.”

  I look down at Dustin, expect to see him glaring at Twink, at this Leftover in disguise, but he’s standing at attention the same way he used to when we reported back to Sarge.

  Twink gets down on one knee, motions Dustin to his side. “You see that, where the children are playing?”

  “Yeah?”

  “That’s our well. We dug it ourselves. Do you know what a well is?”

  “An Unforgivable.”

  “Not here it isn’t. Here it brings up water from deep in the earth’s belly. Fresh, cold, un-recycled water.” Twink straightens up. “We also have a pretty decent nursery where we grow those berries you seem so fond of. You think you might be able to help us?”

  “Yes, sir,” Dustin says, all eighty pounds of him dead serious. I can tell by the way he has his hand at his side, he’s holding back a salute.

  “Now how about meeting some of the other children?”

  Twink might as well be holding a lollipop the way Dustin’s eyes are lit up.

  Jerusha, though, still seems hesitant.

  “I think you’ll have time to take a nice soak before dinner,” Twink tells her. “That is, if you like that sort of thing.”

  “Can we leave?” she says quietly. “I mean if we need to. Or just want to. Can we leave?”

  Twink no
ds to himself like he gets this sort of thing all the time. “Yes, dear,” he says. “But nobody ever does. I mean, why would you?”

  Dustin reaches behind Jerusha, pulls the pencil from her back pocket, hands it to her.

  “Really?” she says, wriggling the string around on his head.

  “Can we go now?”

  “Fine,” Jerusha says. “After you, kiddo.”

  Dustin heads off with Twink down the trail, and, once they’re out of earshot, I turn to Jerusha, say, “I think I know why we’re here.”

  “And why’s that?”

  “I think whatever’s left of Dustin’s childhood might be down there.”

  Jerusha takes my hand, gives it a little squeeze.

  “C’mon,” she says. “I need a bath.”

  *

  What we find is a band of thin, ragged people.

  Thin and ragged, but happy.

  That much is clear right away.

  While Twink gives us a tour, children chase each other around, whisper-yelling while some of the adults nap, their feet poking out from various tents. In a nearby field, two men are hunched over, digging what we’re told will be the second well. There’s also a string of outhouses, plastic piping running into a collective pool.

  It looks like a hot-tub, only it’s shaking.

  Then I get it.

  Community Water-Recycling.

  Yuck.

  There’s a line of car batteries near the recycling tub, each of them hooked up to small metal box. When I see one of the Leftovers talking into it, I realize they’re CBs. Twink must have brought them from the used-car lot. I guess he learned something at college after all.

  “Each state has its own channel,” he explains. “It’s how we communicate without the powers-that-be knowing. They’ve never bothered to check anything so primitive as a CB.”

  We continue on our tour and I start to notice just how friendly everybody seems. People are working, but they seem happy doing it. Just about every person gives us a big smile as we pass by.

  Would you rather live on a commune or in Rehab?

  We approach a pen of goats and one of them gets off its knees, staggers toward Dustin.

  “You can touch him,” Twink says. “Go ahead.”