Playground Zero

by Sarah Relyea

  She groped her way across the roof, glancing around at the others, wondering who would keep things rolling. Among the group gathered around the wounded man was a girl Arlene’s age who’d come from Oregon with a boyfriend and was now on her own. She had blonde corn-silk hair, tangled and unwashed, and ripped jeans. Valerie had seen her on the Avenue and in the park; one day she’d even come to the Derby commune, where she’d nodded off in one of the second-floor rooms—a hanger-on, a bummer, she’d never make things happen. Usually that was Arlene’s scene, but Arlene was freaking now that things were under way. If Arlene was becoming a drag, then Valerie would have to dump her, that’s all.

  Valerie scanned the group on the roof. Four young men hovered together, heads leaning in as though sharing a joint. The park had been home turf for them, and they’d have a rumble now, for sure. Valerie wandered over, coming up on them slowly. One of them was a fleshy young man whose face was covered in smooth beard, and he had a wild eagerness.

  “They wanna fight, I’m ready,” he was saying.

  “Buncha pigs,” grumbled a man in leather pants, eyeing the rubble. Southward along Telegraph Avenue, roofs faded in domino heaps: the earth was covered with them. Overhead was a clear, pale sky.

  Wasting no more time, the leather-clad man broke from the group and crossed the roof. Crouching by a heap of rubble, he grasped a chunk and heaved it over the edge. Valerie heard a sharp thud and then the hubbub of gunfire. On a nearby roof, a man crumpled slowly. She looked, queasy with excitement and fear. He wore dark and anonymous clothing—a stranger, no one she’d seen before.

  From the pavement rose a woman’s scream: “Murderers!”

  Everyone was now scrambling from the gunfire zone overlooking the street. Valerie heard screams coming from the nearby roof: “Ambulance!”

  Arlene was shoving her along. “We’re gonna find Marlboro Man,” she urged. “C’mon, maybe he’s up at the house.”

  “Hold your horses—I’m not going now.” Valerie would have her chance; she’d heave something on those cops.

  Arlene flashed her a frightened look and headed for the back of the roof, where an iron ladder dropped to the alley. Arlene swung down, hands grasping the ladder. Then she was gone.

  Another volley of gunshots sprayed the front of the roof, arcing overhead. Valerie’s guts lurched.

  Everyone had dropped to the tar, out of the way of gunshot. Valerie scuttled toward the ladder and leaned over the edge. The alley lay far below. Soon she’d maneuvered one foot over a rung and, firmly grasping the railing, lowered herself along the wall. Looking down, she saw a trash can wavering far below. She forced her eyes to the wall—no more fooling around. Bare, weathered wood was passing along a queasy conveyor belt. Descending further, she came face-to-face with an open window, and beyond it a darkened room. She turned her head and nearly fell, one foot searching for a rung that had seemingly fled, beamed to another world. Then just as suddenly it reappeared.

  Finally she was with Arlene by the back of Dan’s shop. They fled through a narrow alley onto Dwight Way, then west, away from Telegraph Avenue. Valerie turned, craning to look over her shoulder, and saw a throng of cops. Then she followed Arlene back along Parker Street, approaching Telegraph again, only to find the crossroad in flames from a burning car, and jammed with cops. Oil-blackened smoke poured from the hood. They turned, running now, and fled south, beyond the range of the uproar. Soon they’d crossed Telegraph and found a passable route to the Derby Street commune.

  ARLENE OPENED THE door on a somnolent atmosphere. Though the house appeared empty, sounds could soon be heard coming from a small room beyond the large communal space.

  “Who’s there?” a man demanded, in the tone of a sentinel.

  “Arlene.” She paused. “Valerie’s with me. Hey, Johnny, is that you?”

  A man’s head appeared, unsmiling. “Come on in, then.” He had eyes of blue glass and dark curls that blanched an already pale forehead. Unmoving, he surveyed them coming down the hall. The cool glance made Valerie remember the uncomfortable feeling she’d had around him on the Avenue, at least in the beginning. But no longer: now they belonged to the same people.

  When they reached the room, they found Jim and Bobby as well.

  “See, they’re safe!” Valerie announced, nudging Arlene.

  “Yeah,” Bobby nodded. “Safe for now.”

  “I’m so glad,” Arlene murmured, as Valerie rushed up to Jim.

  “I saw a burning car!”

  “Yeah, man, the cop car. I helped them, me and Bobby.”

  “Sure enough,” Bobby confirmed.

  Valerie eyed them, mouth open. “You were there?”

  “I was more than there.”

  They faced each other for a moment, Jim puffing his chest.

  “And I heaved something on those cops!” Valerie bragged. Then she took a step back, her foot trampling a shoebox full of small globes, each having the shape and color of a cherry and what appeared to be a heavy green stalk.

  Arlene gasped. “Whoa, what a haul! My lord, Johnny, they sure could use them today.”

  “Hey, be careful.” Johnny waved her off. “That’s my stuff.” He pulled another box from under the sagging sofa. “There’s more. Look at these.”

  “Oh my God, you have M-80s.”

  “Yeah, enough to scare some pigs real good.” Johnny fingered a cherry bomb for them to contemplate. “I can show you now,” he shrugged, reaching for a match.

  “What the fuck—” Arlene jumped back. Jim and Bobby laughed.

  “I’m just foolin’. We’re gonna need ’em. Berkeley’s crawling with pigs.”

  Arlene was kneeling by the box. “Can I have one?”

  “Now?”

  “Yeah, now.”

  He glared at her and then at Valerie. “What, a couple of chicks?” He dropped the cherry bomb in the box.

  “Oh fuck off, Johnny, you’re such a bummer.”

  “Yeah, a real pisser,” Valerie added.

  Arlene leaned back, staring up at him. She rose. “Come on, Val, I’ve had enough of men and weapons.”

  Johnny regarded her, frowning, then he leaned over and fingered one from each box. “Be careful with the M-80,” and he offered them to her. On the thumb was a heavy ring made from the handle of a spoon. “And God bless our army.”

  Arlene took them and headed for the door. “Thanks, Johnny,” she said over her shoulder, smiling. “I’ll remember you when it blows.”

  “Hey, far-out.”

  Arlene paused by the door. “Say, Bobby, where’s the car? How ’bout taking a ride?”

  The car belonged to the house, more or less, and Bobby had keys and sometimes used it for joyriding in the hills. He looked at Johnny. “You coming, man?”

  “No, I’m cooling off here.”

  Soon the four of them were in the car. Bobby drove with Arlene in the passenger seat and Valerie and Jim lounging in back.

  “Let’s go by Willard School,” Arlene suggested.

  Bobby rolled along Derby Street, rounding the corner onto Telegraph Avenue. It was now late afternoon. Arlene eased a box of Marlboros from her pocket and removed a cigarette. Then she pulled out the chrome lighter Valerie had given her, with a galloping horse and four red rhinestones studding the mane, and flipped open the cover. Dangling the cigarette, she held the flame to the end, inhaling in slow gasps until it burned. A thin plume of smoke escaped through the open window. No one murmured. Valerie could smell the tobacco as Arlene inhaled: a burning hayfield, only sharper and more pungent.

  “I sure could use a bathroom,” Arlene remarked in a honeyed, down-home drawl. “Maybe just pull up by Willard School and I’ll run in . . . I can go back to school, can’t I?”

  “You’re way beyond junior high,” Bobby smiled.

  “Maybe I’m just one of those fast-growing girls.”

  The car passed along the block. Bobby made a U-turn and pulled up by the school gymnasium. “’S open,” he yawned, tapping a f
inger on the steering wheel. “Say, Jim, I wonder’f those boys are playing there now.”

  “Could be.”

  “More baby-killers they’re gonna be someday.”

  Glancing up and down the street, Arlene let herself out. Valerie regarded her through the open window, as a helicopter whined overhead. A woman could be heard from the end of the block, calling for a child. Arlene approached the school building, jogged up a ramp and through the door, vanishing into the gym. Moments later she reappeared at a run, followed by a bang and then a louder one. Valerie plugged her ears.

  “Ow!”

  “Damn,” murmured Bobby, impressed. “That was no dud.”

  He leaned and opened the door and Arlene leapt in, slamming it shut. The car lurched from the curb.

  Arlene had dropped her smoke somewhere back in the gym. She was breathing tensely, eyes focused ahead as Bobby rushed a corner, careening right, away from Telegraph Avenue, the park, and the campus. Somewhere behind them sounded the high drone of a siren.

  “Tunnel Road, Bobby,” commanded Arlene. “We’re done for here.”

  Valerie was feeling peppy. “Maybe it’s an ambulance—you know, the guy on the roof.”

  “No way.”

  “Yeah,” Jim said, grinning. “Pigs’r coming for us.”

  Bobby turned east at Ashby Avenue. They were speeding now along a thinly used thoroughfare, an off-hour commuting road, heading for the tunnel through the hills. The towers of the Claremont Hotel rose on the left, and then the car ascended a curving, tree-lined road that opened onto a freeway ramp. The siren had bled away in the flatlands below, leaving only the sounds of wind and rubber on the road.

  “Hey, Arlene,” Jim called out, “you sure gave those guys a scare.”

  “Who?”

  “Those guys in the gym.”

  “There was no one.”

  “Me and Bobby saw them under the hoops.”

  “No more. Pigs’ve been there. They gassed the goddamn gym.”

  “That’s heavy.”

  Bobby leaned in, flipping on the lights. “Here comes the tunnel.”

  Accompanied by a deafening whine, the car plunged into the tunnel, shadowless in dull, orange light and heavy with fumes. No one spoke over the drone. The tunnel unraveled on and on, echoing and confined; then it magically purged them from its thundering confines to the common purposes of day. The car rolled along a ramp, leaving the freeway for a two-lane road that ascended the coastal mountain ridge. Bobby drove calmly now, on furlough from the world.

  “Free as a bird up here.” He looked at Arlene. “God damn, what a day.”

  Valerie leaned forward. “Where are we?”

  “Grizzly Peak.”

  Through the trees she could see the shimmering surface of the bay.

  “You wanna see the park? I can pull over.”

  Bobby rolled the car along the shoulder of the road and stopped. From the glove compartment he drew forth a pair of binoculars.

  “Come on.”

  They tumbled from the car and crossed the road in a group. There was nothing near them but trees. Bobby peered through the binoculars. “Whoa . . . Looka the motherfuckers.” He handed the glasses to Valerie.

  She had some trouble finding the park, but then through the glasses she saw, one by one, the cops along the fence, uprooted trees and shrubs, overturned benches.

  “What’s goin’ on?” Jim demanded.

  She handed the glasses to him and he stared, sobbing loudly.

  “Let’s go, Bobby, there’s no use.” Arlene ran back to the car.

  They drove slowly along the road, Jim slumped against the door, eyes covered by a corner of cloth from the sleeve of his pullover. The road wound along the summit and then began gradually sloping down, heading for the canyon. Soon they were passing among the fantasy buildings and gated roads of the Lawrence Laboratory, then came a steep drop along the border of the research gardens belonging to the university. Arlene tapped Bobby on the shoulder.

  “There’s a pullout coming up. I want to get out.”

  “But there’s nothing here.”

  “Oh yes, there is—there’s a path to those gardens. I want to have a look.” She paused and resumed, her tone once more honeyed and down-home. “I’d love to sleep in a garden. They say it’s only for those college people, but someone told me how to jump the fence. There’s no patrolman, or so I hear.”

  Bobby laughed. “Jump the fence all alone?”

  “Well, I was hoping—”

  “’Cause I’m going back to the house. I’m gonna be ready tomorrow for whatever comes down.”

  Valerie leaned forward. “Me and Jim, we can go.” She’d never heard of the garden before; but now that she had, she wanted to spend the night there.

  Bobby slowed the car, crossing the oncoming lane and rolling onto the pullout. There he dropped them by the head of a path that plunged along the canyon wall through eucalyptus and madrone. Arlene led the way, followed closely by Valerie. Jim hung back, pulling at branches as he passed.

  “Where’s the garden?” Valerie demanded. “I thought there would be flowers.”

  “Oh, maybe there are. Marlboro Man showed me how to come along the path here, but I’ve never been in the garden.”

  “Then how do you know it’s there?”

  “He told me. Anyway, we just passed by—you can see it from the road.”

  “There was only a canyon.”

  “A canyon with a garden.” Arlene turned, gazing back along the path. “Now what did Bobby have to do that was so important?”

  “He’s gonna save the park!”

  “Too late, Val.”

  Jim appeared around a corner, walking slowly. For a moment Valerie watched him coming along the path, grasping a small branch and pounding the dust. Then she became aware of the funny walk, though it was camouflaged by the pounding of the branch. Jim ignored them as he approached, surrounded by a cloud of dust. Finally he glanced up, eyes shaded under the brow.

  “Too many snakes in here,” he announced.

  “What snakes?” demanded Valerie.

  “I saw ’em back there, a whole bunch.” He held up the branch, antler-like. “I can scare ’em away, no problem.”

  “You’re lying.”

  Arlene shaded her eyes with one hand. “And you’re limping.”

  “Huh?”

  “Your leg.” She waved her hand toward the wounded thigh. “Diamondback, maybe?”

  “Fuck no, I’d be dead.” He flung the branch away through the bushes. “I let a pig get too close. Johnny says not to worry, it’s probably just birdshot. I can have it out tomorrow.”

  Valerie’s eyes widened. “You got shot? Show me.”

  Jim held up the wounded leg, propping it with both hands. Valerie leaned down and saw a tear in the jeans, crusty with dry blood.

  “I can hardly feel it,” he bragged.

  Arlene frowned. “We should’ve gone back with Bobby.”

  “No hurry, it’s just a scrape.”

  “Tomorrow there’s gonna be pus.” Valerie reached out and he jerked the leg away.

  “Forget about it. I’m no chump.”

  “Arlene!” Valerie turned. “They shot my brother!”

  Arlene drew the Marlboro box from her pocket. “They think they’re dealing with a bunch of gardeners, but our guys are gonna show them a thing or two.”

  Jim dropped the leg, another mood overcoming him. Dust and tears darkened his face. “Oh boy.”

  “Tomorrow you’ll see.” Arlene tapped on the Marlboro box.

  “I dunno . . . maybe we’ve been had.” He turned away, smothering a sob. “They’re gonna bring in the Army. That’s what Dan says.”

  They began walking slowly down the path, descending further into the canyon. A car passed on the road above; when the sound had faded, it was replaced by the harsh chatter of crows. The path was bordered by rhododendron and madrone, and as it began curving away from the road, Arlene scanned the canyon, t
hen turned to the others.

  “Marlboro Man told me to go through some woods here, then over a fence.”

  They abandoned the path, bushwhacking along the canyon wall above a narrow creek. Before long they were facing a chain-link fence. Valerie stared up at it.

  “Whoa, Arlene, how’re we gonna jump that?”

  Arlene shrugged. “Fences are for jumping.”

  They stood for a moment.

  “Come on, have a boost.”

  Arlene leaned down, grasped Valerie by the legs, and helped her up and over. Then she helped Jim, who followed, wincing and groaning. Finally, Arlene climbed over on her own.

  Soon they were on a paved path leading through a live-oak grove. The canyon was much the same here. Why bother jumping a fence, Valerie wondered, if nothing changes? Jim moved close by her shoulder.

  “We should have the park here,” he murmured. “Look how much space they have. We could live off the land.”

  “You’re dreaming.”

  “Yeah, I sure am.”

  “And what would you eat—bark?”

  “Naaah . . . I’d have me some roast pig, just like the olden days.”

  The path led along the canyon wall, then branched and dropped down toward the creek. Soon they entered a small redwood grove by a Japanese pond. It was early evening. Jim crouched by the pool, drinking in gulps; then he splashed water over his face. Smudged and dripping, he looked up at Valerie.

  “Remember that day we went up the mountain?”

  “Hawk took us.”

  “Yeah, Hawk. Where d’you suppose he’s gone?”

  “Gone? Nowhere—he’s with her.” Valerie was feeling spent.

  “Maybe.” Jim peered through the trees. “An’ maybe not.” He paused. “What’s that sound?”

  “Where?”

  “In the trees.”

  “Nothing—just crows.”

  Arlene had been leaning over the pond, washing her hands. “Who’s Hawk?”

  Jim flashed her a snarly look. “Some guy.”