“Okay, well, the best way for you to fight Be Nice is if what you know, if what you saw out here, it gets online somehow, and I mean, it goes out all over, everywhere. And this place, Water Town, if you’re gonna hide out, you’re gonna need food, supplies—”
“We can handle it. We did it once before. And we’ll use the internet on the train to let everybody know what we know, and then when we get to Santa Monica, if we got enough of the kids with us, we can def raise hell.”
“Look, handsome, let me be the general, let me run the show for now, `least `til you make it to that b-train.” Tyler sat quietly, and then said, “And we need Joe Joe’s help, cuz you’re gonna need some kinda distraction as well. Somethin’ big that’ll take Be Nice’s eyes off the ball.”
Wallis pocketed Rev. Brown’s map. “What do you mean?”
“I think if Be Nice is tellin’ everybody you’re part of some terrorist group, I say let’s run with it.” He made a call on his selli. “Yeah, hello? Hey, Joe Joe? Yeah, it’s me. Okay, check it out, change of plans. Forget the Native rez. Yeah, I know, I know, but these two kids, they’re smarter than we thought. No, you listen! They’re makin’ their move! Right now! This instant! It’s crazy, it’s risky as hell, and they’re def gonna need some help!”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Native women of different shapes and sizes and ages sewed together at an old bingo table in the communal hall. One of the women chanted a Native American lyric, the others chanted along with her.
Joe Joe stepped out of his corner office. He went to the women and picked up an electric blue strip of cloth from the table. He tied the cloth around his face and adjusted the eye holes so he could see. He looked like an old time bandit. He poked one of the women, the fattest, his favorite.
The woman giggled and slapped away his hand.
It was a quiet night in Jamesville. Wearing their usual attire of jeans, cowboy boots, and housedresses, the residents moseyed to the movie theaters, to the BBQ restaurants, to the ice cream parlor, and to the soda shop.
Wearing a blue mask, a Native man peeked over the roof of the city courthouse. He lit a liquor bottle filled with gasoline and dropped it to the street. A fiery splash spread across the thoroughfare.
Cars and pickup trucks swerved onto the sidewalk.
Pedestrians ducked for cover.
Flaming bottles of gasoline exploded in storefront windows, office buildings, and Joe Joe’s sawdust bar.
The men of Jamesville carried their wives and children to safety as fire engine sirens and alarms sounded.
Joe Joe led his blue-masked men and women through the underbrush, out of the city, and back to his pickup truck. It was parked behind a faded billboard that read JAMESVILLE – GOD, PROSPERITY, AND PROFIT.
Joe Joe reached for a can of blue spray paint in the front seat of his pickup.
The Dead shambled in from the fields, carrying heavy sacks of cotton and fresh vegetables.
On his porch, the overseer watched them dump their day’s haul into baskets on the front lawn. Another overseer checked their eyes, and injected those who appeared to be coming down from their obedient high.
An explosion suddenly rippled across the lush fields.
The overseer was thrown off his porch.
On the cliff overhead, Joe Joe chuckled and pocketed a remote detonator.
Ms. Garner drank a can of Dawg beer and winked at John Tom. He was awake. Becky and Abe were both asleep, tied up in the corner, their mouths gagged. John Tom, handcuffed to his chair, angrily spit a mouthful of blood on the floor.
Ms. Garner threw her beer can at him. It hit his forehead with a dull thud.
Ms. Fallings entered the car. She was holding a package, which she placed next to the control box and opened. She chose a syringe of pink liquid and flicked off the plastic cap.
“Woman, don’t even think about it,” John Tom growled.
Mr. Dylon ran into the car. John Tom and the others watched as he clicked on the telescreen. Scenes of fire and destruction in Jamesville. A stern anchorman appeared in a busy newsroom.
“The Blue has struck again,” the anchorman lamented. “This time in the town of…of…uh…Sedona, Arizona. What used to be known as Molotov cocktails were thrown at innocent civilians and property…”
Ms. Fallings withheld the syringe.
The billboard at the edge of town was on the screen. The words JAMESVILLE- GOD, PROSPERITY, AND PROFIT had been digitally erased. The words THE BLUE could be seen in blue spray paint.
“From what I heard,” Mr. Dylon said, “it looks like maybe nine, ten people at most, can’t be any more than—”
Ms. Fallings’s selli chirped.
Mr. Brennan viewed the telescreen in his private office and waited for Ms. Fallings to answer. When she did, he said, “So what part of the plan was this?” On his telescreen, anchormen reported the fires in Jamesville as fires in Sedona.
Ms. Fallings turned her back on Mr. Dylon. “Sir, we’ve got no idea what’s going on. Believe me, this wasn’t any of our—”
Mr. Brennan disconnected the call. He took a seat at his desk and switched the telescreen to a local variety show. He stared at a team of Protect-and-Serve dogs who had been trained to catch foot-soc balls.
Be Nice Albuquerque and Be Nice Phoenix partied in the desert. Drunk kids danced under the stars, while the rest fucked, fought, and fell asleep. Camp fires burned near hastily erected tents and rumpled sleeping bags; electric cars, trucks, and hogs were parked in a circle behind them.
On his stomach, a hundred yards out, Tyler scanned the camp with his binocs. Wallis and Janey were huddled beside him.
“Well, it’s sure as shit them,” Tyler whispered. He handed Janey his pink selli. “So, just in case your Be Nice crew didn’t pull through, what’s on this should help.”
The selli beeped. Janey handed it back to Tyler.
He eyed the screen. “Take a look at this.” He showed the screen; it displayed the carnage in Jamesville. The footage of the billboard came up: the words THE BLUE spray painted in blue letters.
The selli vibrated. Tyler clicked off and answered. “Yeah.” He listened and hit spkphn.
Joe Joe’s voice was crisp. “So take a guess what happened in Jamesville.”
Janey leaned over Tyler’s shoulder and yelled into the selli, “The Blue!”
“I figure we’ll head out for Phoenix late tomorrow night—”
Tyler cut in, “I’m sure Be Nice is gonna keep their distance after this, but they ain’t gonna back off.”
“Did Tyler tell you what we put on the selli?”
Wallis leaned over Tyler’s shoulder. “Not yet.”
“You just make sure you hook it up to the webs and then blast it out over Pace, Flit, Jack…”
“Joe Joe?” Janey said.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“Thank you.”
“You know it.” Joe Joe disconnected.
Tyler loaded a fresh clip into his forty-five and handed the gun to Janey. “It’s my last clip.”
A group of Be Nice kids leapfrogged over one of the campfires. Another group of kids spit alcohol into the flames.
A trashed kid, his Be Nice mask pulled sideways, spotted a glint of chrome in the distance. He steadied himself and stumbled to an SUV. He banged on the windows and yelled to the kids inside to turn off the music.
The sound of a revving hog.
The kids looked out into the desert.
The hog engine got louder.
A group of older boys scrambled to their tents. They put on their Be Nice masks and activated their shock wands.
Other kids, drunk, bumped into one another and ran to their tents.
The hog suddenly broke into the light of the campfires.
Wallis lifted the front of the bike into a wheelie. Seated behind
him, Janey raised Tyler’s forty-five over her head and opened fire.
Panicked, the younger kids fell into the dirt.
The older Be Nice boys assembled.
Wallis dropped the front tire and angled toward them.
Janey passed him the forty-five. Wallis fired at the ground, blowing up clumps of mud and sand.
The older boys scattered.
Wallis handed the forty-five back to Janey as he cranked the throttle. The hog jumped forward and went black into the night.
Silence.
The campfires burned.
Kids looked up.
The older boys started their cars. They shouted at the others kids and ordered them to follow.
Electric cars, trucks, and hogs raced out of the area in a cloud of dust.
Silence.
The sounds of night life.
Tyler drove into the camp. He scavenged through what had been left behind: cases of water, snacks, and loaves of half-eaten bread. He caught sight of a blue latex jacket on the ground and stuffed it under his shirt.
The hog roared down Highway 160. Pinpoints of light followed behind it.
The older Be Nice boys drove high powered H-mobiles. Each of them screamed into a selli. A long line of autos fought to keep up.
A beeping horn and high-beams.
Shots fired.
One of the Be Nice leaders checked his rear view.
An electric car swerved off road.
Another flipped over.
Tyler’s pickup steamrolled past the line of cars. One hand out of the truck, Tyler fired his rifle. He flattened car tires and shot apart engine blocks.
The older boys pulled to the side of the road and slammed on the brakes.
Tyler slowed next to them. He waved and shot out their front and back tires and kept going.
The morning sun beat down on the 160. On the side of the road, a left behind collection of kids baked in their bullet-riddled cars and texted on their sellies.
The older kids had changed their car tires and taken off.
A shimmer in the desert.
The hog and Taylor’s pickup ghosted on the horizon.
The left-behind Be Nice kids dropped their sellies. They searched for their shock wands, found them, and shuffled out to the highway.
Tyler arrived first. Aiming his rifle, he kicked open the door of his pickup.
Wallis and Janey pulled in behind him.
The Be Nice kids nervously huddled by their cars.
Wallis lifted a section of garden hose and a gas can from the bed of Tyler’s truck. He went to the first car and said to the kids, “Pop your tank!”
One of the kids quickly unlocked the car’s gas cap. Wallis set the can on the ground and snaked the garden hose deep into the tank. He ran the other end of the hose into the can. He grabbed the kid, threw him down to the hose, and said, “Suck!”
Janey handed the other kids bottles of water. “We didn’t hurt you guys. You remember that.”
Wallis checked the fuel gauge on the hog, it read F; full of siphoned gas. He flipped open the solar gauge, it read F; charged with sunlight. He jumped on the hog and started it. Janey took two shock wands from the kids and dropped them in the hog’s side pouch.
Tyler cocked the trigger on his rifle. “Sellies!”
The kids found their sellies in their cars and handed them to Tyler.
Wallis rested in the shade of the truck. Janey reclined under a section of the tent, stretched out from the driver’s side, and checked the stolen sellies.
“No way,” she said.
Wallis looked at the selli in her hand.
On the display screen, the social networks were on fire; Flit, Bleep, Pace, and Jack had received thousands of posts. Photos of Wallis and Janey had been posted, as well as photos of their drawings, The Mighty Morphon and the blazing sun that burned up the solar system.
An anchorman’s voice said with urgency, “Barber and Typermass, after attacking Be Nice groups from Arizona and New Mexico, have now been confirmed as the masterminds behind the terrorist organization, The Blue!”
Tyler handed Wallis and Janey two strips of blue latex he’d cut from the jacket. “Here. Try `em on.”
Wallis tied on the latex and positioned the eye holes. Janey followed his lead. They turned to Tyler.
Tyler lit a cigarette, slapped his knee, and said, “Now you look like terrorists!”
A telescreen clicked on. Another vigilant anchorman appeared and reported, “The city of Phoenix, Arizona, one hour ago, became the latest victim in the war with the terrorist organization: The Blue!” as viddi of burning gas stations, storefronts, and overturned electric cars flashed across the monitor.
“This just in. Be Nice Phoenix has been called off the nationwide manhunt for Barber and Typermass, and is presently on its way—”
The telescreen went black.
John Tom looked away from it. Mr. Dylon pushed Becky and Abe next to him.
Ms. Fallings disconnected a selli call. “Well, whoever these renegades are, Be Nice Phoenix reported they already left the city.”
Mr. Dylon unleashed his collapsible baton and smacked it against the side of the train car. “We’ve got Be Nice Denver coming here for backup, but Oklahoma City and Lubbock are still on standby!”
“We keep Oklahoma and Texas right where they are! Until we can figure out what the fuck is happening—”
“Phoenix got suckered back home! That’s what the fuck is happening! And now we’re sitting out here in the middle of—”
Gunfire. The sound of broken glass. Kids in the train cars cried out.
Ms. Fallings and Mr. Dylon rushed to the front of the train.
The kids ducked in the aisles.
A voice shouted, “Get down on your knees! Put your hands where I can see `em!”
Ms. Fallings and Mr. Dylon spun to the entrance of the car.
Propped in the doorway, Tyler aimed his rifle. “I said, get down on your knees! Hands in the air!”
Ms. Fallings and Mr. Dylon kneeled to the floor and raised their hands.
The kids remained in the aisles.
Wallis and Janey, their latex masks on, jumped onto the train.
In awe, the kids collectively gasped.
Mr. Dylon mumbled, “Mother-I fucked you.”
Wallis walked up to Ms. Fallings, kneeled, and said, “I’ve got a confession. Would you like to hear it?”
Ms. Fallings looked right through him.
Janey eyed the kids on the floor, then planted Tyler’s forty-five to Ms. Fallings’s temple. “John Tom, Becky, Pete, and Abe...where the eff are they?”
Ms. Fallings turned her head so the forty-five aimed between her eyes.
The rumble of car and truck engines.
Headlights beamed inside the train.
Tyler knocked away jagged glass from the windows and aimed his rifle outside.
Forty kids, wearing black hoodies and Be Nice masks, piled out of a fleet of cars and SUVs. They carried clubs and baseball bats and shock wands.
“That’s Be Nice Denver,” Mr. Dylon said. “Right on time.”
Wallis whirled around to Janey. “Go! Find John Tom!”
Janey ran to the next train car.
Tyler cocked the trigger on his rifle and yelled outside, “C’mon, you little bitches!Who wants to go first?”
Mr. Dylon shouted, “STOMP STOMP! KILL THEM! KILL THEM ALL!”
Tyler flipped his rifle around and grabbed the barrel. He ran to Mr. Dylon, swung the rifle butt, and flattened him.
Wallis activated a shock wand and zapped several Be Nice Denver members as they pushed their way onto the train.
Tyler stood at Wallis’s side and swung his rifle butt. “I thought you said they’d be on our side!”
As Be Nice Denver punched and kicked them to the floor, a voice shrieked from the rear of the car, “They’re liars! They’re all got-damn liars!”
John Tom, supported by Janey, quickly made his way down the aisle. Abe was doing his best to hold onto Becky.
John Tom roared, “We Be Nice Santa Monica! We runnin’ this shit! Back off! I said, back the eff off!”
The Be Nice Denver members stepped back from Wallis and Tyler, but didn’t move from over top of them.
John Tom, Becky, and Abe were covered in blood. Their eyes and mouths and cheek bones were bruised and swollen.
John Tom pointed to Mr. Dylon. “Him! He’s the one! Right there! He beat us! He made us confess!” He pointed to Ms. Fallings. “And that bitch there, she’s the one in charge!”
Ms. Fallings addressed Be Nice Denver, “I’m Therapist Fallings! You’ve done well, we’ve got them! Wallis Barber and Janey Typermass—”
“Don’t listen to her! She’s a lyin’ effin’ bitch!” Abe interjected. He held the digi-cam over his head. “And I got the proof!”
“They beat us, they used the meds on us, they made us tell a buncha lies!” Becky said.
John Tom pushed away from Janey. “My people, Wally-Wal and Janey, they didn’t do shit.” He motioned to Ms. Fallings and Mr. Dylon. “These mother-I fucked you’s, they made it up!”
Abe fumbled with the digi-cam. A light from the lens projected to the far side of the train. A viddi beamed showing Ms. Garner mercilessly beating John Tom, John Tom and the group getting injected with meds, Pete’s beating by Mr. Dylon, and Becky’s forced confession by Ms. Fallings.
Abe switched off the digi-cam. “See? You see?”
“Be Nice, they came after us,” Wallis said from the floor, “just cuz me and Janey, we did these drawings. Then Mr. Beams, he stomped on Janey, he tried to hurt her. That’s why I had to take him down. Then they lied about it. They made up bullshit on the news—”
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