We run through the maze of halls. A rookie stops us and raises his gun.
Get out of here, kid, I say. I’ll spare you.
The rookie gets off two shots and I pop one in his leg. We’re up the stairs and more cops are close behind. I can hear the helicopter blades from the roof. I feel a sting on my back and I fall.
Maloney, you say, Eli. You’re hit.
Where have you been?
I found Nono. She’s on her way.
Help me up, I say and we run out the door. The helicopter is in the air. Nono comes running and at the last moment grabs your hand.
Can you forgive me, I say to Nono.
Namaste, she says.
Cataract comes out shooting blindly and the SWAT team’s close behind. We head up and out over the water into the black night.
They call out a chopper of their own. Snowball maneuvers best he can.
I’ve got to put her down, he says.
Get us to the Statue of Liberty, I say.
We won’t make it, he says. Not all of us.
We’re going down fast. I see the statue from the corner of my eye. We get on the rope to go down.
Steady, I say.
The police helicopter is landing on the other side of the island. The whole SWAT team runs out, guns firing.
I slip and fall out into the darkness.
When I come to, I’m on your back, Eli, and you’re carrying Darling in your arms up the statue stairs. The cops are close behind.
I can’t wait any longer, Darling says.
We climb and climb, the thunder of boots behind us.
St. Darling’s blood fills the floor of Lady Liberty’s crown. A full moon is peeking in. Her eyes close as our daughter’s first cries echo into the night.
I love you deep as an ocean, I say.
At Wise Jane’s we are all around the warm table. Finger and Tuesday, Al and Hal, you and Nono, Darling and I. Willie dog is at our feet. There is corn and fresh tomatoes. Wise Jane passes the wine. Boom and White Mike Johnny play dead man’s chess. John Lennon and Elvis are warming up in the lounge. We go to the cotton field and pass the moonshine and howl. There are birds everywhere. Birds of sapphire, birds the color of wild sunflowers. Sophia is born on a Sunday, a star that burns forever in the sky.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Michael Bible is originally from North Carolina. His work has appeared in Oxford American, The Paris Review Daily, Al Jazeera America, ESPN: The Magazine, and New York Tyrant.
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