Domino Falls

by Steven Barnes

  They had finally reached the outskirts of Domino Falls … the place people called Threadville.

  Beyond the fence, a rusting metal office desk was shadowed by a rippling canopy. The man at the desk was wrinkled and sun-beaten, probably at least seventy, with short-cropped white hair. The purple tattoo on his tautly muscled bicep read ONLY THE STRONG SURVIVE, and his eyes were like a marine sniper’s. He wore a bright copper shirt, almost the color of gold.

  Dean and Darius were drawing a crowd. Four guys in the same bright yellow button-down shirts circled the Twins with sawed-off shotguns resting across their shoulders. Three of the men wore cowboy hats, which gave the picture an unpleasant light. The Twins sat astride their bikes with their jet-black hair and a long history written all over their faces, ignoring the men in the yellow shirts. Never seen Native Americans before?

  A busty redhead in a tattered denim jacket stared holes through the Twins, caressing the butt of a Magnum worn in a sun-cracked leather holster slung low on her ample hips.

  Other men in yellow shirts waited in the distance, all of them wearing guns in holsters, some carrying rifles or shotguns—they stood by the fences or lined the road farther beyond the checkpoint on the way to town. Kendra wondered who they were, what the yellow shirts meant. Kendra’s father had loved talking about mob mentality, and that prison experiment at Stanford where the students who were given authority over their classmates morphed into Nazis. Why should this be any different?

  Hipshot bounded out of the bus, heading for the nearest shrub to raise his leg. Without a vote or a conversation, Terry became their official spokesman. The old guy at the gate asked rapid-fire questions.

  “Your business?”

  “Trade and shelter,” Terry said. “We’ve been on the road for—”

  The gatekeeper didn’t wait for the rest. “Anybody else on that bus?”

  Terry shook his head. “Just us.”

  The old guy gestured, and one of the men in the yellow shirts went to the open bus door and climbed inside without an invitation. They saw him walk up and down the aisles. He emerged a moment later, climbing out with a curt nod toward the gatekeeper. The old guy was satisfied.

  “You have trade?” the old guy said. “Skills?”

  “We’re willing to work. Whatever it takes. We have food and some tools.”

  “Can any of you shoot?”

  “Hell, yeah,” Piranha said, and they all chimed in. Kendra knew more about shooting than she’d ever imagined.

  “Weapons?” the man said.

  “We have rifles, pistols, and ammunition,” Terry said.

  “What else you carrying on this wreck?”

  Kendra bristled. The Blue Beauty might be a wreck, but she was their wreck.

  “Canned and dried food, mostly,” Terry said. “MREs. A couple drops of gas.”

  If Terry had won the old guy over, it didn’t show in the Grim Reaper set of his jaw. He scanned them one by one, his gaze lingering on their eyes.

  “Anyone bit?” he said. “Scratched? Broken skin? You look tired, son.” His eyes had come back to Terry, resting there.

  “I’ve been driving a bus ten days straight, and you can see we got shot all to hell … so yeah, I’m tired.”

  “We’re all tired,” Ursalina said, impatient.

  The guy shot her a Was I talking to you? look that curled her lips, but she shut up.

  Hipshot bounded back up to them and licked the back of Terry’s hand. “See? No freaks here,” Terry said.

  “You’d be surprised,” the man said. “I’ve seen ’em turn right where you’re standing. One gal’d been bit and nobody in her party knew. So don’t think I’m asking ’cuz I’ve got nothing better to do.”

  “No, sir,” Kendra said, pouring on the politeness in her little-girl voice. “We don’t think that. We’re just looking for somewhere safe.”

  Darius snickered.

  “I’ll let you in,” the gatekeeper said finally. “But you’re on probation, which means there’s a zero tolerance policy for B.S. No one in your party is under fourteen, so tomorrow you’ll all work. No exceptions. No free rides in Domino Falls. And you’ll have a very thorough search—take me at my word. You surrender all weapons until after quarantine. After that, sidearms only unless you’re part of a street or fence patrol.”

  There’s always a catch, Kendra thought. She hadn’t been armed long, but she’d gotten used to it. They looked at one another, fidgeting.

  “Quarantine?” Piranha said, suspicious. “What’s that for? We’ve got a dog. You’d know if we were infected.”

  The gatekeeper looked like he was up to his tonsils with questions, so the redhead with the huge handgun spoke up. “Dogs don’t always pick up a fresh bite,” she said. “We’ve learned that the hard way. You’ll be quarantined for twelve hours. My advice? Get some sleep. You sniff all right after that, you’re in.”

  “Or we hit the road?” Terry said.

  The woman gave them a nasty grin. She had shaggy chestnut hair and a slight chip in one of her front teeth, made more noticeable by the gleam in her eyes. Otherwise, her teeth seemed cosmetically white. Maybe Threadville had a good dental plan.

  “You belong to us now,” the woman said. “If you’re bit, you’re dispatched.”

  “Dispatched where?” Kendra said. She imagined a concentration camp for the infected … until she remembered the burning freaks on the fences. She glanced at the men in yellow shirts again, noting their guns.

  “To a shallow grave, chica,” Ursalina said, chuckling.

  “Before they’ve turned?” Kendra said, horrified.

  The woman shrugged. “Consider it a favor.”

  “Got that right,” Ursalina said. “This is war.”

  The gatekeeper and the woman both glanced at Ursalina appreciatively. One of the yellow shirts bumped Ursalina’s fist, although he didn’t crack a smile.

  “Your dog kennels with us,” the woman said. “Me and my brother will escort you to the quarantine site. Name’s Jackie Burchett.”

  She glanced toward the Twins again, and for the first time Kendra noticed the intrigue twinkling in her eyes. They smiled at her, whipping off their sunglasses, both of them rising from their bikes.

  “Darius Phillips.” He tipped an imaginary hat, winking.

  “Dean Kitsap.”

  Jackie’s grin glowed. They all introduced themselves, but her eyes stayed on the Twins. Kendra doubted Jackie had heard anyone else or cared about their names.

  “One thing, though,” Terry said. “Is there a mechanic?”

  “I figured her for a junker,” Jackie said, assessing the bus. “You might be better off scrapping her for barter. Think she’ll start back up?”

  “It’ll take some sweet talk, but she’ll start. Just don’t know for how long.”

  Jackie and the burliest of the other men headed toward a massive white pickup truck parked near the intake desk. “Yeah, we can swing by Myles’s place. It’s on the way, he’s honest, and he’ll take good care of you,” Jackie said. “Just follow us.”

  Kendra didn’t want to follow them. The woman’s presence made it doubtful that they were being led to a slavers’ trap, at least, but nothing soothed the alarm bell that had been sounding in her head since she’d first seen the yellow shirts.

  But Kendra tried to ignore the alarm, following her friends back into the bus.

  Terry was ready to feel good. More than ready. But he wasn’t there yet.

  The Blue Beauty could barely push fifteen miles per hour as he tried to keep up with their escorts’ white pickup truck. Terry had never liked chaperones. He had to admit that Domino Falls seemed like a dream come true so far—they hadn’t found any other settlement with a fraction of D.F.’s organization, and they’d been luckier than the people stuck outside the fences—but the rules bothered him. Had they really just spent months watching one another’s backs to just suddenly start trusting strangers?

  He checked out Kendra in the
rearview, since she was in her usual seat behind him, and her forehead was furrowed with clear worry. Ursalina, as usual, was in her own world, staring at nothing out of her window. Sonia was sitting so close to Piranha, she was practically in his lap. Everyone looked ready to jump.

  At least no one from Domino Falls had insisted on riding with them. The Twins were out of reach on their bikes, but the rest of them had a last chance to talk.

  “Quick Council,” Terry said. “Are we okay with all this?”

  “Do we have a choice?” Piranha said. “I didn’t want to mess it up for everybody, but hell no, I’m not down with anything that sounds like lockup.”

  “Yeah, and what’s up with their sniff test?” Sonia said. “They shoot us if one of their dogs doesn’t approve?”

  “I sure hate giving up the firepower while they make up their minds,” Ursalina said. “Maybe it’s good policy for them, but it bites hard for us.”

  “I don’t like it here,” Kendra said, so quietly that Terry barely heard her.

  Terry sighed, wishing he disagreed. “We have to be realistic, though,” he said. “We can’t turn around and take off, even if we knew where else to go.”

  “Don’t even try it,” Ursalina warned. “Those guys in the yellow shirts are former cops, military. I can smell it. Don’t make any sudden movements. Maybe this place is legit, maybe not. But gun or no gun, if anything goes down, I’m busting heads. I’ll take at least three of them with me.”

  Terry sighed. Unlike Ursalina, the blaze-of-glory routine didn’t comfort him the way it might have once, at the Barracks where they had rescued her.

  “Let’s not separate,” Kendra said. “Let’s ask to stay together.”

  Terry cringed at the word ask. The minute you asked anyone for permission, you gave them the power to say no. Then what? Say pretty please?

  But they all agreed that they wanted to stay together. Nobody was going to pick them off one by one or molest one of the girls when she was alone.

  But would they be allowed to stay together? And for how long?

  It was a ten-minute drive from the checkpoint to the rest of Threadville, on a two-lane road that branched from the I-5. The town was hidden by hills and trees except for fenced farmhouses, where teams of people worked in the neatly planted groves. Some workers stood on platforms picking ripe winter oranges. Terry couldn’t identify the other trees and crops, but he thought he saw broccoli in one field. The idea of fresh fruit and vegetables made his stomach growl. An apple would taste like heaven. Were apples winter fruit?

  The radio was playing softly, so Terry turned up the volume.

  “—the connections between us all run deep. When I created Threads in 1984, I drove up to the top of the San Fernando Valley, ate a ’shroom, and just looked out, lying across the hood of my Beamer.”

  After yahanna, it might be a while before anyone ate mushrooms for fun. Or anything else, Terry guessed. Anyone who’d taken the diet mushroom and then followed it with a flu shot had had one hell of a surprise.

  “I looked out at the lights, and instead of seeing a thousand points of light, I saw the connections between them. All the connections … then I looked up at the stars, that I’d always seen as points of light, a billion points of light, and seemed to see the same thing. All of those stars were connected by threads of light, of gravity, of love, and I realized that there were only two types of people: those who cut the threads, and those who wove them together—”

  “Turn that crap off,” Ursalina said.

  “Threadies aren’t so bad,” Sonia muttered. “More like Trekkies than Scientologists.”

  Piranha interrupted. “Sorry, baby, but if staying here means we have to listen to that noise all day, we need to bounce as soon as the Beauty’s fixed.”

  If the Beauty could be fixed, Terry thought. He turned off the radio. As if the radio had been keeping the bus on life support, the engine finally seized and sputtered out. Ahead, the pickup’s brake lights went on. Darius and Dean buzzed around the bus like flies.

  “Come on, sweetheart,” Terry whispered to the steering wheel. “Just a little more, darlin’.”

  Piranha laughed. “I already told you—get a room.”

  “Promise her the world,” Ursalina said.

  The engine started again, but barely. Every few yards the bus shuddered again. Terry was relieved when the pickup truck’s turn signal came on and the driver motioned for them to follow them left. More houses dotted the roadway now, hinting that they were closer to town.

  Dean and Darius sped ahead, veering into the driveway of the mechanic’s shop. The shop looked like a regular ranch house, except for the repair bays in the two-car garage. Rows of junk cars were parked to the side, hoods up, many of them stripped. Terry hoped the Blue Beauty wasn’t arriving at her graveyard. A Christmas wreath hung on the front door.

  The pickup honked twice, although no one could miss the Beauty’s racket. She finally hissed and shook, the engine dying again.

  Jackie hopped out of the truck. “Myles!” she called. “Customer!”

  “You made it,” Terry whispered to the Beauty, stroking the dashboard. Damned if she didn’t seem like a living being. He felt as happy as he would have if he’d taken a loved one to the ER. “Thank you for getting us here, old girl. We owe you everything.”

  Four

  A black man with a narrow face walked out of the house, wiping his hands with a red rag. The petite woman who followed him was also black; she looked a little like Queen Latifah, but three sizes smaller. Both were about her parents’ age, in their late forties. A boy who might have been thirteen wandered out with them.

  A sharp twinge of envy assailed Kendra—Why couldn’t this be MY family?—but she was glad to see any family that might have been hers. Sudden hope flared so brightly that it took her breath away.

  Jackie approached the couple, giving them both quick hugs. Another good sign. “These folks are headed to quarantine, but they wanted you to look at the bus.”

  “I’m lookin’, all right,” Myles said, frowning as he circled the Beauty. “Could smell it from the house.”

  As they climbed out of the bus, the mechanic’s wife shook her head as she stared at them one by one. Her eyes glistened. “Oh my goodness, you’re just kids,” she said, gazing at Sonia and Kendra in particular. “I can’t imagine what you’ve been through!”

  To Kendra’s surprise, the woman leaned closer to give her a hug, resting her palm gently across the back of Kendra’s head. “I’m so sorry, pumpkin …” she whispered, as if she were to blame. She hugged and soothed Sonia next. She made a move toward Ursalina, who backed away. Not the hugging type.

  “Careful, Deirdre, they haven’t been through quarantine,” the man in the yellow shirt snapped. The woman gave him a sharp look but didn’t argue, taking a step back.

  No one messes with the guys in the yellow shirts, Kendra noted. She searched the woman’s face for more information, but she turned her eyes away. Deirdre didn’t like Yellow Shirts at all.

  “Hope you gave as good as you got,” Myles said, putting his finger in one of the bullet holes tattooing the bus. In some places, it was artwork.

  “Yessir,” Ursalina said.

  “The Yreka Pirates, they’re called,” Terry said.

  Myles nodded. “Oh, yeah. Heard of those bastards.”

  The boy made a sour face. Kendra remembered a time when the word pirates could light up a boy’s face with a grin. Now pirates were back where they’d begun, murderers and thieves. The boy seemed to like standing near Kendra. Did she remind him of someone?

  “What’s the other news?” the woman said.

  “Everybody’s dead?” Darius muttered. Kendra hoped Deirdre hadn’t heard him.

  “A few less assholes at the Siskiyou Pass,” Ursalina said. “But if you’re headed north on the Five, bring firepower.”

  Myles pulled a tab in the bus’s cab, then came around and fished under the hood.

  “What
about … towns?” Myles said. “Places where people go? Portland?”

  He sounded so hopeful, Kendra hated to tell him that Portland had purged itself with fire. “Portland’s gone,” she said. “Longview’s coming back, but not like this. Most people up there are hiding, keeping to themselves. No organization.”

  “Down here is as good as I’ve seen since Freak Day,” Terry said.

  Deirdre looked crestfallen. After sharing a glance with Myles, she lowered her face, wiping imaginary dirt from her hands on her jeans.

  “No time for tea and cookies, folks,” the man in the yellow shirt said. “Let’s get the bus situated and move on.”

  “Forgive my brother,” Jackie said. Again, she seemed to be speaking to the Twins alone, who flanked her on either side. “Sam’s always been bossy.”

  “Quit it, Jackie,” the man in the yellow shirt whined. “There’s protocols.”

  “Well, we don’t want to mess with the protocols,” Myles said mildly, hiding his sarcasm so well that Kendra almost missed it. His voice was muffled beneath the bus’s hood. “You’re free to leave your supplies on the bus. You can lock it.”

  “What do you think so far?” Terry said.

  “If you’re voted in and you decide to stay,” Myles said, “you won’t need it. If you decide to go—or if they decide for you—I don’t know … Maybe you can get thirty, fifty miles down the road. Maybe not. Miracle you got this far.”

  Terry looked as if he’d been punched in the stomach. Had the man just told them they were trapped?

  “She’s a fighter,” Piranha said. “She can probably fly.”

  “Uh-huh,” Myles said. He dropped the hood back down and slapped it. “Used to drive one of these. Drove a truck too, till I lost my night vision. Now I just fix ’em. I’d get this thing running just for the fun of taking it on a test drive. A bus on stick! They don’t make ’em like this anymore.”

  “That’s for sure,” Darius said. “Probably for a good reason.”