Rev. Brown shouldered a 22-gauge rifle and politely bowed his head.
Wallis and Janey glared at Tyler. A caravan of electric cars and trucks barreled along ahead of them on the highway.
“Okay, look,” Tyler said, “I did what I thought was best.”
“You left us!” Janey said. “You left us all alone! And this Klanny, he tried to make me suck his—”
“Little girl! Use your head! When I walked into that bar, and those suprems saw me, I knew we were gonna be in some trouble!”
Still pissed, Wallis said, “They threw you out the effin’ window!”
“Hey! I figured if I picked you up, they would’ve come after us, and probably killed us!”
Janey stared at him.
“But I gotta admit. Shootin’ that fucker in his nuts was kinda spectacular.”
“Nobody touches me—”
“—but your man! I got that! I think everybody’s got that!”
The caravan of cars and trucks turned onto a paved dirt road. Blinding spotlights shined into the pickup.
The housing complex grew in size: a cul-de-sac of old split-level homes bordered by barbed-wire fencing. Armed men wearing white shirts and crucifixes stood guard. Just behind the cul-de-sac, three white crosses towered above a hill of dirt and gravel.
Wallis, Janey, and Tyler exited the pickup.
The cars and trucks pulled into the driveways of the homes. Women and children, also wearing white shirts and crucifixes, rushed outside to greet them.
Janey whispered to Tyler, “They’re Christ-ees?”
“And what was your first clue?”
“So Be Nice doesn’t bother the Klannies or the Christ-ees—”
“Joe Joe helped us,” Wallis cut in. “Because he could use us. These Christ-ees, what’s the deal? What do they want?”
Rev. Brown hugged a beautiful black woman who was holding a small child.
Tyler tilted his head in his direction. “The Rev. Joshua Brown is always on the lookout for new converts.”
“Yeah, right,” Wallis mumbled.
Rev. Brown signaled to join him.
“Well, how long are we stayin’ here?”
Tyler whispered, “Only as long as we need to.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jonathan Brennan, a white man in his late sixties, brushed his hands through his gray hair, adjusted it to his satisfaction, and smoothed a stubborn crease out of the left pant leg of his suit.
He observed Manhattan Prime through a balcony window and viewed the never-ending blocks of apartment buildings and skyscrapers that stretched from New Brooklyn to New Harlem.
The animated ad signs were luminous with ads for plays, movies, and sporting events situated alongside billboards for Be Nice Manhattan Prime, which featured young men and women in black ski masks, their fists raised in triumph. Mr. Brennan also viewed the incoming tide. It cascaded back and forth at the bottoms of the office buildings, all of which had been constructed above sea level on reinforced stilts.
A team of three men and two women entered the conference room and acknowledged Mr. Brennan with their right hands placed over their hearts. They were in their late thirties to early forties and dressed in black suits with red and yellow striped ties.
Images appeared on the central telescreen. In the caboose of the bullet train, Ms. Fallings beat John Tom, Abe, and Becky, while Mr. Dylon whipped Pete with his baton.
Brief static, then Ms. Fallings materialized on the screen. “Mr. Brennan, fellow Learning Center associates: We have secured the other members of the Santa Monica Be Nice group—”
Mr. Brennan interrupted her, “Excuse me, Ms. Fallings?”
She hesitated before she answered, “Yes, sir.”
Mr. Brennan scanned a sheet of paper on the conference table. “These two fugitives, do you know where they presently are?”
Ms. Fallings straightened her suit. “We believe, sir, at the present time, they’re in northern Arizona or…uh…possibly somewhere in New Mexico.”
Mr. Brennan exhaled, dissatisfied.
“Sir, we have the Be Nice groups in Phoenix and Albuquerque on their way—”
Mr. Brennan cut her off again, “And what is this terrorist organization we’ve been hearing so much about?”
Mr. Dylon poked his head from behind Ms. Fallings. “Hi. I’m Gabe Dylon. Ms. Fallings’s second in—”
Ms. Fallings moved in front of him. “Mr. Dylon is my second in command—on a trial basis.”
“Sir…Mr. Brennan…I created The Blue. It’s kind of an old political tactic—”
“Yes, Mr. Dylon, I’m well aware of it. When you need to promote your agenda, it’s best to have an enemy.”
“Sir, if I may?” Ms. Fallings said. “Wallis Barber and Janey Typermass recently murdered one of the heads of your esteemed Learning Centers—”
“Yes. However, I never liked Clay Beams.”
Ms. Fallings and Mr. Dylon didn’t respond.
“Nevertheless, I was told he was popular.”
“Yes, sir,” Ms. Fallings said. “He was like a father figure to all of us…and, yes, he was also…difficult.”
“We’ve read the report. But we’d like to hear it from you. You were in the office. Tell us exactly what happened.”
“Sir, I believe Mr. Beams had been drinking—”
“And all of this started because of, what, sketches in an art class?”
“That, sir, and the fact that Barber and Typermass were also having reservations about Be Nice.”
Behind Ms. Fallings and Mr. Dylon, John Tom, Becky, and Abe watched the telescreen transmission.
Pete lay on the floor of the train, choking on his own blood.
“Mr. Brennan, as a therapist, it’s my job to spot problems. One of my informants, she reported their drawings to me, and I also listened to one of Barber’s confess tapes—”
“I never particularly liked Clay Beams,” Mr. Brennan repeated.
“Uh, yes, sir…but, I…I’ve had a few cases like this before. As a matter of fact, there are many of cases of disgruntled Be Nice members in every city—”
“Which is why Be Nice was restructured to function as the primary family unit.”
“Yes, Mr. Brennan, but as Mr. Beams was fond of telling us…there will always be mutants, misfits, those who don’t—”
“Ms. Fallings, the world is shrinking fast.”
“Sir?”
“The Be Nice organization and my Brennan Learning centers, we influence the young. And we also keep the world’s economies running smoothly with workers who have accepted the overriding edict, the edict of The Sacrifice. Now if anything were to come along and disrupt this perfect system—”
“Sir, there’s no need to worry. I am not going to allow that to happen.”
“Yes, Ms. Fallings, but no one can predict the future. If chaos were to reign again, as it did so many years ago—”
“Sir, I’ll have Barber and Typermass in custody within the next forty-eight—”
“Then not only would the life expects have to fall far below fifty-five in order to right the ship, but I’m afraid wars and hardships would follow.”
John Tom traded a look with Becky and Abe.
“The cities, they are our economic engines. The rural areas, they may cooperate with us for now, but they know the outside world is coming. What I’m saying to you, Ms. Fallings, is…if you don’t deal with this, if children are capable of killing those they are supposed to respect, by the time the outside world arrives, there’s a good chance we could lose everything.”
“Sir, I’ll have Wallis Barber and Janey Typermass in custody within the next—”
Using a remote device, Mr. Brennan switched off the telescreen.
Ms. Fallings stepped back and faced Mr. Dylon. “This
is all on you. We’re running with the plan you devised.”
“But you still haven’t answered my question. I told you what I wanted. And, the way I see it…that conference room in Manhattan Prime, I bet it looks like a lot of other conference rooms around the world.”
“And your point is what?”
“When I’m over-thirty-five, I expect to be in one of those rooms. No meds. Safe and secure.”
John Tom, Becky, and Abe looked down at Pete.
Pete was no longer breathing.
There were red balloons, yellow balloons, white balloons, blue balloons, orange balloons, and strings of balloons shaped into poodles and monkeys and long-necked giraffes. They were tied together on clotheslines and connected to each of the homes in the cul-de-sac.
Music soothed from speakers set in bedroom windows: old tunes, melodies light and pleasing. Picnic tables, full of pork, lamb, and hamburgers—real, not synth—were in the middle of the street under canvas awnings and patio umbrellas. Side dishes of potatoes, corn, and lettuce were carried by women in nondescript dresses and aprons. Children in shorts and T-shirts brought sweaty pitchers of iced tea and lemonade. Armed men in casual wear roamed the top of the cul-de-sac and around the perimeter of the neighborhood.
Wallis and Janey sat together at one of the picnic tables. A group of families, mostly women and children, waited on them. Wallis was served a heaping plate of meat and potatoes and corn on the cob. Janey was given a healthy, but respectful, lady’s portion.
Tyler and Rev. Brown walked to the gathering from the top of the cul-de-sac. Tyler took off his cowboy hat and looked at the midday sun. He and Rev. Brown talked before joining Wallis and Janey at the table.
“Probably your first real meal in days,” Rev. Brown said to Wallis.
“Yeah. Yeah, thanks,” Wallis replied.
“The bounties of Jesus Christ, they are a wonder to behold. Wouldn’t you say so?”
Wallis shook his head.
“He is the one who provides for this community and keeps it safe from the outside world, young man.”
“So what do you need all the guns for?”
Tyler gave Wallis a “shut up!” look.
Rev. Brown fondly stared at Janey for a long moment. “I was told you and Wallis are headed for a Native rez here in New Mex?”
“Uh huh,” Janey said. “We’re supposed to relax, try and get some rest, and figure out our next move.”
Rev. Brown got up from the table. “You and Wallis finish your meal.” He walked across the street to his wife and child. “I’ll speak with the both of you later tonight!”
He and his family entered one of the homes.
“Hey, Tyler,” Wallis said, mouth full, “I wanna go check on my hog.”
Wallis rode his hog out of the bed of Tyler’s pickup. He gunned the engine a few times, popped a wheelie, held it, and motored to the top of the cul-de-sac. He looked at the three crosses that loomed beyond the neighborhood, made a sharp U-turn, and coasted back toward Janey and Tyler. He reached to a compartment over the hog’s gas tank and unlocked his selli. He checked the display screen. Taken aback, he said to Janey, “We got a message.”
“No, you don’t want to do that,” Tyler warned. “You never know who might be listening to—”
Wallis tapped the spkphn button.
John Tom, his voice shaky, said, “Wal…you guys gotta come back. They…they got us good. The train is…at this place, Durango…in Colorado. You guys gotta come. They’re…man, I think they’re gonna—” The message aborted.
“Shit,” Janey said.
Shocked, the women at the picnic tables turned to her.
“Ignore it,” Tyler said. “Be Nice, they’re tryin’ to get to you. Get all up in your heads.”
Wallis locked the selli on the hog’s fuel tank. “They already hurt our folks, stomped `em pretty bad.”
“We’ll get some supplies and then we’ll move out in the morning. But, right now, there’s somethin’ I gotta take care of.”
“What’s up?”
Wallis and Janey followed Tyler to the top of the cul-de-sac.
Tyler nervously wrung his cowboy hat in his hands. He stopped at the front door of one of the homes. “You two be respectful.”
He led Wallis and Janey into the home. It was barren, stripped bare, except for an old woman on a hospital bed in the middle of the living room. The old woman was gray haired; her brown skin was furrowed and cracked. She held a cross of branches and thin twigs over her heart. Her lifeless, blue-green eyes were focused on the ceiling.
Tyler leaned over her and whispered, “Mama?”
The old woman didn’t respond.
Tyler gently kissed her on the forehead. “I…I just wanted you to know…I’m okay. And that I’m doin’ real, real good.”
Janey stared at the old woman.
Wallis followed her blue-green eyes to the ceiling.
That night, Rev. Brown welcomed Wallis and Janey. His home was sparsely furnished: no luxuries, no amenities. The three took seats around a rickety dining room table.
Rev. Brown’s wife entered from the kitchen and set down a pot of coffee and two coffee mugs.
Rev. Brown poured a cup for himself and one for Wallis, but said to Janey, “My dear, would you mind going with my wife into the kitchen and helping her tidy up?”
“Excuse me?” Janey said.
“Please, dear, if you don’t mind terribly? I’d like to speak with Wallis alone.”
“Alone?”
An awkward moment.
Wallis silently mouthed to Janey, “go `head”.
Janey sighed, rolled her eyes, and got up from the table.
Rev. Brown watched her go. “Well, son, you certainly have yourself a strong willed woman there.” He took a pipe from his shirt pocket and lit it with a rusted Zippo. “So some of my people, they spotted members of Be Nice Phoenix and Be Nice Albuquerque passing not too far from here.”
Wallis leaned forward in his chair.
“If you and Janey are planning on getting to that Native rez…my advice, give it a few more days.”
Wallis sipped his coffee. “So are you part of The Truce?”
“Are we a part of—”
“So Be Nice doesn’t screw with you.”
“The Lord has graciously provided us with cattle and other livestock. We tend to them on several ranches—”
“You give Be Nice food? Like those Jamesville people do?”
“We believe it’s a fair trade.”
“And Be Nice lets you keep your guns?”
“Let’s just say we cut a much better deal than those racist farmers did.”
Rev. Brown’s wife washed a plate in the kitchen sink. She carefully handed it to Janey.
Janey admired an intricate, floral pattern in the center of the plate.
Rev. Brown’s wife silently offered her a dish towel and made a drying motion.
Janey stepped face to face. “What’s wrong with you? Can’t you speak?”
Rev. Brown’s wife put her forefinger to her lips. “Shhhh.”
Rev. Brown drew a map of Arizona and New Mexico on a piece of typing paper. He marked where the Be Nice groups were located with two red X’s.
Wallis concentrated on the map. “So where’s Durango?”
Rev. Brown drew a big X in southern Colorado and said, “Tomorrow night, I’m going to give the sermon, the sinners’ sermon. I’d appreciate it if you and Janey stayed until—”
Janey came back to the table. “We’re all done!”
Rev. Brown stretched and yawned. “It’s been a long day. Time for all of us to get some sleep. “Wallis, you may sleep down here on the floor…Janey, you may sleep upstairs in the guest—”
“That’s okay,” Janey said. “Me and Wallis’ll sleep out
in the truck like we did last night.”
“Child, when’s the last time you slept in a warm bed with soft pillows and clean sheets?”
“It’s been a minute. Why?”
“I was only asking because—”
“This is your house, you can sleep wherever the eff you want. But me and Wallis, we’ll be outside in the truck.”
Tyler shared a small silver flask. Wallis swigged and handed it to Janey. Janey took a gulp and handed it to Tyler. They lay together in the bed of the pickup truck, on their backs, taking in the stars.
Tyler lit a cigarette. “She’d lost it, I couldn’t get her to take her meds anymore, so I got her out. Then, after a few weeks, we ran into Rev. Brown. He said he’d take her, just as long as she took in the word. Shit, he was lookin’ for converts and she was already a Cathlick, so…”
Wallis pointed to the belt of Orion. “You think you can drive us up there and just drop us off?”
Tyler chuckled. “If I could do that, do you really think I’d be here helpin’ you out and stayin’ with these goddamn J freaks?”
“He said he wants us to stay here for another day. For a…a sermon, I think he said? What’s that?”
Tyler reacted and bit his lower lip. “We’re leavin’ in the mornin’. Early. Real early. Okay, we better get some sleep.” He rolled out of the bed of the truck and laid in the front seat.
Janey nudged Wallis. “So what’d he want to talk about?”
“Who?”
“You know.”
“He just wanted to tell me about Be Nice.”
“And I couldn’t hear that?”
Wallis hugged her. “Crazy Christ-ees. You know how they are.”
In the desert, shock wands cleaved through the dry night air. Masked Be Nice members, 350 young bodies strong, marched forward.
Despite their guns and rifles, the bikers were losing.
One of Krank’s men supported him by the shoulders and propped him on his hog. Blood spurting from between his legs, Krank was in agony.
The fight ended. Be Nice Phoenix and Be Nice Albuquerque members, in black jeans, hoodies, and steel toed boots, assembled in a circle. Defeated, surrounded, the surviving bikers remained on their knees.
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