by Bella Knight
In the morning, the boys complained about the cold. The soldiers good-naturedly ribbed them. The desert heated up quickly. They had camp coffee and oatmeal, and went hiking again. They sang more cadence songs, avoiding the ones about yellow birds, and whips and chains. Robert taught them the pararescue one his friend taught him about being raised by a bear, covered with hair, on a mountainside. The boys loved it. They went on a long looping hike, gaining and losing altitude. Inola stopped to sing from time to time, and on one ridge, she did a foot-stomping dance as she sang. They ate lunch on the trail, then did some more hiking. The boys got back to base. They were tired, sore, a bit scraped from a spill or two, but happy, and took turns in the camp showers. They cooked more hot dogs and roasted potatoes in the coals. They laughed, and drank sodas and beer (the kids were denied the beer), and told tall tales of impossible missions. The kids thought the ex-soldiers were all spies with superpowers by the end.
They woke up and hiked in the dark, to the point where Inola sang the sunrise. They stood there in silence, awed by the scenery. They hiked back down, got on the bikes, and roared down to the highway. They found a truck stop, and ate like kings. They then headed to the north rim of the Grand Canyon. They stared out, stunned, into the silence. Eventually, Inola sang. Then, they went to the west side, and walked on the Skywalk. They met with the Hualapai and Havasupai elders for lunch —of fry bread and stew, and the older boys spent time with their mom.
They took the back highways, riding past the trees, and made their way to the Zuni lands. Robert led the way, Inola at his side. His heart sang, a thundering melody of joy at seeing the roads of his home.
The elders met them at the ingress. They spoke to him in Zuni, welcoming him on his return. Robert introduced everyone. They took them to a good spot to camp, just by the river. They set up camp, and had a tremendous amount of fun visiting many people, and participating in learning Zuni arts. Davis met them with open arms; Suni already had her pottery wheel going, and the kiln running. People paid her to use the kiln, coming from all over.
She gave Robert his cut, and he laughed. “My mogul sister,” he said.
They left the comfort of their house to come down to pitch a tent on the river. Many people came out, and cooked on the grills. Laughter spilled out. People wore their good jeans and silver jewelry in their ears, at the throat, and on rings and bracelets. Dancing and singing in multiple languages ensued. The boys spoke in their own polyglots, and ran around with the kids on the res. Getting the kids to bed was deemed impossible, so they made a smaller fire —and tents for them to share. The laughter spilled out into the night.
Robert took the kids on a night hike with Davis and Inola, just to look at the stars. “Life is like this,” Robert told the boys. “Beauty, if you will stop and look. If you don’t stop and look, it will be ugly, sad, and short. Count the stars, fish the stream, hike the land. Ride horses, and grow flowers, and make beautiful things, like Davis, here, and my sister.”
Tam stared up at the stars. “I want to walk the stars.”
“Learn 3D printing and metallurgy,” suggested Inola. “And fuels. The lighter things get, the easier it will be to walk the stars.”
“Coding, too,” said Davis. “Just remember to walk in beauty. See it, walk it. Do it.”
“See it, walk it, do it,” said Robert. Tam and Little Nico took up the refrain.
They drove everyone insane the next day until Robert told them to take their phones and record what they wanted to see, walk, and do. They went on walks, fished the river, wandered about the res, and helped cook, clean, and do crafts like jewelry, painting, and pot making. They ran all over. The soldiers went on hikes, and Inola spoke one-on-one with the elders. Robert visited his sister and Davis, when they weren’t keeping an eye on some wild-eyed boys. It was quite difficult, but they got everyone corralled and showered.
They grilled fish that they caught, and ate fish tacos. They cleaned up camp, and prepared to leave the next day. They went on night hikes. They spent one more night under the stars. In the morning, they were up early, and ate fry bread and stew at Davis and Suni’s home. They hugged everyone, got Nick and Josh back from their mother, and headed out. Robert put himself in charge of the music, and they listened to Aerosmith’s Dream On and The Eagles’ Take it Easy and (of course), Hotel California.
They ate lunch at a barbecue restaurant in Kingman, Arizona; pulled pork sandwiches and fries —and Cokes. They were exhausted, dusty, and laughing like loons.
Robert stood up to go. His hand was in his pocket, ready to pull out his wallet, when Treista walked in. Her face had lines around her mouth from laughter. Her hair was pulled back and braided in a blue-black fall, over her shoulder. She was wearing faded jeans and a loose aquamarine shirt, her motorcycle jacket over her shoulder. She was Zuni, and had come to several of the cookout/singalongs. His jaw hit the floor. She had been polite, respectful, aloof. He thought her very far out of his league. She had just come back from getting her master’s degree in Native Languages and jewelry-making, with a minor in Business.
She smiled at Robert, a wide smile. She walked up to him, and said in Zuni. “I hear you have a shop for me to work in, with a place to stay overhead.”
“Be careful,” he said. “A silent wolf cub will wake you at dawn to help her feed the horses.”
She smiled. “I look forward to meeting this little wolf.”
“Good,” he said. “Are you hungry?” He pulled up a chair, and she sat.
She smiled, and called over a server. They had dessert while she ate her way through her own pulled pork sandwich and fries. “How did you know where we were?” asked Gregory, amused at Robert’s discomfort.
“I heard you and Mike talking last night,” she said. “I decided that it would be delicious.”
“Are you coming home with us?” asked Tam.
“Of course,” said Treista.
“Excellent!” he said.
Inola nodded at her. “We could use some help,” she said. “These ones do some chores, but…”
Little Nico started singing, “These are the chores that never end…” The others took up the song. Everyone laughed, and they went back to their Harleys.
“Nice,” said Robert, looking it over.
“I brought my tools,” she said. “Putting this baby together kept me from killing my thesis advisor.” He laughed. They put on their helmets, and rode toward home.
Rescue
Gregory woke to find his wife on top of him. He laughed softly into her hair, and groaned into her neck as she expertly guided him into her. He drove himself into her, and she clamped on him so hard that he fought to keep from screaming. Katya rode him, surrounding him with softness, and perfect wetness. He was careful, the baby inside her coming between them. She moaned, bending over to scream and grunt into his ears. She came hard, fast. Pregnancy made her need him, something he neither took for granted, nor sought. Pregnancy had its dangers, but he understood her compassion that was combined with her Russian stoicism and “let’s do-it” nature. She wanted to help those who could not give birth to children like she could; she was of strong, “Russian peasant woman” stock; she had children of her own. So, she would help. He loved her for it, and he worried about her. He let the worry go as she nibbled at his ear, then bit his ear lobe as she came in a rush, her wetness rushing over him. He let himself go with a grunt. She rolled off of him, cleaned them both up, and they put on their nightclothes in the dark, and slept.
He awoke to little boys crawling into the bed. Luka had learned how to kamikaze out of his crib by falling out on his head, and his brother had learned to follow suit. He was scheduled to switch them over to regular beds, because he didn’t want either son to get a concussion or a broken neck. Luka had his arm firmly wrapped around his throat, half-strangling him. The other slept cradled in his mother’s arms. He smiled, and slipped off into sleep again.
His pillow vibrated, his usual “5:30 open-your-eyes” shake, woke him.
He slid into sleep again, and came fully awake at six. Both boys were staring at him in blue-eyed wonder. They smiled at him, and he carried them out of the bedroom, one under each arm, giggling. He got them changed and into day clothes, and took them down the stairs. He put them down long enough to start the first load of washing in the washer. He put the boys in their high chairs, and they had bananas and Cheerios while he had coffee and a fat banana-nut muffin his wife had cooked the night before —with a little butter. He sang songs about trains and planes to the boys, making them laugh. He wiped everything down, including the boys, and put them in their gated playroom. They giggled as Lily came in with hers. He hugged her, and helped her get them on the floor on blankets.
Elena came down, grabbed cereal and a juice, and did a quick sweep and mop of the kitchen, then breezed in to kiss all the babies. “Be good,” she said to them, and blew on their stomachs, making them laugh. She gave her papa a bear hug, and rushed off to catch the school bus.
Rudi of the Wolfpack came breezing in, Redina right behind her, bearing coffee. “Bless you,” said Lily, taking a caramel macchiato. She snuck out, keeping her babies, Rose and Colin, from seeing her.
“I love you,” said Gregory, and kissed Rudi’s cheek. She laughed.
Katya came downstairs, and pretended to smack him. He laughed, and she kissed him. She kissed him, picked up a baby carrier, and strapped one of Lily’s babies (Colin) to her stomach. The baby sat on her rounding belly, and giggled. Katya took a coffee, and went to heat up her own breakfast muffin. She grabbed a basket of clean laundry on the way.
Gregory slipped out, leaving his family, and part of Lily’s family, in the loving care of three formidable women. He drove off in what Elena called the “company mobile.”
Sayan, Pomp, and Thandie were all waiting, and they hopped in when he clicked the SUV open. They rocked out to Bohemian Rhapsody on the way. They did the head-pounding part as they drove into the office.
“Bohemian Rhapsody?” asked Richland, as they strode in.
“What gave it away?” asked Thandie.
“Those of you without high-and-tights are a little obvious,” she said. “You have an hour before the trials.”
Gregory accepted a very dark coffee, a Kenyan roast, in his sealed mug. “Bless you. And let the best person win.”
“Ooh-rah,” said the ex-soldiers behind him.
They were ready in an hour, and Gregory drove one car, Bannon the other. The Air Force brats were there in the peanut gallery. Thandie, who was naturally small, put her hair in ridiculous poofs, wore a miniskirt, and acted like a complete idiot in the Urban Environment. She ignored the instructions of her handlers, tried to sneak off, stepped directly in front of windows and other easy lines of fire, and even tried to sneak off into an alley to score drugs. Three teams of three walked her through, and two got her killed —or, she got herself killed. The air officers ran bets, and the winning team got paid. They set up again, and the airmen “landed” in pairs, complete with parachutes, on rooftops. Bannon and Gregory’s people attempted to kill them, from a passerby with a shiv, to a nice lady with a poisoned stew. Two teams out of four made it out alive. More money changed hands.
Katya and Richland brought lunch, a selection of sandwiches, veggies, and drinks. They passed around the babies —Gregory’s two; Lily’s babies were asleep at the house. Katya strapped on Luka, and all the paint and rubber-bullet guns were taken away; laser sights only. Katya was now being escorted through a danger zone, and the various teams were responsible for either keeping her alive, or killing her. She got a break, and they switched babies. Two teams got her from one side of the “city” to the extraction point alive; both were Bannon and Gregory’s. Both winners and losers paid Katya and the babies for their time. Katya took the money, and gave her love a smoking kiss that curled his toes and provoked catcalls and cheers from the others. Then she took the babies home.
Everyone showered at the facilities, and Gregory got into what he called his “biker togs”—black jeans, dark shirt, vented summer jacket, motorcycle boots, and shades. He drove his people back to the office in his company car, then had Sayan drive him home to pick up his Harley. He didn’t go inside, afraid of interrupting baby naps. He headed to the Caesar’s Hotel, and picked up his client, Danny Richert, in the parking garage.
Danny had ridden up from Palm Springs. He was a retired dot-com coder and engineer, and wanted to take Henry’s course. Some people actually wanted him dead, because he’d perfected a process that made 3D printing even faster. He’d sold the process, giving all his employees massive parachutes, so they weren’t after him. His competition was absolutely terrified he’d invent something that would render their businesses and processes moot.
Gregory had two of his Soldier Pack to guide them in, one in front, one behind. Thandie was on a bike; she was considering joining the Valkyries. Sayan was in the “moose vehicle,” as the bikers called it; a bulletproof ride. They got to Henry’s training facility just fine.
Bonnie came out to meet Danny, her fingers clean for once. “Nice Softail,” she said, circling his brand-new —new line; a Harley Sport Glide in matte black. It looked like dark, muscled sin. “I’ve been aching to get my hands on one of these.”
Gregory grinned. “Don’t worry, Danny. She’ll walk you through every part on her, then how to change the oil and clean your chrome and such.”
Sayan and Thandie kept their faces impassive at the “clean your chrome” comment. Bonnie didn’t; she let out a mass of laughter. “The bike, honey, the bike. Now, let’s talk about her. What’s her name?”
“It’s a he,” said Danny. “Grinder.” He smiled. “Not in a club yet, so no special name for me.”
“Well, then,” said Gregory.
Henry came up, and bumped fists with everybody, and shook Danny’s hand. “You’re paid up, so have fun learning everything about your bike with Bonnie. These new Harleys are lighter, faster, with better engines, with hidden suspension. They are amazing to ride.”
“You getting one?” asked Danny.
“Sadly, not anytime soon,” said Henry. “I spent a fortune to get this place up and running, get you an experience you’ll love.”
“Had a Harley engineer pass through, stopped by,” said Bonnie. “Got to pick his brain. He loved the place, and you will too.”
“Have a track, a garage, and classrooms,” said Henry. “We order the best food —for lunch and dinner. But now, I’m sure Bonnie has a lot to tell you.”
Danny turned, the laser-like focus he used for engineering turned onto Bonnie. “Tell me every damn word the Harley guy said,” he said to Bonnie. “And then you get to play with Grinder.” They shook on it, and got started.
Thandie and Sayan followed. “No fair,” said Gregory. “They’re getting a free Bonnie lesson, a look at a brand-new Harley, and I’ve got tons of work to do.”
Henry turned to Gregory. “You’re not leaving.”
“I’m not?” he asked.
“This place cost me a fortune. I’ll pay you, or your company, or whatever, but I need a defensive driving class.”
“What to do if you’re riding a bike and someone starts shooting at you? Yeah, I can do that,” said Gregory.
“Right now,” said Henry. “Classroom first, then ride.”
Gregory thanked his lucky stars he had a brain, and had input all of the information into a slideshow, online. It was part of how he trained his own people. He entered, shook hands with four women and two men, all with top-of-the-line vented summer jackets draped over the back of their chairs, along with cooling vests. Gregory had left his cooling vest at home; he sent Jackson, of the Soldier Pack, to get it. He taught the class, teaching how to spot dangerous situations without lapsing into active paranoia where you saw a threat everywhere.
“That’s not helpful,” he said. “They may be trying to kill you, but if you can’t spot them, you’ll be jumpy, not focused.”
He turned on the computer and the over
head, and showed pictures of a “right” scene and a “wrong” one.
“See this guy? Walking? Head down? His head is tilted —toward this guy on the bike. His hands are in his pockets. One hand is on a gun.” He circled the outline of the pocketed gun with his finger. “Learn what a gun looks like in a pocket.” He showed another still, obviously camera footage. The biker on a Harley spotted the guy, leaned, sped up, and got out of the line of fire. The bullets harmlessly hit a statue across the street before a passerby took him down and knocked the gun out of his hand. “That’s one of our operatives. Shooter was hired by the woman’s husband to kill her. The person on a bike was one of our operatives, too, a little misdirection as to where she was. Husband’s now sitting in jail for twenty to life, because he took another shot at her and we shot back.” He smiled a predatory smile.
The lesson went well. He had the full attention of his students. He loved talking to them, and teaching. He had the knack.
“The new Harleys have a lot more power, entire bike lengths more. I’m not a shill for Harley, but I love mine. I have a Sport Glide on order. One of today’s clients has one.”
“That would me me,” said Danny, coming in and sitting down.
Gregory gave a quick review to catch Danny up. “Today we’ll learn how to spot bad guys, how to get clear, fast. Better to let a professional take these assholes down. Despite what the movies show you, it is incredibly hard to hit anyone while firing a gun on a Harley; the speeds are very fast, and you have wind resistance. And, accuracy is vital. This is a crowded town. You don’t want to hit some soccer mom walking her kid down the street. Or the kid.” There was absolute silence in the room. “Evade and escape, the two E’s. Let us bring down the nasty baddies. Any questions?” Every hand shot up.