Before We Die Alone

by Ike Hamill

  She ushers me into her back yard, looks carefully around, and then guides me in through her back door. Her little kitchen is bright and quiet. She drapes the pair of pants over the edge of the sink and then shuts the door. The action makes the curtains on the windows push out into the sun.

  “You’re lucky,” she says. “If my neighbor were home, she would already be calling the police.”

  She gestures to a chair, but I can’t sit down. I pull aside the curtains and look out across the yard. I repeat the process at the other window. The neighborhood looks quiet out there—no sign of searching bears. They have really good noses though, right? I frown and wonder if they’ll just track my scent.

  “Yes, you won’t be safe here for long,” she says. “They’ll use dogs to track you.”

  Dogs?

  “Why?”

  She brushes lint from her red shirt. I wouldn’t have thought the color would suit a gorilla, but it looks pretty good on her. She has a kind old face. She wears modest jeans that cover her discretely.

  “Let me make a phone call for you. Do you trust me to do that?”

  I’m not sure why I would, but I’m not sure why I shouldn’t.

  “Sure,” I say.

  She nods. Her big fingers don’t fit in the little holes of the phone. She ratchets the dial around with the corner of a nail and curses when she miss-dials the eight. She starts again.

  “It’s me,” she says when the other party answers. I can only guess at the questions she’s answering. “Yes. I suppose. Yes.”

  She hangs up. I realize it when she puts the receiver back in the cradle—I haven’t seen a phone like this in ages. It’s one of those old wall units with the really long cord, so you can stretch it all the way over the sink while you’re on the phone. And the cars on the street—they were all those old gangster cars. They were each two tons of dark metal. But her clothes don’t look vintage. And there’s a flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. This place is contradictory.

  “They’re searching for you now,” she says. “But we can get you out of town safely.”

  “We?”

  “My old band,” she says. “My ex’s son is sympathetic. He can take you somewhere safe. I’m afraid it won’t be civilized, but it will be safe.”

  “Safe from whom?” I ask.

  “From whatever you’re running from,” she says. “Can I offer you some fruit while you wait? It will only be a minute or two.”

  “I would love some fruit,” I say.

  She moves with more grace than a bear, and with infinitely more dignity than an orangutan. She grabs a pair of oranges from a bowl near the sink and then wets a small towel. She brings the oranges and the towel over to the table near where I’m standing. I can’t tear myself away from the window. It’s still quiet out there, but I keep imagining that a bear will appear around the corner of one of the houses at any second.

  “Please,” she says, “have a seat. He’ll be here soon.”

  “Okay,” I say.

  I sit in one of the wide chairs and pull an orange close to me. As I peel it, I put the rind in a small pile and taste a section. It’s perfect—sweet and juicy and ripe. I flash her a quick, closed-lipped, smile and she takes the chair across from me.

  “I wish I could invite you to stay for a while,” she says. “I would love to hear stories from back home and hear about everything that’s going on.”

  “Home?”

  “I haven’t been in so long. I was only this tall when I left.”

  Her hand disappears below the edge of the table, and I’m left to guess about the height that she’s communicating.

  “Do they still have cats?” she asks. She tilts her head and scratches at the corner of her ear.

  “No,” I say. I realize instantly that I misunderstood. Or misspoke, maybe. Whatever. I thought she meant do I still have cats. I don’t. I used to, but I gave them up years before. The return on emotional investment didn’t seem to balance out, so I stopped after my last cat died.

  “That’s a shame,” she says. “I miss my cat. I mean, I was just small, but I swear I really loved her.”

  I nod and eat more orange. As I move on to peeling my second orange, her hand sneaks across the table.

  I’m blushing. I think she’s going to hit on me or something, but her hands stops at the rind. She hooks a piece with a black fingernail and drags it back across the table.

  “My ex’s son is totally reliable. You can trust him.” She starts nibbling on the corner of the orange peel. “He’s helped dozens of escapees get to freedom. I don’t know why you would take my word for it. You’ll be able to tell when you look in his eyes though.”

  “Does he have a name?” It sounds like a jerky question as it leaves my lips, but I’m honestly unsure. It seems like I haven’t had a name to put to anyone in this world. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that they just don’t have names.

  “Of course,” she says. “Listen—there’s one thing you should know.”

  I raise my eyebrows.

  “Don’t look him in the eyes the way you’re looking at me. It’s confrontational. He’s mature, but he’s young enough to take offense.”

  “You said I would be able to trust him when I looked him in the eyes,” I say.

  “Not like that. Not confrontational. With respect.”

  I scratch my ear and think about that. “I’ll try.”

  “Please.”

  I move my eyes away from her to practice. It’s not so easy. It seems rude to look away like that.

  I’m looking at the metal trash can next to her door when I ask my next questions. “Can I ask you something? Where am I?”

  “That’s a complicated answer,” she says. “Most people who come from where you come from call this ‘The Fold.’ It’s easier if you just think of this as a very different place and time. Don’t make any assumptions.”

  “Is there a way back?”

  She thinks about this for a second, and I’m dying to look at her. I want to see the expression on her face, but I can only guess at it from what I see in my peripheral vision.

  Her tone sounds sad. “I suppose,” she says. “Isn’t there a reason you came here?”

  “No,” I say. “I just… I ended up here.”

  “Here he is,” she says. She stands up and moves to the window. “You’ll go through the back door and he will pull up to the garage. Get in the passenger’s seat and get as low as you can. Be quick, but try not to be seen.”

  I’m already hunched over when I get to the back door. I keep my eyes on the ground and shuffle through, down the steps, and to the car. Maybe I’m taking the eye-contact warning a little too literally. I barely see the vehicle as I fumble with the handle. I have to press a shiny metal button in to open the door. I can’t remember the last time I saw a car door like this. The footwell of the front seat is big enough for me to crawl in to, so I do. All I see of my rescuer is a furry black leg.

  The door shuts behind me and his legs move on the pedals. The transmission clunks and grinds next to my head as he backs out.

  “If we’re stopped, you just run,” he grunts. His voice is low and serious. “Whatever you were on trial for before, you’re in a lot more trouble now. Escapees are mauled on sight, every time.”

  “I’m not afraid,” I say.

  “You will be.”

  The car lurches as he finds the forward gears and we start down the street. I sneak a look up at him, since it seems like his concentration will be on the road. He’s barefoot, and his leg hair is grayer up towards his shorts. His arms are massive—long and thick—and covered in coarse black hair. His shoulders and head are giant. This car is big, but the point of his head looks like it’s brushing against the roof. Maybe sensing my scrutiny, he looks down. That face nearly stops my heart. Before I look away he flashes his sharp teeth in what’s clearly not a smile. I’m hoping it was just a yawn. I turn my attention to the floor.

  “My aunt went out on a limb fo
r you. You better be worth it,” he says.

  Worth it? I didn’t ask for anyone’s help, and I’m certainly not planning on being any sort of reward.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Quiet,” he whispers. We’re slowing down.

  The handle squeaks as he rolls his window down. I hear a voice speaking to him, but the engine is too loud for me to make out the words. All I hear is the gorilla’s response.

  “Yeah, I heard. I’ll grab my lunch and go get set up. Make sure they cover the river better this time. The pale ones always go for the river.”

  I see his hand as it moves for the gearshift. It’s trembling a little. The transmission grinds as he gets us moving again and the gorilla curses under his breath.

  “You’re in some shit,” he says after a second.

  “Why?”

  “That bear I was talking to is the toughest one they have, and he’s leading the search.”

  ---- * ----

  The interior of the car dims as we pull into a structure.

  “Where are we?”

  “Police headquarters,” he says.

  My body jerks at the news and I bang my head on the metal underside of the dashboard.

  “Trust me,” he says, “most everyone who is looking for you is out in the world. Believe it or not, this is a safe place.”

  I don’t believe it, and I don’t trust him. Why would I?

  “When I get out, stay low and slip through the door behind me. Stay right behind me and we’re going through the door on the left. Got it?”

  “Sure,” I say.

  Even after a suicide attempt, the will to survive creeps back in. I read about a guy one time who shot himself in the head. The bullet tore off a chunk of his skull but left him alive. He crawled twenty yards to get to a phone and call for help. He survived by holding a pillow to his ruined head until the ambulance arrived. Such is the strength of survival instinct.

  The gorilla opens his door and slides from his seat.

  I squeeze around the gear lever, duck under the steering wheel, and drop to the concrete behind him. He moves to the side and I follow. He slams the door shut.

  “Hey,” a voice calls from the other side of the echoing garage. “You on tower?”

  I can see past his waist. There’s a bear over there near a white truck. It’s a black bear and he’s staring intently at the engine of the truck instead of noticing the fugitive hiding behind the gorilla.

  “Yeah. I’m going to grab my lunch and head on up.”

  “Happy hunting,” the bear says.

  The gorilla moves casually towards the door and swings it wide. With a flick of his wrist, I understand that I’m to go first. I slip through the doorway to a locker room and the gorilla comes in and shuts the door behind us. I hear the sound of a shower running in the distance. I’m squatting on the floor, still trying to stay small. When he looks at me, I turn my eyes to the cement.

  “Okay,” he whispers, “all we have to…”

  “Hey there,” a female voice calls. The gorilla spins and sits back on his haunches. I gather myself in tight behind him, hoping to stay hidden.

  “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were in here. Do you want some privacy?”

  “You know better than that,” she says. I can hear her wet feet on the floor, but I can’t sense how far away she is. A metal door rattles as she opens a locker. “I was about to head home when the call came in. How far does he think he’s going to get in broad daylight? These skin-monkeys never cease to surprise me with their stupidity.”

  “Whoa,” the gorilla says.

  “I’m sorry,” she says. “I don’t mean any offense. You know me—I don’t mean anything by it.”

  “I know, I know. It’s just, you might want to be careful who you say stuff like that…”

  “Relax, I’m totally aware. It’s just us, right?”

  “Sure,” the gorilla says. “So you’re going back out?”

  “Have to,” she says. Movement catches my eye and I see her wet towel move through the air and land on the lip of a laundry cart. She’s only a few feet away, on the other side of the gorilla. “We were all put on OT and ordered to double-time the rounds. I decided to wash the stink off me so I could smell him better, you know? You might consider doing the same.”

  “Nah,” he says. “I’m in the tower. I better get to it.”

  I almost stay frozen as the gorilla begins a slow shuffle towards the edge of the lockers. He’s squatting so low that his shorts are almost brushing the floor. I shift with him, trying to stay behind his big torso.

  “Well look sharp in your tower. Wave if you see me down there. I’ll be the one dragging fur around the park.”

  “Will do,” the gorilla says. As soon as he’s past the edge of the lockers he points me in the right direction. He falls in behind me and pushes me forward, guiding me towards a door. I push down on the handle and peek through the crack before I go inside. The kitchen is empty.

  The gorilla closes the door behind me.

  “We got lucky,” he says. He moves by me and crosses to the doorway on the far side of the cabinets. He’s very fast when he uses his hands and feet to move. He waves me forward. When I’m close enough, he grabs me and hoists me up. There’s a ladder up there that continues up through the ceiling. I pull myself up but have to push with my feet against the wall to climb. Once I get my knee up, I’m able to climb pretty fast.

  The ladder shakes—even the walls seem to shake—when the gorilla jumps up and grabs the rung below my feet.

  “Go!” he whispers.

  I hear voices below. It’s all the motivation I need.

  At the top, there’s a hatch. I look down for confirmation, but I can’t see him. There’s not enough light leaking from around the hatch to give me much of a view below. He taps my foot. I take that as a command to move on.

  I push open the heavy hatch and immediately see another pair of gray, leathery feet. I’m not sure if I’m looking at friend or foe. I freeze.

  A massive hand reaches down in front of my face. I put my hand in the palm and I’m lifted like a child and set down on the planks of the tower.

  The gorilla ascends behind me and closes the hatch.

  I have my eyes pointed at the floor, just in case.

  “Stay down, would you?” the gorilla asks. “You never know what these bears are going to spot.”

  As I lower myself to the floor, I get one glance over the railing. We climbed for a while, but I didn’t realize we had gotten so high. The town is spread beneath us. The church steeple, the clock tower, and a few oak trees are the only things at our height. The other buildings are just shingled roofs. Figures move around down on the sidewalks. Cars creep on the streets. Beyond a row of shops, the ground falls away to a sparkling river. The bridge is clogged with outbound traffic. Bears surround the stopped cars and seem to be inspecting back seats and trunks. The gorilla puts a hand on my shoulder, hastening my descent so I’ll get out of sight.

  “Where are they focused?” the gorilla asks.

  They’re facing each other, so I chance a look. The gorilla is addressing a chimpanzee. The chimp looks almost childlike next to the massive gorilla, but he’s still a monster compared to me.

  “On the east side. They have scouts on the shore and checkpoints on the bridges. To the west and north they’ve simply blocked the roads. I heard they have a staggered picket through the woods.”

  “Shit,” the gorilla says. “They’re serious this time.”

  “Yeah,” the chimp says. “And the way they’re focused, it seems like they suspect an inside job.”

  The gorilla crosses to the other side of the tower and takes a different watch. “It won’t be hard to track us down once they have the scent.”

  “What did you expect? I told you two in a month was too many,” the chimp says.

  The gorilla grunts. As the apes get nervous, I’m starting to get nervous, too. The chimp turns his head and I feel his
eyes on me. I have to look. I don’t have a choice.

  His face is infinitely more kind than the gorilla’s. He locks eyes with me and doesn’t warn me off with a toothy display.

  “We don’t approve of fratricide.”

  “I don’t know what that means,” I say.

  “Killing one’s brother.”

  “But I didn’t! And that wasn’t a real witness. They said it was Jeremy, but it was an orangutan on the witness stand. My friend Jeremy is a person.” His eyes grow wide. “Like me, I mean. He’s a homo sapien.”

  The chimp rolls his eyes and then looks away. He’s staring out over the town as he answers. “First, it’s homo sapiens. There’s an S on the end. Second, that wasn’t your friend on the stand. When they fold in witnesses, they drop them into a surrogate. They use orangutans when they want to present the witness as sympathetic.”

  “Oh. But I didn’t kill my brother.”

  “I heard you plotted against him.”

  “No, not really.”

  The gorilla shoots me a look.

  “I had a fantasy about poisoning my family. Forgive me, I was just a kid and I was confused by everything. I wouldn’t have gone through with it.”

  “I heard there was another witness who was going to testify that you tried to stab your brother,” the chimp says.

  I poke my head up over the railing and catch an eyeful of the landscape. In the direction I’m looking, there are a few blocks of houses and then farmland. At least I’m guessing it’s farmland—I haven’t spent much time outside of cities. I’m not adept at decoding the meaning of all that greenery.

  “Where they hell are we?” I ask. “And how did I get here?”

  The gorilla and the chimp both sigh.

  “You ought to write this shit down,” the chimp says. “It gets tiresome hearing it over and over again.”

  The gorilla laughs. “You trust him to read something and understand it?”

  The chimp starts laughing as well. They both stop at the same time. The chimp waves to someone below.

  “We better get it together,” the chimp says. “It doesn’t pay to be jovial.”

  When the gorilla speaks again, he sounds serious. “You were sent here for reconditioning. Chances are, you have a significance or skill that the bears deem important for some future event. We’re going to help you escape.”