“Is that a no?” His question was abrupt, spat out. Maggie almost laughed.
“What do you think?” She replied.
“We could keep you in here for a long time, Lieutenant.” Bulldog man threatened.
“Its’ probably the safest place to be right now,” Maggie reclined back on the cot and put her hands behind her head. “Way things are going, you might want to join me.”
“Really?” A sarcastic reply
“I know when things are not going good.” Maggie smirked and made hard eye contact. “Its’ not going good out there.”
“How?” He returned the facial expression.
“We’re at a defensive line.” Maggie sat up and kept her eyes riveted on the man. The smirk was gone, she was back to straightforward attitude. “I hear gun fire every night and day. We should have this thing on lockdown by now. Where is our air support? I haven’t heard one damn chopper, plane or drone in days.”
Maggie saw the fire go out in his eyes. The mouth returned to a passive line.
“When I do some chin ups on these bars, I see things. “ Her hands clasped the bars over the only window firmly and square head watched the muscles under her arms and shoulders bulge. She pulled her small, athletic frame up to the window. “Like trucks full of refugees scared to death arriving all the time and there are too many nervous guys around with guns.” She paused and slowly let herself down on the cot. She leaned against the wall, not ready to sit down just yet. “People are really scared out there.”
“Guard!” The square head finally called out. The lock made a rusted sound as it squealed open in complaint. A uniform appeared.
“Yes sir.”
“I want that window sealed up.” The man pointed at the bars as he started to leave. He eyed Maggie briefly before turning away.
“Touched a nerve, have I?” She couldn’t resist.
“What if we just left you here when we pull out?” It was clear he also relished the chance at a parting shot.
“Fine by me.” Molly shrugged and presented a nasty smile. “I’d stand a better chance without you.”
The guard’s eyes glazed over, waiting out the game of tit for tat with an almost bored look on his face. Maggie nodded her sympathies and let it go. She watched the back of the lawyer exit her little world before she sat cross legged on the bed. Pull out? She turned her face to the wall and examined the concrete bricks close up for answers. “Where would we go?” She whispered.
A few days later, the door abruptly opened and two guards appeared with chains in hand. “Stand up, ma’am.” Maggie held her hands out for the shackles and she rose from the cot. She didn’t want to give these guys trouble. They had been decent. Maggie then remembered one of their names, basic training years ago. It was an almost half moon scar on the cheek of his hardened face that sealed it.
“Sorry about this, Maggie.” The guy whispered as he was locking her in.
“No problem, Bryan.” She replied without looking up to avoid suspicion. Before they led her away she said :“Stay safe, okay?”
“Okay.”
Fairchild smugly took in the sight of Maggie in a prison jumper with shackles. Were they really necessary? Of course, it was part of the revenge against the cog that wouldn’t play along with the rest of the machine. She decided to keep her chin up and give him a hard stare when he sat down behind his desk. You still need that piece of wood to feel in control, don’t you? Fairchild paused before speaking.
“In this type of war, we could execute you for what you’ve done.” He began loudly.
“I don’t recall being charged with anything, sir.” Maggie replied blandly.
His response was silence and wide eyes. Disappointed you haven’t broken me? Maggie felt a strange sense of empowerment at her incarceration. Fairchild seemed to grow impatient at the deadlock. It’s no fun to play if the other side won’t give in, right asshole? She felt another wave of defiance and let the corners of her mouth turn upwards.
“You have some papers to sign.” Fairchild’s voice was dismissive of her, angry. He pointed abruptly at the desk while an assistant laid a pen on the table. “You’re getting an honorable discharge.”
“If I sign, then what?” Maggie did not take her eyes off Fairchild. If you’re doing this, I obviously have cards to play.
“You’ll be put on a cargo plane and flown to Canada.” Fairchild’s voice was clipped. “You will be received by the Canadian government and you will be out of my sight.”
“Good.” A fresh start sounded as safe as it would get. She leaned over and picked up the pen while adding: “I could use some clean air.”
A pause followed. It was one of those social moments of gravity where the room suddenly became devoid of air. What replaced the oxygen was a slow, mounting rage and disbelief. Fairchild inhaled dramatically.
“Young lady,” he spoke through his teeth. “You are quite the little bitch.”
“Only to those who really deserve it, sir.” Maggie replied calmly without looking up. She signed on while her wrist shackles scratched the surface of Fairchild’s desk.
The propellers droned on as Maggie made herself comfortable in the hold of the cargo plane. She finally perched on top of a pile of wooden crates in webbing and used her duffle bag as a pillow. Her only other company among the mountains of military odds and ends were two army police. They were two massive men with square jaws and hard eyes. One with a blond crew cut and the second, an African American with massive biceps. Any attempt at conversation was met with blank, disinterested stares. Maggie shrugged, and let it go. At least the shackles were gone. She had guessed that had been a specific request from Fairchild. Once he was out of the picture they seemed to disappear and not return. I guess they don’t talk to people who aren’t Americans anymore. She closed her eyes and let time pass and muttered to herself: “Persona non grata.” The words had an odd, lonely feeling.
When she awoke Maggie was greeted with one of the guys snoring away. The soft lights of a plane in the air at night seemed to cast surreal shadows on the cabin. The plane lurched slightly as it continued on toward its destination. Maggie let her eyes settle on one of the few passenger windows. It was a tiny, face sized oval among an entire fuselage of metal, wires and fuse boxes. It seemed to flicker from a distant light.
She stirred, sitting up for a second Maggie eased herself off the wooden crates, taking care not to get her feet caught in the rope webbing that’s seemed to be everywhere. She finally felt the firm metal of the cargo planes floor. A gentle vibration tickled the bottom of her feet from the thrumbing of the motors. She took one step forward and a mountain appeared in front of her.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” The African American challenged.
“Relax,” She lifted her chin up and acted un-intimidated. “I’m just gonna look out the window, okay?” A nod was his only reply. He let her pass.
The transport was an old one. Hopefully, what it lacked in speed and altitude it made up in reliability. The ground took a minute to process. There were glowing pockets here and there that were connected at times by ribbons of light that seemed so fragile to the surrounding darkness. They seemed almost like translucent threads spun by crystal spiders. Highways and service roads seemed to glitter in the dark.
In the distance, huge tentacles of orange twisted into the air and then hid among the black camouflage of smoke. It was a massive fire. The usual emergency vehicles seemed to have moved off and let it burn itself out. Maggie wondered how first responders could contain such a blaze in the unique circumstances of this new emergency. She tried to envision fighting a fire while knowing that the blaze was attracting hoards of those things in rapt hunger and curiosity.
“Where are we?” Maggie finally spoke.
“GPS says we’re over Buffalo.” The African American replied distractedly while his buddy continued to saw away.
“Helluva fire,” Maggie observed as she watched the blaze. A flash here and there erupte
d with mushrooms of flame that looked like rising, fiery balloons.
“It’s the refinery in Tonawanda.” The man was checking his gear. “We had to change course around it.”
She nodded and moved an inch closer to the glass. She wasn’t clear on where Buffalo was but it was supposed to be on the shores of Lake Erie. A black shadow of darkness on the landscape was the body of water just below the right wing. The waves were speckled with starlight and the dancing fires of the burning refinery. On the shores, a crater of darkness did not reflect the distant inferno, it did not allow the light of suns millions of light years away to escape. It swallowed everything into full on black.
Buffalo.
Darkness, no sense of life. Even the crystal ribbons of light, the highways stopped abruptly at a certain point. It was a cold, endgame to all things in this area. It was like a shadow of something larger that loomed over the landscape. Was it just her imagination or was it spreading before her eyes? No, but it went on for miles. Life was like a changeling now. It had all the same roads, places and points of navigation. But gone was where we worked and lived, the obeisance that was the cities. We were scattered to the wind, in full retreat.
“Persona non grata,” she whispered in the darkness.
I’m sorry, ma’am.” The woman was looking at her with expectancy. She had clearly thought Maggie was asking a question. “Did you say something?”
“No, sorry.” Maggie spoke after a pause. “I was just thinking out loud.”
She seemed satisfied and went about the business of checking and rechecking every fold and stitch. Maggie had put on the pants a few minutes ago to the momentary embarrassment of her company. You just get used to doing everything in front of someone else in the army. The same can be said for the time you spent in jail. She reminded herself with a long, cool gaze into the hotel mirror.
“Hmmmmm……” The woman clearly had been in a quandary for the past few minutes. She was now on both knees playing with the cuffs of her pants. Maggie watched how carefully she shifted her weight from knee to knee. The pains of age offered fewer and fewer comfortable positions.
“Something wrong?” Maggie finally had to ask.
“I just don’t understand.” Her shoulders heaved a frustrated sigh and she looked up at Maggie. “We got your inseam measurements, 170 centimeters.”
“Um….” Maggie tried to calculate that in feet and came up blank. You really have to work on this, she realized. “A littler under five foot seven, right?”
“Yes, exactly.” The woman’s affirmation did not dull her sense of frustration. “But we’re a good five centimeters long at the cuff.”
“Oh,” That’s because I’m not five foot seven and that needs to stay a secret, Maggie thought quickly for a way out. “Look, let’s not worry about it.”
“But….”
“Do we really wanna get someone in trouble?” Maggie smiled politely. “The rest of this is such a great job.”
“Are you sure?” She asked. Her knees were starting to ach, Maggie guessed and reached down to help her up,
“Oh, thank you.” The woman accepted the steady hand gratefully as she turned her head to stand and her eyes settled on a metallic glitter on the dresser. “Oh, my,” she exclaimed. Curiosity made her move closer. She turned to Maggie with the faux dramatis look again.
“Do you mind if I touch it?” The woman’s eyes were wide with fascination.
“Go ahead.” At least she asked this time. Besides, it took her mind of the cuffs.
“What is it called?”Her hands traced the points of each star and the ribbon was smoothed down carefully.
“Its….” Maggie paused and wondered what to say. Why not the truth? “It’s the Silver Star.”
“For Bravery?” Her eyes widened in admiration. “….in combat, against…….. them?”
“Yes,” Maggie was not sure what to say now. Part of her wanted to sit the woman down and try to explain that people who deserved it more weren’t here. She was just lucky. Through all of the streets of Chicago where she was earning this she had been fueled by fear. We’re all afraid when this stuff happens. All of us………and I miss the people who aren’t with me who should be wearing this as well.
“It’s beautiful.” Her eyes were playing between Maggie and medal now.
“Yes, it is.” Maggie said, with a hint of sadness. How about a purple heart while we’re at it? But they only give those to wounds they can see, right? She felt uneasy as the woman lingered over the star. Maybe it’s half a purple heart. Look at it that way. The wounds you have sit inside and fester for years. They infect your soul and by then you’re an empty shell. They then discard you back to civilian life with a handshake. But, how do I survive out there? No reply, you’re a toy that is no longer needed in the war game.
You came to serve with honor. It felt like a bitter reminder. No good deed goes unpunished.
“Ma’am,” There was patriotism in her eyes. “You should wear it.”
“Sure,” Maggie nodded politely and let woman pin it on her uniform. This was a moment of pride she would relate to her girls tonight about the nice lady who was a war hero. Fine, just tell them not to grow up just like me.
Yes, she would wear it. Maggie swallowed for a second. She’d wear for Esterhaus, Chalmers, Voorhees, Desjardens and Benjamin………and Brett.
“There,” The woman stepped back with pride.
“It looks great, thank you.“ Maggie thought it was definitely a first, an American medal on a Canadian uniform. Both sides of the fence would probably recoil in shock.
Maggie let herself be drawn to the window that overlooked highway 9 and 10 in Orangeville. The price of gas kept the traffic sparse. A group of workers crossed the intersection as they trudged by in already dirty clothes to a job sight. Their shovels rested like weapons on their shoulders. The heads were lowered, bracing for hours of back breaking labor. It’s just another day in survival mode. She let her attention be drawn to an old horse pulling a flat bed wagon. The driver was motionless in his seat while the horse plodded into town. The wheels were the skinny, small types you used when you had a flat tire. The old things were starting to find a new place as we slowly wound backward through time, reversing our course through days gone by. The horse kept a gentle rhythm in the sunlight, oblivious to the role he played in this game of demise.
Captain Hunter. You have a command now. She took a deep breath and felt butterflies of anxiety. The woman who had been like a slow, laboring honeybee around her stood quietly and took the moment in as Maggie searched her own eyes in the reflection of the window. I used to be pretty good at this. Maggie felt the lingering memories that finished with a doubtful question mark.
But, what about now?
“We’ll see….”
Table of Contents
Title Page
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
yscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share
The Drumhead Page 30
