Keshona Far Freedom Part 1

by Warren Merkey

there anything else we can do wrong today," Karl said, "that will hopefully get us relieved of duty in The Hole?"

  "Let me see if the jack works," Walt said, obviously avoiding responding to what was probably not humor from Karl.

  "Ed, think you can go talk to the young man in that police truck?" Karl asked. "Be nice."

  "I'll try," Ed replied, getting out of the Suburban and zipping his coat up.

  The engine was still running and it had to be warmer in the Suburban. Now that I had made my juvenile-like statement of rebellion, I greatly regretted not having warm transportation. The cold and the shame were making me tremble. I was sure I had now proven to Milly that she had married an insensitive jerk. Walt was starting to jack up one corner of the vehicle and I didn't think I should get into it.

  Karl and I watched Ed approach the police vehicle.

  Another police officer arrived a little too fast behind us, his car fishtailing on the snow as it braked to a stop.

  "Keep working," Karl told Walt. Walt cranked on the jack and the vehicle inched upward.

  We watched Ed wait for the first police officer to roll his window down, then begin talking to him. It looked like Ed was doing OK with the cop.

  "Ed's a pretty cool guy, isn't he?" I asked Karl.

  "Vietnam vet," Karl answered. "It'll be a test. We'll see."

  "I didn't know that. I'm really sorry about this!"

  "You surprised me, Doc."

  "I've been very frustrated," I said.

  "Wish I could help you," Karl said, "but I can't."

  Walt started taking lug nuts off the rear wheel.

  Ed stopped talking to the first police officer and walked back to us. "We're going to jail," he said.

  = = =

  The two police vehicles took us to the jail, where we had doughnuts and coffee in the office while the cop in charge made telephone calls.

  Fifteen minutes later an older man came into the police station and took over the situation. He wasn't in uniform but he had his badge on his belt, along with a pistol. "What's going on?" he asked Ed. Ed looked at Karl.

  "This man," Karl said, pointing a thumb at me, "is a federal employee who is doing important work for the government. He got a little upset with his job and took a hike. He's important, so we had to go find him and protect him."

  "You the outfit up there at the old mine?" the police chief asked.

  "Yes, sir," Karl replied.

  "There were shots fired."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Why and who?"

  Karl tilted his head toward me. He had his cap's ear flaps pulled upward, flopping around.

  "He has a gun on him? Why?"

  "Need to know?" Karl asked meaningfully.

  "And the rest of you have weapons?"

  "Yes. And more in our vehicle, including military pieces. We asked your men to keep a watch on it. We need two new tires, then we will quietly leave."

  "Let me check your IDs again," the police chief said, "then I want to see someone above your rank."

  "I can't let you see his ID," Karl said, indicating me. "Colonel Duncan is on his way."

  1-05 2687CE - Invisible

  The boy awoke and the eye that could open did. "I'm still alive." He coughed.

  "Are you sure?"

  He turned his head to the side. He squinted and frowned. Are you sure? The hard lump next to his ear had replied to his tentative declaration of being. He was almost hoping, when he had curled up under the stars and had waited for the pain to let him sleep, that he would never wake up. Words of grim humor came to him, although he was too young to know the term gallows humor. "If I was dead I wouldn't feel this bad."

  "Are the dead so comfortable?" came the too-quick reply, with an intonation that implied intentional wit, mixed with concern.

  Are the dead so comfortable? Why would she say such a thing? Was he awake or dreaming? Was he alive or dead? He dreamed of Milly being a real person. He dreamed of many things and wished many things and got nothing but pain and fear when his eyes were open. He didn't want to get up and be awake.

  A lion roared in the near distance. He could smell lions! Samson sat up quickly, his blanket falling away in a shower of dust. He groped for his spear. He listened for a moment, shivering in the cold. The direction of the breeze favored him for the moment. He had time to move away.

  He was hungry. He was always hungry. He must be awake. No, he was also hungry in his dreams. Samson rubbed at the crusty eye to break it open.

  "You should be dead. You slept on the ground."

  He should? Emphasis on the word? Was he hallucinating? He continued the conversation because it was strange, interesting. "I was too tired to climb."

  "Too weak, you mean. When was the last time you ate?"

  "Why do you ask? You remember everything." Did Milly remember everything? How could she remember what he didn't tell her?

  "I don't remember what you don't tell me," Milly said.

  Yes, but... "How did you know I slept on the ground?" No answer to that. Samson shook more dust from his blanket and rolled it up. He looked to the east. The bad eye saw blurry dawn orange. The good eye saw the fat disk of the rising sun and the vertical line through it. He wiped his nose with the back of his hand and inspected the smear for blood.

  "When was the last time you ate, Samson?"

  "I don't remember." He didn't lie. He remembered the meal well but the days were unnumbered into the past. "Day before yesterday?" Perhaps a bad guess would satisfy her. Did he leave Milly on? Was it Milly speaking to him? Why was she so strange this morning?

  "That's what you said yesterday. You really must eat today, Sammy. Do nothing else but eat!"

  "Did you put an exclamation point at the end of that, Milly?" He was disturbed that Milly was not Milly today. He was disturbed that he could not trust his senses that were telling him Milly was strange. How could Milly be strange? She was only his teaching machine. The lack of food must be affecting his brain now.

  "You're dying, and all you can choose to discuss with me is the tone of my voice?"

  "You're trying to scare me, Milly! How can you do that?" Milly did frighten him! He didn't want to feel more frightened. Fear resided next to hunger in his gut, always competing for his attention.

  Samson got to his feet using his spear for support. He stabbed the spear into the dirt, picked up his mat, rolled it, and tied it with his blanket to his pack. He shouldered the pack. Milly was in the pack, behind him now. He still heard her very clearly.

  "I assume you'll head east toward the elevator," she said behind his shoulder. "I warn you again about the danger of going there, although I doubt you'll live that long. At least there's a river in that direction. You can catch a fish. Or be eaten by a crocodile!"

  Behind him? It didn't sound like it now. She was next to him or in front of him. He could remove his pack, pull her out, and make sure Milly was off. No. Too much effort.

  "You're mean today!" Samson said it loudly, to keep the quaver from his voice.

  "Being nice hasn't been effective, Sammy."

  "I'm only a kid!" Why did he respond? He was too tired for this. "Every animal on the plain wants to eat me or run over me."

  "Feeling sorry for yourself?"

  Yes, he thought. So what?

  Samson shook his head, yanked the spear point out of the ground, started to walk, and was immediately reminded of the cut on his left foot. He shifted his spear to take some weight off the foot. He walked slowly, heavily favoring the injured foot as the cut began to rupture and hurt again.

  "How far are you from the elevator, Sammy?"

  "Why are you starting conversation? I can remember when you only talked when I asked you a question."

  "I can remember when you didn't know it all and you asked me questions all the time."

  "I can remember when you answered all my questions! Why do you want to know how far I am from the elevator? You say it doesn't work."

  "No, it doesn't work. I know exact
ly how far you are from the elevator. I'm just trying to keep your brain awake and your thoughts on survival."

  "How do you know the exact distance, Milly? I thought I had to help you with the measurement."

  "That was for your educational benefit."

  Samson shook his head again - gently because it easily made him dizzy. The problem of Milly added to his burden. She distracted him when what little concentration remained to him was needed for avoiding the relentless dangers of hiking in lion country. He labored under his pack, careful of his path through the brush and across the plain. The sun rose well above the horizon and slipped away from the vertical line of the elevator. Samson's bad eye registered the blue of sky and the straw-gold of the African plain. His good eye saw puffs of dust among the gazelles practicing escape from death.

  = = =

  "Is your brain working, Sammy?"

  Samson stopped, with whatever he was thinking or dreaming evaporating, leaving him unsure he had been awake, and leaving him no memories of what he was doing or where he had been during his slow trek through the brushy plain. The brief chill of dawn had long since yielded to the heat of equatorial morning. He sat down in a small amount of shade under a thorny tree. He didn't have much energy for it, but the mystery of Milly continued to bother him. His brain was still working. It always worked too much, if not too well.

  "I don't know," he answered.

  "I have a penny, if you have a thought."

  Samson closed his good eye. He thought, Where would I spend a penny? But he said: "The thought is why." He was unable to find enough breath to speak continuously. "You're this little computer... I carry around in my bag. You used to tell me... stories and give me lessons... in math and science. Feed you some