“We’re not going back, we have to keep moving north. When we get back we’ll tell the City Council about all of this, but until then this is the best we can do,” he said.
Mile and Coal exchanged a quick glance and then moved to help the scavenger. The sun had already begun to sink behind the hills to the west by the time the trio finished and pulled back out onto the highway. Behind them scraped across both lanes in three-foot letters, read.
STOP!
Slavers in Phoenix!
Under which, scrawled in slightly smaller letters, Coal had carved.
Fuck the Masters!
Little Bird walked down the street, she was holding her Granddaughter’s hand and doing her best to ignore the steady stream of nonsense that escaped the five-year old’s lips.
“Mema, where we going?”
“I told you, to see the ponies, now keep up.”
“But I see ponies all the time!” the girl complained.
“And today you will see them with your Mema.”
“But I want to go play!”
“Hush now child, or you’ll feel my hand,” and the girl hushed, knowing better than to complain again.
The pair walked down the main street of the Nation, past the K-12 school and soon found themselves in front of what had once been the school’s baseball field. Shortly after the fall, the field had been converted into a large corral for the horses of the Indian Nation and two dozen ponies milled about inside of it now. Not long after the field’s conversion, the school itself, with its wide doorways and halls was turned in a stable to house the beasts. While Little Bird’s people had shunned actually living in the homes the white’s had provided for them, they were still a very practical people and weren’t against using the buildings for other reasons. Nearly all of the houses on the former reservation were still being used for storage, or converted into smokehouses or were slowly being stripped for usable scrap.
“See the ponies?” Little Bird said to her granddaughter.
“I don’t want to see the stupid ponies!”
While Little Bird’s granddaughter stood next to the rusty chain-link fence and begrudgingly eyed the small herd of animals, the old woman’s eyes turned and scanned the bleachers. A dozen men and women were scattered across them, most of them were watching several young men trying to break a young stallion and failing miserably. Little Bird recognized the hat before the man, Daniel Strongbow sat alone in the first row of the bleachers, and as always, he wore his faded white cowboy hat.
“Stay put girl,” Little Bird instructed before abandoning her granddaughter and walking down the fence towards the bleachers. The girl made a face and stuck her tongue out as soon as Little Bird turned away, but she stayed where she was.
The old woman moved along the fence, taking her time and eyeing the man as she approached. He was tall, and while slim, he was still broad at the shoulders. His hands and his face were tan and lined with age, they looked like the twisted roots of a tree, no doubt from years of working out in the sun. As she neared him, she turned to look at the man, calling up her most pleasant smile and said, “Hello there, I don’t think we have ever really met but…”
“Oh Christ,” Daniel muttered upon seeing her. The man crossed his arms in front of him and shaking his head, he pointedly looked away.
“Excuse me?” Little Bird demanded.
“You may not know me, but everybody and their brother knows who you are,” he replied.
“Really? Well what do they say about me?”
Without missing a beat, Strongbow replied, “That you’re a real bitch, but also that you love your people. But mostly that you’re a real bitch.”
Sensing the time for niceties had passed and not waiting for an invitation, Little Bird sat down on the bleachers next to the man.
“Shit,” he muttered.
“I want to talk to you about your son, David.”
Daniel Strongbow made no reply, but she sensed the man suddenly grow tense next to her, as if the man teetered on the edge of some powerful emotion, perhaps anger or maybe remorse. She took a breath and reminded herself that she needed to tread cautiously here.
“I met David the other day, he escorted me back from the town of the whites. He seems like a good boy.”
“Man, he’s a good man now,” Daniel corrected.
“Yes, of course, a good man. But that is what I wanted to talk to you about. It seems a lot of boys are becoming men all of a sudden, becoming Braves, that is.”
Daniel Strongbow turned and looked at her then for the first time. His face wore an expression that was unreadable, but his eyes held a sorrow that only a parent could know, the look caught Little Bird off guard, and she turned away. For a long moment he didn’t speak and then just when Little Bird opened her mouth, he asked.
“So, the Elders haven’t told you then?”
“The Elders have told me many things, and at the same time, very pointedly, they have told me nothing. I was hoping to find someone with a little more honesty, and you have a reputation for that.”
Daniel Strongbow let out a long breath, and Little Bird sensed the man had made some kind of decision. He took off his faded hat and holding it in his hands, he began to speak quietly.
“You know, there aren’t many folks around anymore that remember what the world was like before all this. They forget that when we were forced to come together out here, that we were from many tribes, Apache, Navajo, Hopi, Chiricahua, and a half dozen others. And when we started The Nation, we took what we could, what could be remembered from all of those peoples. We took what worked, what seemed right, and a fair amount of it we made up along the way.”
“Yes, I remember those early days. The Elders of the time were screaming for a return to the way of our ancestors while the rest of us were just trying to scrap a life out of this place,” Little Bird replied.
“Well, one of the things I think we got right was the Rite of Passage. A father determines when a boy has matured enough to carry his family name out into the world and do it proud. He decides when his son is old enough to be considered a man,” Daniel said with a nod.
“Like you did with David,” Little Bird added, not sure where this story was going.
Daniel Strongbow met her eyes suddenly for a moment and then turned away.
“Or not?”
Little Bird was confused, her only son had died shortly before the collapse and her husband even before that. She had only a passing understanding of the tribe’s Rite of Passage, but as she recalled it was straightforward enough. When a father judged his son ready, they went out into the desert together. They would camp beneath the stars, and when the moon rose, the boy would eat of the Peyote plant and the father would guide his son through the experience. The next day the pair would emerge from the desert together, both now considered men.
“Two weeks ago the Chief came to our home just after supper and told me David’s Rite of Passage would take place that night. He had decided that my boy was old enough to become a man, decided that the tribe’s need for Braves was greater than a Father’s need to teach his own son. He took more than a dozen boys into the desert that night and more the night after that, while their fathers remained here in the village trying to make sense of what was happening.”
“What? But why would Two-Steps change the ritual?”
“I don’t know why, but I do see what it means to those young Braves. It was their Chief, not their families, and not their fathers that deemed them men. They walked out of the desert owing Two-Steps everything. He’s making them men all right, but not men that are loyal to the tribe, men that are only loyal to him.”
For a moment, Little Bird sat in silence, too stunned for words. Finally, she managed, “He has to be stopped.”
“It’s a bit late for that, just look around Little Bird, you’ll be hard pressed to find a boy older than 12 that’s not carrying a spear.”
Hidden Treasures
Kyle rolled over just as the first
rays of sunlight crested the hills to the east and began to flood through the broken windows of the diner. He blinked a few times and then sitting up looked around the room in confusion. They had found the Sunset Point rest stop shortly after dark the night before and quickly decided that a night indoors and the promise of good sleep was worth the risk. When Coal discovered that the rest stops diner still boasted a half a dozen booths with cushioned seats mostly intact, the decision was made. Kyle had slept the whole night through and even with his feet dangling out of the booth, he couldn’t remember a better night’s sleep.
Miles snored heavily just a few booths over with his bad leg propped up awkwardly on the table. Coal lay stretched out on the floor, using his boots as a pillow and when Kyle looked in his direction, he gave the scavenger a grin.
“Morning sunshine.”
“Morning Coal, you have a look around already?”
“I did, hell of a view out there, but not much else of interest. No signs of nobody either, but I imagine that will change soon enough.”
Kyle nodded in reply, “I think we’re almost out of the Master’s shadow, we’ll need to be on our guard today.”
“You forget my pale-faced friend, I’m always on my guard.”
Kyle just nodded and smiled, glad that the strange funk that had overcome Coal yesterday seemed to have passed.
“Breakfast?”
“I’ve got a bag full of meat with your name on it in my pocket,” Coal said offering a grin.
“As long as that’s the rat meat you’re referring too, I’m on board.”
The two friends shared a quick chuckle, and then Coal tossed the bag of dried meat to Kyle. The scavenger looked down at the stringy cuts of dark meat for a moment and then shaking his head he stood up.
“I’m tired of dry meat, I’m going to make us up a quick soup. Besides the sun’s not even full up, and Miles could use the rest.”
“If you’re cooking, then I’m all about breakfast in bed.”
Kyle walked out of the diner and went to the buggy, which was parked next to the diner’s entrance in the first available handicap parking stall. He removed one of the 5-gallon buckets of water, which by this point was nearly half empty and carried it back inside. Exploring the diner’s kitchen, Kyle discovered one of the deep stainless steel sinks, originally intended for dishwashing, had been pulled away from the wall and now sat in the center of the kitchen. The sink had been turned into a raised fire pit of sorts and was now filled with charcoal and an odd assortment of burnt bits of wood, paper, and plastic, anything that would catch a flame. It seemed at one point that someone had found it necessary to reopen the kitchen. He found a small pot in a corner and few dusty cardboard boxes in a back storeroom and soon had a small fire burning. He tore up a hand full of the dried meat into smaller pieces, threw them into the pot and then added just enough water to cover them. Kyle knew the fire wouldn’t burn for very long or get very hot, but all he really wanted to do was warm the water enough to soften up the meat.
While Kyle’s rat soup slowly heated he looked around the kitchen for something to eat it with. He quickly found 3 bowls that would work, but for some odd reason couldn’t find a single spoon.
“A spoon, a spoon, my kingdom for a spoon,” Kyle mumbled to himself as he stepped back out into the diner.
On an island next to the diner’s counter Kyle found what he was looking for, next to an ancient looking coffee pot sat a few plastic trays that at one time held silverware, now the silverware was spread out across the floor and Kyle dropped down and quickly retrieved 3 spoons. After quickly blowing on them and then rubbing them against his shirt, he deemed them clean enough for human consumption and was about to stand again, but then he noticed something odd. The back corner of the wooden island, right where it butted up against the dinner’s wall was badly chewed. Some very determined rat, much like the one he was preparing to eat, had gnawed a sizeable gouge out of the wood. Kyle stood, eyeing the marks for a moment longer.
“Stupid rat, take it from an experienced scavenger, don’t waste your energy unless the reward is…” but then Kyle trailed off.
The scavenger’s eyes fell upon the top of the island and the small gap between its countertop and the diner’s wall. His mouth dropped open slightly as he realized that silverware wouldn’t be the only thing that had been stored there at one time.
“Oh, holy shit!”
Kyle tossed aside the spoons in his hand and kneeling again attacked the edge of the Island, just inches above where the rat had done the same. The gap between the wall and the island was narrow, and Kyle just managed to slide the tips of his fingers into the space. He took a quick breath and then tried to pull the island away from the wall, the wood shuddered for a moment refusing to budge and then with low groan finally relented and slipped forward a few inches. Looking into the gap Kyle laughed out loud and then throwing his feet up against the diner’s wall he heaved the island forward another few inches. For his efforts, Kyle was rewarded with a small avalanche of color, as a dozen condiment packets fell out of the narrow gap and landed in a pile on the floor. Ketchup, mustard, mayo and relish, a pile of vibrant color as well as taste lay on the ground in front of him.
“Best fucking breakfast ever!” Kyle shouted, scooping up the packets.
Half an hour later, Kyle, Coal, and Miles stood around the small fire in the kitchen. Each of them had finished their bowl of rat soup with glee, the meal having been greatly improved by the simple addition of pepper. While most of the condiment packets Kyle discovered were swollen, long expired and were probably too dangerous to risk eating, a handful of them were still good. They had counted 12 small packets of salt, 15 of pepper, and 6 of oddly named sugar substitutes. But the Holy Grail that Kyle discovered, hidden in the midst of this little treasure of flavor, had been the two single-serving packages of instant coffee. For the briefest of moments Kyle considered hiding the precious coffee from the others, but eventually, his conscience won out, helped along by his need for instant gratification.
“Just so we are all clear, not a fucking word about this gets back to Anna, you understand?”
“Not a word my boy, not a word,” Miles mumbled, his eyes never leaving the heating coffee pot.
“If she knew that I had coffee and didn’t bring any back for her, she would…well, I don’t know exactly what she would do, but it wouldn’t be good.”
Kyle had found an old tea kettle on a shelf in the kitchen, and the three men now stood around it, watching the kettle anxiously. Kyle had pointed out that it was instant coffee after all and they could just add it to any water, hot or cold, but Miles would not hear of it.
“It’s been almost 15 years since I’ve had a cup of coffee Kyle, instant or otherwise and this will possibly be the last one I ever have before I die and I’ll be damned if I’m going to let you fuck this up for me.”
Coal nodded his head slowly in agreement, “I want you both to know something. I consider you two of my dearest friends, even you Miles.”
“Well now, even me?” Miles replied sarcastically.
“It’s true. I also want you both to know that I’ve killed men for less than this right here,” Coal said staring down at the pot.
“Is that supposed to be a compliment or a threat?” Miles asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
The three men watched the coffee pot with the intensity of expectant fathers, each waiting for the telltale wisps of steam to start streaming from the kettle. Kyle found the waiting too much to bare and retreating back to the kitchen, he found three coffee mugs and then even went so far as sacrificing a few splashes of water to rinse them out. When he returned to the small fire, he found the gods of caffeine pleased with his offering of clean coffee mugs and the kettle began to steam almost immediately.
Kyle scooped up the hot kettle gingerly and began to tilt it, eager to pour the hot water into the waiting mugs when Miles shouted.
“What? No damn it, don’t pour the water fi
rst!”
“What difference does it make?” Kyle demanded.
“All of the difference! Now measure out the coffee into each cup first!”
Kyle set the kettle aside as he was told, too eager to even argue with Miles on what seemed a completely trivial point. He tore open the two packets of precious coffee and then using a teaspoon he began to carefully measure out three equal portions into the waiting mugs. Then the scavenger picked up the kettle again and paused before looking up at Miles. When the old man gave him a nod of approval, he began to pour water into each cup.
“Very slowly now Miles directed,” and bending down the old man monitored the pour.
Kyle and Coal exchanged a quick glance and a small smile, but the scavenger did as he was told and Miles quickly waved the kettle away after his cup was only three-quarters full.
“You sure you don’t want more water than that? It’s not even a full cup?” Kyle asked.
“Yes, but I would rather enjoy three-quarters of a cup of coffee than, suffer through a full cup of brown water that just kind of tastes like coffee.”
Miles scooped up his cup, and the three men took a moment to just stand there in silence, just enjoying the aroma that wafted off of the dark liquid. The smell was exquisite and in a way intoxicating. It reminded Kyle of home and all of those simple comforts that he had filled his world when he was a boy, most of which he had taken for granted. But most of all the smell made Kyle think of his father. When he was a boy, perhaps 10 or 12, one of Kyle’s responsibilities was to brew a pot of coffee every morning before school. Sometime later his father would come downstairs in his uniform, with his gun belt slung over his shoulder. He would pour one cup for himself and then the rest into the green thermos that went out on patrol with him every day. Some days Kyle would still be home when his father came down, and they would sit together for a time and talk, though for the life of him, now Kyle couldn’t remember a single thing that they had ever talked about.
The Road North Page 17
