Pavement Ends: The Exodus

by Kurt Gepner

  Brody’s eyes were still wide and red-rimmed as he watched his friend emerge. He stretched out his hand and Jeremy took it. When he had gained the firm, dry earth, Jeremy held out the ring in his palm. Brody scooped it from Jeremy’s hand and stuffed it into his pocket. "This thing’s worth, like, twenty grand," he said with all the diffidence and couth of a used car salesman.

  With furrowed brow, Jeremy opened his mouth to tell his friend that his attitude was pretty shitty. Before he uttered a sound, however, a man shouted from the street. "Hey, kid! What’s in the bag?"

  The two boys looked over and saw a man climbing through the debris littering, what was once, the very well groomed front yard of Brody’s home. He was in brown loafers and khaki slacks with a half-untucked, yellow short-sleeved shirt. His hair was short on the sides and looked recently groomed, but uncombed. Blotchy red cheeks bordered his well-trimmed goatee and he sported a recently split lip. "Hey," the man huffed, using an aluminum baseball bat for a cane, as he clambered toward them. "My wife and I are stranded. We haven’t had anything to eat, since yesterday morning."

  Brody slapped Jeremy on the shoulder and tilted his head toward the back gate. "Let’s jet." Out of habit, Jeremy followed his friend.

  "Wait!" The man stumbled, landing hard on his left knee. "Come on!" The man hollered after the fleeing boys. "We’re just hungry!"

  Brody ran into the shed and came out with his own motorized scooter. He also had his school gym bag and a gas can. Always one-upping Jeremy, Brody’s scooter was designed for street speed and that was a quality he often liked to show off. His was the GX-550, a thirty-five mile-per-hour cousin to the Trail Ripper. Brody brought his motor to life. Jeremy looked back at the man. He had tripped and was picking himself up with torn slacks and a cut bleeding on his knee.

  For a moment, Jeremy thought to tell the man about the food in the basement. He quickly dismissed that idea, although he could not be certain why. Reaching into his grocery bag, he pulled out two steaks. "What the hell you doin’?" Brody demanded with narrowed eyes. Jeremy hesitated as his feelings of compassion jostled with his impulse to yield to his friend’s objections. Then he threw the steaks, Frisbee-like, to the man.

  Jeremy didn’t wait for the man’s reaction. Instead he turned toward Brody and shot him a look of disgust. Brody returned Jeremy’s silent reprimand with a look of bafflement. "Dude! What’s your gripe?"

  Jeremy didn’t bother trying to answer. He picked up his Trail Ripper and jerked it to life. From behind him, the man yelled, "Thanks!" Jeremy gave him a furtive wave and took off.

  When they pulled up to the Shumway’s house, it seemed like everybody had come out to watch them. "Jeremy," his mother began in her ranting tone, "why were you gone so long? And why are you all wet?"

  "I had to…" he began.

  His father cut in, "I thought I told you to come right back! What took you so long?"

  Jeremy felt sick. It was bad enough that his parents were on his ass, like usual, but now everybody was watching. He tried a different approach. "Mr. and Mrs. Wallace…"

  "Have nothing to do with it!" His father cut him off again. "You heard me when you left. I told you to come right back, not hang out at your friend’s house."

  The lump was climbing in Jeremy’s throat. It wasn’t fair that he was getting his ass chewed. He looked over at Lexi. She was sitting with one leg on the porch railing. Her back was against the corner column and she was staring up at the eves like she always did when his parents started yelling at him. How many times had she seen him lose his temper and start to cry? It was stupid, he knew, but he wanted her to like him. He didn’t want her to see him being treated like a baby. "They’re dead," he said in the heartbeat that followed his dad’s last word.

  His dad’s mouth snapped shut and he looked down, suddenly turning away. His mother looked struck. "What?" she asked with a voice full of doubt.

  Brody answered for him. He had fully regained his nonchalant and belligerent swagger. "Yeah, they’re dead." He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mother’s ring.

  Val knew immediately what she was seeing. Her hands jumped to her mouth as tears swelled in her eyes. "I’m so sorry," she said, reaching out to Brody. But he deftly threw up his arms and stepped back. "I’m tight! It’s on the History Channel." He turned around and walked to the corner of the fence. Val felt so sad for him. He had been so close to his father. It must have been a blow to Dale too; their two families had done so many things together. The four parents had talked to each other about looking after their children, in the event of tragedy. Val knew that Brody was hurting and angry. The poor boy, she thought. She swore a silent oath to herself and to his mother, her friend, that she would look after him like her own son.

  In the moment that followed, Hank concluded that death would ever more be a frequent acquaintance in their lives. He hated to be callous, but if the greater good was to be served then he could not allow the loss of life to prevent their progress. Being somewhat removed from the grief that had washed over the Yost family helped him to act against his normal sympathies. Hank broke the tense quiet. Clearing his throat, he asked with an innocent curiosity that he did not feel, "What do you got there, Jeremy?"

  Jeremy looked startled and looked down at his hand which still held the plastic grocery bags. "Uh… Steak," Jeremy answered uncertainly.

  "Great!" Hank clapped his hands together and rubbed them vigorously. "Are they for dinner tonight, or do you want to drop them in the freezer for later?"

  "Uh… Whatever you want," the boy replied from behind a mask of confusion.

  Hank gave him a stern look and emphatically pointed his finger at the young man. "Oh no! That’s not how it works." Jeremy bobbed his head back, clearly uncertain and quite unclear about Hank’s meaning. Hank gave the young man a deliberate, crooked smile before going on. "You found it, so you say how it’s shared." Jeremy looked dubious, so Hank expounded. All ears were pricked intently on the exchange, communally relieved to be distracted from the mournful moment. "For instance," Hank said with a wide gesture. "You could say, ‘let’s save it for an emergency.’ Or, ‘let’s have it for dinner, tonight.’"

  "I vote for steak dinner!" Lexi broke in, with a lively grin.

  Hank smiled at his daughter, knowing how much she loved a nice slab of grilled meat. He turned back to Jeremy and said, "Or you could say, ‘let’s cut it up and make it into a stew.’ You get the idea?"

  Jeremy felt his cheeks flush as he said, "Let’s have it for dinner." He shot a glance at Lexi and she rewarded him with a sweet smile and mouthed the words, "Thank you."

  With a clap on his shoulder, Hank took the steaks from his young neighbor and walked with them toward the house. Before he had reached the top step, Brody called out. "Hey, Hank!"

  The big man stopped and turned back with a fading smile. The boy was leaning his forearms against the picket fence. "Yeah. What’s up Brody?"

  Brody spat out a fingernail that he’d bitten off his left pinky and licked his lips. "So are you saying that anything we find belongs to you? And the only say we have is how it’s used?"

  Hank felt the threatened conflict in Brody’s voice. He took a slow breath, but held onto a wan smile. "I’m saying, Brody, that we are all working for the good of the group, right now. If you find something that we can use and help out with things that need to be done, then you’ve earned your keep."

  Brody thumbed the yard where the children were playing, blissfully oblivious to their world. "What about them? How do they earn their keep?"

  Hank stepped down and walked out the gate, so he was in line with the boy. "At this moment, Brody, they are earning their keep by doing the only thing they are equipped to do. They are staying out of the way." Hank spoke Brody’s name in a way that said ‘You’d better watch it, or you’re going to regret it.’ He never stopped smiling, although his eyes told a different story as he continued speaking in a more conversational tone. "I think there’s a difference between person
al property and community goods. Don’t you? Like your scooter… It’s yours."

  "But the steak he took out of my freezer is yours?" Brody challenged.

  With a nod, Hank said, "Yes. As much as my steak, and all of the food we have stored, is yours. That’s how a group survives adversity, especially when it’s on the move."

  A shadow of uncertainty drifted across Brody’s face. Hank caught the look and gave him a sage nod. "I see that Jeremy didn’t tell you our plans. We’re leaving here and heading up to the mountains."

  "That’s stupid," Brody said, pushing himself off the fence. "Why would you do that?" Brody demanded while crossing his arms defiantly.

  Hank’s jaw flexed as he ground his teeth. Through his beard nobody noticed, except Evie. A dangerous light flashed in his eyes and Brody imperceptibly flinched in response. Looking up at the people on the porch and over at the children playing in the yard Hank said, "You know, Brody, I make a helluva sandwich. Why don’t you come in the kitchen and let me whip you up a triple decker?"

  Eying Hank suspiciously, and then dashing a look at all of the people watching him, Brody gave him a nod. Hank smiled and ushered the boy into the house. As the screen door slammed behind him, Brody heard the buzz of voices rising in his wake. "Did you see how he tried to stare down Hank?" "He’s an angry boy." "What an awful thing, to lose both parents in one day."

  I wish people would just mind their own fucking business, Brody thought. If I weren’t so hungry, I wouldn’t be going with this asshole. But the son-of-a-bitch wants to lecture me and he’s holding food over my head like a twenty dollar bill waved at a homeless person. Fuck it, he thought with an inward shrug, I’m going to listen to the jerk-off while he blabbers about fitting in, or teamwork or some other crap like that. I’ll eat my sandwich and then leave.

  CHAPTER THREE

  In the kitchen, Hank pulled out three pieces of multi-grain bread and opened the refrigerator. "You’re doing us a favor, you know. We’ve got to get the perishables eaten up pretty quick, so it’s a good thing I can make you a sandwich."

  "Uh huh," Brody said with unmasked disinterest as he leaned against a counter.

  Hank pulled out the mayonnaise and mustard. He set aside packages of ham and cheese slices on the counter top. Then he pulled out a jar of pickles and some alfalfa sprouts. When he was done with his assembly, he covered the top slice with his thick mitt of a hand and pressed it into a regular-sized, manageable sandwich. Then he cut it diagonally in half and wrapped it in a paper towel before handing it to Brody.

  After a couple bites, Brody said through an overstuffed mouth, "This is the best sandwich I’ve ever had. You could start a business." He surprised himself with his sincerity.

  Hank smiled with pride, but his smile faded. He waited until Brody had stuffed half the sandwich down his throat before he took a breath and started his dialog with the boy. "You know, Brody," he started. "Last night, Salvador, my son-in-law, stopped two men from repeatedly raping a little girl."

  Brody pushed the wad of food to one side of his mouth. "So?" He asked dubiously.

  Hank shrugged and nodded, as if to say, ‘You’re right. It really doesn’t pertain to you.’ Then he went on in complete contradiction of his body language. "Well," he said. "Those two men are dead. Salvador killed them."

  Brody choked a little on his sandwich and then swallowed hard. "So?"

  Hank gave him a wan smile and took a breath. "Before he could kill the two guys, the girl’s mother was beat to death by the two rapists."

  Brody took another bite and chewed deliberately, but he felt like he was chewing on newspaper. "So," he said through his sandwich.

  Hank could see that the boy’s front was crumbling. He went on. "Well, Salvador had a bad fight before he killed the last one. He got a nasty concussion, some broken ribs, a broken jaw and a cast on his ankle. Not to mention a lot of stitches." Hank thoughtfully pulled at his beard. "Over a hundred," he added.

  Brody swallowed the bite he was working on, but didn’t take another. A quarter sandwich remained in his hand. Hank went on relentlessly. "Salvador’s a fire fighter. He’s in great shape. But the reality is when you go out alone, terrible things can happen."

  "Why are you telling me this?" Brody asked, leery of Hank’s motives.

  Hank gazed thoughtfully upon the boy, wetting his lips as he thought of how to continue. "You and Jeremy have helped me out on a few projects, over the years."

  "Yeah. So?" Brody was getting irritated and wished that Hank would get to the point.

  "I’ve noticed that you often want to do your own thing," Hank said, still leading up to something.

  "What’s wrong with that?" Brody asked defiantly.

  "Nothing…" Hank said, distantly. Then he gazed directly and intently into Brody’s eyes. "Unless you want to stay with us," he added.

  Brody’s eyes became wary slits. "Who says I want to stay with you?"

  "Who else have you got?" Hank asked rhetorically.

  "I don’t need anyone," Brody said, with more confidence than he felt.

  Looking at Brody as if the boy were just plain stupid, Hank said, "Yes you do."

  "I know people," Brody said, thinking of a hang out that he liked to frequent, now and then. "I don’t need to stay here."

  The conversation was rapidly deteriorating and Hank tried to save it. "I’m not saying you should leave. I’m saying that you need to be part of the group."

  "Your group," Brody challenged with a pointing finger.

  "The group," Hank said as he spun his finger around in a large circle. "Our group," he said implicitly.

  Brody stuffed the last of the sandwich in his mouth as he watched Hank. When Brody didn’t say anything, Hank went on, shaking his head. "I’m not going to tell you that I know how you feel, because I don’t know. And I’m not going to try to convince you to stay, because I can’t convince you."

  Brody puffed up. "At least you’re right about something."

  Hank gave him a crooked smile and snorted at his belligerence. Holding the boy’s stare, he went on. "All I can do is tell you how you will be expected to handle yourself, if you stay."

  "Save your breath," Brody said. "I’m not even going to stay the night."

  Hank nodded with a respectful frown. "Would you like a beer to rinse that down?" He kept his face neutral when he caught the slightest glint of surprise flash through the boy’s eyes.

  "Yeah, sure," Brody said as he defiantly crossed his arms.

  Hank fetched a couple beers from the refrigerator on the back porch and despaired at the fact that only five more remained. He brought them back in the kitchen and handed one to the boy. "We’re down to the Blue Boar. I hope you don’t mind."

  Brody wrapped an end of his T-shirt around the cap and twisted it off. "No," he said with a grunt. "This is fine." Hank twisted off his cap and tilted the bottle back, drinking deeply of the amber liquid. When he brought the bottle down, with a sigh of relief, it had been drained of half its contents. Brody eyeballed the bottle in Hank’s hand and imitated the big man.

  Hank held his bottle out, with the neck toward the boy. "Here’s to an untainted future."

  Brody reached to touch the neck of his bottle to Hank’s, but stopped suddenly. "What does that mean?"

  Hank lifted his beer in toast to the boy. "Fair question." He took another pull on the ale. "It means that from this point forward, you write your own ticket." The dim expression on Brody’s face prompted Hank to go on. "Nobody’s got plans for you. No school records are following you. You’re not going to get forced to take a class you don’t want, or be pigeonholed into a career you hate. In short, you’re free to become whatever, or whomever you want to be."

  Brody smiled and reached out his beer. "That’s what I’m talking about!" Hank clicked the neck of his bottle against the one being offered and they both took a swallow.

  "Now," Hank said, pointing at the boy with the bottle as he leaned against a counter. "I don’t want you to take th
is the wrong way. So let me preface this by saying that I mean it in the worst possible sense." Brody’s face fell, as Hank’s words caught him off guard.

  Hank kept the advantage by speaking quickly. "Since your future is yours for the making, and nobody’s going to tell you how to live your life, you can do one of two things. Either you go on being the little shit-head spoiled punk that you’ve been ever since I’ve known you… Or you chose to be somebody that people look up to. You can be somebody they respect, because you do the right things, even though you’ve got no parents on your ass telling you what to do."

  Hank downed the last of his beer and sat it firmly on the countertop. "Your choice." He looked the astonished boy in the eye and said, "I’ll help you with one, but I don’t think you need any one’s help with the other." Hank walked out the kitchen, but before he left the dining room, he looked over the low wall at Brody and said, "You’ll need to let me know before dark, because I don’t want you hanging around if you aren’t going to be a part of my group."

  When Hank looked back in the living room, Evie was standing there with her arms crossed. She gave him a look that made him cringe and through pursed lips she said, "We need to talk."

  Hank gnawed his bottom lip. "I need to crank up the generator." He said it more as a question meaning ‘is that private enough?’

  "I’ll join you," Evie said, meaning ‘That will do.’ She turned and walked out the front door. Hank followed her, not wanting to pass through the kitchen where he had just given Brody his ultimatum.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Down in the back room of the cellar, Hank placed a small stool in front of the furnace and began wadding old newspaper and stuffing it inside. Evie closed the door and watched the back of his head for a moment. "I heard what you said to that boy," she spat. Hank nodded and kept wadding paper. "You’re just an ass, Hank!" He looked over his shoulder and she saw the hurt in his eyes. She looked away from him, up at the ducting, because she wouldn’t be able to say what she needed to if she didn’t. "There is not one person here who you haven’t pissed off."