By Dusk

by T Thorn Coyle

  “So, Raquel, do you think you can deal with this? Or do you want someone else?” Moss asked.

  Raquel looked at Brenda, who lifted her hands, silver bracelets chiming.

  “You’re currently the most qualified,” Brenda said. “Between your skill level and the water connection.”

  “Okay. I’ll do it. But I don’t like it, Moss, I can tell you that right now. I want Alejandro to back you up, since he has a taste of the egregore. I don’t think the river or whatever this entity is, is going to leave you alone, locked down or not. I really don’t think it’s safe, and if you weren’t already an initiate, I’d tell you no.” Raquel’s dark eyes held his in challenge.

  “Fine with me,” Moss replied. “We don’t have time to argue about it, do we?”

  “Your funeral,” she said, then looked away.

  Great. He just loved pissing off his mentors. Moss sighed.

  “Now, who’s backing up Raquel, and who’s doing whatever else needs doing? I know the tribal elders and the Clean River Coalition could use another couple trusted go-between folks on comms, and the Brown Berets and Sons of Ṣàngó could likely use security help.”

  “Any other magic workers gonna be on site?” Lucy asked. “Or is there other magic you two think we should be working on in particular?” She gestured to Raquel and Moss.

  “Well, making sure Raquel has what she needs to deal with the egregore is priority. After that, anything that supports the Willamette and reveals the truth about these bastards,” Moss said. “That’s the magic everyone there is going to be doing, whether they think it’s magic or not. So, support the magic every single affinity group is doing. Let the magic do its work.”

  “Sounds good,” Lucy replied. “I’m in.”

  “Okay,” Brenda interjected, “let’s figure out who is taking on what role. I don’t want to leave any part of this operation to chance.”

  Moss heard the river whispering inside him. He felt the love he had for every single person in the room.

  “Thanks everyone. I couldn’t do this without you. And the Willamette couldn’t either.”

  “It takes a village,” Alejandro replied. “And this village isn’t taking any shit.”

  Moss smiled.

  30

  Shaggy

  It was ten o’clock equinox morning, the sun was out, and Cathedral City Park was a gorgeous green expanse beneath the gothic towers of St. John’s Bridge. Sun shone on the warm gold leaves of the maple that presided over a copse above a small stage where two people set up a makeshift sound system. Shaggy bet the park was an amazing place in spring. Even on the tail end of summer, the place was breathtaking.

  The beauty couldn’t distract Shaggy from the fact that fifty-two degrees Fahrenheit with a wind from the east bumping up against the breeze rising off the river itself meant that Shaggy was damn cold. And, frankly, terrified. She looked up at the arched concrete towers that supported the steel suspension bridge on land, and wondered what the hell she thought she was doing. Last night during practice, despite exhausting herself, everything had felt so right. She was excited, and felt sure about it all. The harnesses were a bit of a pain to work with, and it took some doing to not get them tangled in the silks, but she and Phoebe had drilled until her arms and legs shook with effort and sweat soaked through her practice clothes.

  And then she’d spent the night in Moss’s arms. He’d stumbled in just after midnight, half exhausted, and they’d had a few hours together before he stumbled off again at six, not even staying for the coffee she’d promised him.

  The sex had been sweet. Gentle. They had to be careful because of Moss’s injuries. The fact that they couldn’t just jump each other made things harder for Shaggy this morning. Hot sex she could do in a minute. Sweet sex? That was a lot more difficult. It ended up meaning something. And she wasn’t ready to face that. Sex that was both sweet and hot? No matter how much she wanted it, it made her want to run away.

  “You’re pretty messed up, Shaggy.” She tried to stretch her cold muscles. Phoebe jogged in place a couple of yards away.

  “You say something?”

  “No. Just talking to myself.”

  Shaggy bent toward the damp grass on a deep exhalation and touched her forehead to her shins. Her hamstrings screamed, angry at the cold and at the extra-long workout they’d gotten the night before. She eased off immediately. No need to risk injury.

  Just like with the sweet sex, she needed to take the stretching slow. If only she could be slow with her heart. It felt sore today, too. Filled with a sadness she barely wanted to acknowledge. A sadness that maybe, just maybe, if she let herself, she could have real love. That was what the cards were telling her, she realized. It had very little to do with the abortion, or her family, or anything else. It was about her tendency to cut and run the minute anyone who mattered wanted in.

  And Moss mattered. She couldn’t begin to understand why he still insisted on locking down and risking a brutal arrest…but she also knew as a non-activist, and as someone who barely even knew him, there wasn’t really anything she could say.

  But that didn’t mean she didn’t worry.

  She inhaled the morning air and went back to her stretching, arms pebbled with goosebumps even beneath the long-sleeved leotard and dagged-edged blue fleece festival jacket she had been sure were warm when she’d dressed earlier. Could be worse. She could’ve been in performance leotards. Phoebe had suggested blue and green to match the river and their blue silks was the way to go, costume-wise, but had wisely suggested they wear something warmer than usual.

  Shaggy had unearthed blue velvet festival pants for herself and green ones for Phoebe. Despite leggings beneath the velvet, and her attempts to warm up her muscles, the cold was only going to get worse when the wind high up on the bridge hit. And she hadn’t even taken off her shoes and socks yet.

  Could she manage the silks in shoes? They were thin-soled sneakers, so maybe?

  She looked up again, eyes caught by movement high up in the towers. That would be two of Terra’s cohort securing the safety equipment and silks. Both were tied up in small bundles barely visible from the ground. They wouldn’t unfurl until Shaggy and Phoebe and the folks doing the banner drop were ready.

  Meanwhile, the park was filling up. Some First Nations groups in long skirts and shawls, or decorated jackets and cloth headbands, clustered at one end. There were bunches of people clad all in black, and a variety of folks showing up with banners and signs. She smiled at the group with painted cardboard fish and birds on long poles.

  “Look, Phoebe!”

  “Those are beautiful!” Her mentor walked closer. “You doing okay?”

  “I can’t get warm enough, and now that we’re here, I’m starting to feel a little scared.”

  “That’s natural,” Phoebe replied. “Let’s go for a quick jog while we can. It’ll warm us up faster than anything else, and take your mind off things. Then we should get ready to head up.”

  Shaggy swallowed, stomach suddenly sour.

  “I don’t know if I can do this. I feel sick.”

  Phoebe assessed her, then shook her head. “Trust me. It’s just nerves. Let’s jog.” She smiled. “You can stop and puke anytime you want to.”

  “Great. Just great.” Shaggy shook her arms out and rolled her head on her shoulders. Phoebe was already jogging away toward the steep flight of concrete stairs beneath the bridge, glancing behind herself to see if Shaggy was coming.

  “You said you wanted to do this, Shaggy, so you better get going.”

  Shaggy took in another breath, and set her sneakers on the path Phoebe had set, increasing her pace until she was jogging right beside her.

  “There’s no way to tell what’s going to happen,” Phoebe said between footfalls, “same as with any other performance. So you may as well let it go.”

  Easier said than done.

  31

  Moss

  The timing needed to be perfect. If one thing went
wrong, the whole lockdown could be botched from the beginning.

  At least the day’s action didn’t rely on the lockdown in order to be effective. Thank all the Gods and kami for multi-pronged community actions.

  Moss took in his neighborhood from the front porch of Justice House. He stretched, wincing as various parts of his body pulled and resisted—his ribs still really hurt, and ibuprofen had barely made a dent in the pain—and inhaled the scent of mint and rosemary that grew in pots on either end of the slightly scruffy porch. The day was sunny, but still cool, and he wore boots, baggy jeans, a long-sleeved tee, polar fleece, and his lucky knit cowl.

  Moss and his crew had met up at his place at seven in the morning for a quick vegan breakfast supplied by Maggie, bless her, even if she was pissed off at him for locking down. Add another person to his current fan club. She’d even done cleanup so Moss, Barbara Jean, and the others could start loading gear into Tariq’s truck and two beat-up old hatchbacks.

  Right now, folks carried supplies from other vehicles and from inside Justice House. Their support and propaganda teams would meet them at the bridge, parking offsite and walking on. The lockdown crew would carpool with the gear, taking what they could and consolidating the rest into the three vehicles that would remain on the bridge, forming the first barrier to shut the four lanes down.

  The motley crew were cheerful enough, and efficient, working quickly in the cool, late morning air. Everyone had done this before, which was the only reason the group had agreed to a last-minute action. Successful blockades could take weeks—sometimes even months—of careful planning. The more experienced and trusted the people, the less time they needed. Even the support crew that would bring water or snacks, or hold up aching arms, had all done at least one other blockade.

  If they were going to block the span, all twenty-five of the people locking down needed to be prepared, mentally and physically, and the chains and PVC tubes were part of that. They’d spent part of last night drilling holes into the center of each four foot length of tubing, and securing bolts into the holes with lug nuts and Gorilla glue. Other people had cut chain, attaching carabiners to the ends so the blockaders could clip themselves to the bolt, once inside the tube.

  Moss wore thick socks with the feet cut off over his long-sleeved tee. If you planned to lock down for even a few hours, you needed to be as comfortable as possible. The socks would protect his wrists.

  “Got your diaper on?” Tariq asked.

  Moss grimaced. “No. I always wait until the last minute. I hate wearing those.” He’d put his loosest jeans on over his boots, though.

  “Better than needing to piss or worse, and not having one.”

  “Yeah, yeah.”

  There was no denying the physical realities of long blockades, but frankly, wearing adult diapers was still the hardest thing about locking down for Moss. And how are you going to feel if you’re an old man and end up with no choice but to wear them? He knew his discomfort was just ableist bullshit, but somehow that knowledge didn’t make him appreciate the diapers any more.

  Moss picked up a load of thick PVC tubes loosely stacked outside the front door, headed down the porch steps, and chucked them into the back of Tariq’s old Toyota truck where they clattered with their cousins. He grimaced. Damn ribs. The tubes read Save the Willamette, Greed Pollutes, and Water is Life in thick black Sharpie letters.

  Kayakers and at least two sailboats were scheduled to be in the water flying banners with similar messages, and when Shaggy and Phoebe dropped over the water, banners would drop alongside them.

  At least that was the plan. First, people would gather in the park, then the tribal elders would do an opening ceremony at the water, followed by a children’s choir from St. John’s School, then drummers and dancers, back up at the stage. Then, the lockdown. Then, the kayaks, aerialists, and the banner drops. Moss checked his watch. 10:15. That meant the first part of the programming should have started already, or be starting soon. It also meant that rush hour traffic should have died down, which they needed. Tariq would call Terra to check on that before they left for the short drive to the bridge.

  The two hatchbacks would wait until Tariq crossed the bridge and doubled back, then they would begin their crossing, stopping as close to mid-span as they could to stop those lanes, while people jumped from the other cars and started setting up the blockade. Tariq would hopefully be able to park his truck across two lanes, blocking traffic on both sides. Their fourth driver had the flu and needed to back out. Tariq would just have to do his best.

  Yeah. Damn tricky. All the key people had walkie-talkies to make sure the action went as smoothly as possible. Reconnaissance had found two different spots where they would U-lock the chains on either side. Two spots meant a backup, in case they needed it.

  If Terra’s crew hadn’t been on point to coordinate the rest of the action with the Yakama and Chinook elders, the folks from AIM, and spokespeople from the rest of the affinity groups, Moss would’ve been a lot more nervous than he was. He had the usual pre-action jitters as the adrenaline built inside his system. As battered as his body felt, he needed the support the rush gave him.

  “You okay?” Tariq asked.

  Moss jerked at his friend’s voice. Friend, comrade, and at one brief point, lovers, until they decided that was too messy with everything else they had going on.

  He pushed back from the truck bed. “Yeah. Just worried about Shaggy. She’s never done anything like this before.”

  “Everyone has a first time, right? And Terra won’t let them go up if anything looks the slightest bit wrong. You know that, right?”

  “Right. Thanks.”

  Tariq flashed him a lopsided smile and rewound the red bandana that kept his short, tightly coiled locks in place.

  “Okay,” Tariq said, once he was done, “let’s get the rest of this shit loaded. Then, hate to tell you, but you gotta go put your diaper on, man.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” Moss said. “Let’s get this done.”

  One more load of gear, then he’d hit the bathroom. And put that damn diaper on.

  His one regret was that he wouldn’t be able to see Shaggy in action. He bet it was going to be beautiful.

  32

  Shaggy

  After Phoebe’s enforced running warm-up, Shaggy had to admit her body felt better. Looser. And she was finally warming up.

  They walked back down the stairs toward the central circle of concrete under the massive arched supports toward seven dancers in ribbon skirts and bright shawls, and drummers from a local tribe Shaggy didn’t know. She would need to learn, she supposed, and should have probably asked before today, but there had been so much going on in the past week she hadn’t even thought of it.

  The dancers and drummers began a procession leading from the circle and down the small hill toward the river.

  She and Phoebe stayed at the rear, not wanting to get caught in the midst of what looked to be a crowd of about two, maybe three hundred, which was quite a lot for such a small park. The people moved toward the greensward that bordered a small estuary and a dock leading to the river itself. Shaggy stopped walking when Phoebe did. They stood on a rise, looking down over the crowd.

  Facing the water, an elder native man in a leather vest with an American Indian Movement back patch raised his hands, rang a bell, and said a prayer in words that flowed like silk. They felt like a scaffolding of fabric Shaggy could climb and dance upon. A second, younger man dipped a clay mug into the water each time, handing it to the elder, who prayed, then passed the mug back to be dipped into the river once again.

  Seven times, the bell rang, and seven times, the old man sang and prayed.

  Three women in shawls stepped forward. The one with a hoop drum and beater stick started a slow rhythm. Their voices rang out, high and loud, each taking a turn to lead. Everyone gathered faced the water. Not one person raised a camera. Not one person spoke. The only other sounds were the river lapping at the shore, the malla
rds bobbing in the water, and the distant whoosh of traffic.

  The women finished with their prayers and made an announcement that dancing and singing would be happening soon up on the small stage Shaggy had noticed on their way down.

  Out on the dock, children dropped flower petals on the river’s surface and into the estuary, where they formed vibrant patterns of yellow, pink, blue, and red. It was so beautiful, Shaggy felt tears forming. Maybe Portland was going to turn out to be more than just an escape from Bianca and the past.

  Maybe she could belong in a place like this someday.

  “We should get going,” Phoebe said at her shoulder. “It’s almost time to get into our gear.”

  Shaggy nodded, hands suddenly damp and throat dry. At least the breeze from the east had finally died down, warming up the morning. Maybe she wouldn’t need to wear her fleece, and she and Phoebe wouldn’t have to battle extra wind beneath the bridge. There were enough other variables to keep track of as it was.

  She and Phoebe wound their way back to the steps.

  “This is such a great turnout,” Phoebe said. “You’ll have a good audience for your first PDX performance!”

  “Don’t say that!” Shaggy replied. “I just managed to forget that part.”

  Phoebe grinned wildly. “Aw. Come on. It’s gonna be great. And the fact that we might get arrested only makes it better.”

  “You’re determined to freak me out again, aren’t you?”

  They had reached one of the massive pillars that held up the bridge. Shaggy looked up at the concrete, and past it, the green welded steel. Following the line of steel toward the water, she saw the coiled ropes and silks and the long, rolled-up banners. Everything was staged. They really did need to get up there.

  “Not trying to freak you out, trying to get you focused on something other than messing up. It’s gonna be great.” Phoebe followed Shaggy’s line of sight. “Yep. We really need to get up there now. They should be ready to lock down the bridge in another forty minutes or so. That’s our signal. The kayaks and boats come after.”