Badlands w-3

by Jason Frost

  Eric nodded, looked around. "And you're pretty isolated, too. Ever bothered by strangers?"

  "Up here?" She laughed. "Nope. Oh, once some couple and their kid wandered by, wanted to stay and take over from me and Pete. But the kids voted them down and they moved on. Thing is-" she grinned-"their kid wanted to stay with us. They dragged him away crying and screaming."

  "Sounds like you've made quite a home here," Eric said.

  "We have. Better than some these kids came from. Sure, sometimes we miss our folks, and we've had a few runaways go off looking for their parents. But mostly we just take care of each other." She looked at her watch. "I gotta get back to the cooking now. You wanna come in and look around, fine." She turned and walked back into the house, leaving the door open for Paige and Eric to follow.

  "Jesus," Paige said.

  "Yeah," Eric said.

  They walked into the house.

  The inside was consciously rustic. Lots of clumpy wooden furniture and rough wood walls. Even the ceiling was bare beams. Walking into this house gave Eric a funny feeling. Everything was so neat and normal looking, he could almost forget there had been a disaster.

  Wendy strolled straight through the living room and dining room out into the kitchen. A little girl with pigtails peeked around the corner at Eric and Paige. She hugged a doll made out of a stuffed sock and button eyes.

  "Hi," Eric said.

  She smiled, hugged the doll closer.

  "What's your name?"

  "Sarah," she mumbled into her sock doll.

  "What's his name?" Eric pointed at the doll.

  "I dunno."

  "Come on."

  "Rupert, I guess."

  Paige was rummaging through the drawers of the oak desk in the corner by the old TV console. The TV screen was dust-free and the rusty rabbit ears still formed a neat V, even though there was no electricity, no TV stations broadcasting. She struggled with one drawer, finally forcing it open. Like the rest of the drawers, it was stuffed with papers. "Hey, Eric, how about giving me a hand here, huh? Play Mr. Charm later."

  Sarah frowned at Eric. "Is she your mother?'

  Eric laughed.

  Paige shook her head disgustedly. "Kids."

  Eric winked at Sarah and she giggled and ran into the kitchen. He walked over to Paige and started pulling wads of folded paper from the drawers.

  "Wendy must've just shoved everything that Dad had lying on the desk into these drawers. Christ, she may be even a bigger neat freak than I am."

  "Is this how you remember the place?' "Pretty much. Same furniture and everything. It's just cleaner than I've ever seen it. It's like some TV household. Like on Leave It to Beaver or The Donna Reed Show. Know what I mean?'

  Eric nodded.

  She glanced around the room fondly. "Still, I guess they're just making the best home they can. Did a hell of a job, I'd say."

  Eric unfolded papers with scrawled mathematical equations, handed them to Paige. "This look like anything?"

  She looked at them, tossed them on top of the desk. "Doodles. Some of these are scraps of ideas, but not the whole blueprint. Not even enough to make much sense."

  Eric walked over to one of the bookshelves that lined an entire wall of the living room. A Sanyo cassette tape recorder held up a row of Britannica encyclopedias. Eric lifted it from the shelf and a couple volumes collapsed. There was a tape already in the machine. Eric pressed Play. Nothing happened.

  "Batteries are dead," Wendy said from the doorway. "They weren't when we got here, but one of the kids played some Peter, Paul and Mary tape that was in there and left it on overnight. We couldn't find any more batteries."

  Sarah stood behind Wendy, still hugging the sock doll to her throat. "I didn't mean to do it," she whined.

  "Never mind, Sarah," Wendy said. "It doesn't matter. We can still sing same as always. Don't need batteries for that." She pointed at the ancient upright piano in the dining room.

  "You play?" Eric asked.

  "I'm teaching myself. When there's time." She smiled proudly. "Meantime, I read stories to the children at night from those books." She pointed to a stack next to the worn easy chair. The top one was Peter Pan.

  "Oh," Eric said. Of course. Peter and Wendy. "What's your real name, Wendy?"

  The girl who called herself Wendy smiled. "Grace Yedonski. Ugh. I like Wendy better."

  "What about Peter?"

  "Louis Southern. But don't call him anything but Peter, OK? Makes him mad."

  "OK."

  "Look," Wendy said, "I'd appreciate it if you'd hurry up and find what you came for. Peter will be back soon and he doesn't like strangers. Gets the kids all stirred up."

  "Must be hard on you," Paige said, "taking care of so many children."

  Wendy shrugged. "It's not bad. They need me."

  "We're almost done, Wendy," Eric said. "A few more minutes. OK?"

  She hesitated, nibbled her bottom lip, then nodded. "OK. But hurry." She went back to the kitchen, Sarah trotting behind her.

  "You might think this is funny," Paige said, staring after Wendy, "but I kind of admire her. The way she and this Peter kid take care of all these children."

  "They seem to really care," Eric agreed.

  "Yeah, well, while she is scrubbing and cooking and keeping these kids alive, it's time for us more mature adults to get back to the really important task of finding some stupid papers."

  Eric pointed at her backpack. "Got any batteries in there?"

  "In my flashlight, sure."

  "Hand 'em over."

  "They won't fit that thing."

  "They will when I'm done." Eric pulled some wires from the back of the stereo and adjusted them to the small recorder. Within a few minutes he had the Sanyo working. He popped in one of the Judy Collins tapes. Judy Collins sang "Both Sides Now."

  "So much for that theory, eh, master spy?" Paige said.

  Eric punched the Fast Forward button, then Play. Judy Collins singing "Send in the Clowns." He repeated this several times. Finally he got something else. Obviously a home taping of someone playing the piano, clumsily picking out single notes.

  Paige stopped fussing with the papers in the desk and listened.

  "Your dad know how to play the piano?"

  "The way you and I breathe. That can't be him. The notes don't make any musical sense, they sound like random plunking."

  "Code, maybe. Notes corresponding with letters and numbers."

  "Of course!"

  Eric ejected the tape. "He must've figured someone would come for him, but he probably couldn't be sure. So he put it all in code on these tapes."

  "But where is he? He wouldn't have just left them in the truck."

  "He might have. Maybe he came back here for something to fix the flat, but when he got back to the truck, someone was unloading it. They might've been armed and he didn't want to risk getting shot by looters, so he ran. The tapes sure weren't worth his life, especially when he could always make more."

  Paige sat on the edge of the desk. "Yeah, that's possible. Otherwise, he would have left some sign, some way for us to find him."

  Eric looked at his watch. "There's not enough time for us to look for him right now. We'll have to take the tapes back. Maybe there's something on them about where he was heading. They can always send someone back after him."

  Paige stared at him. "You know better. Once they have this, that's the end of it."

  The front door swung open with a thud and a tall, skinny boy of sixteen strode in with a scowl on his face. "What's going on? Who are you?" He pulled a rust-pocked machete from his belt.

  "Hold on," Eric said, raising his hands. "Peter, right?"

  Wendy came bustling out from the kitchen, Sarah in tow. "It's all right, Peter. They don't want to hurt us."

  Peter didn't look like he was buying that as he walked slowly toward Eric, interested not in the HK 93, but in the crossbow slung over Eric's back.

  "Neat," he said, for a moment reverting b
ack to his own age. But when he looked at Wendy the burden of responsibility crowded aside his youthful features and he was scowling again, brandishing his machete. "What do you want?"

  "This house used to belong to my father-"

  "Well, we live here now," Peter said. "And we ain't leaving."

  "I don't want you to," Paige continued. "We were just looking for something that might tell us where he's gone." Paige described him. "Have you seen him?"

  Peter thought about it for a while. "Moustache, huh? Saw this body over near the ravine, had a moustache. He was old, had some gray."

  Paige looked pained. "What about his eyes? What color?"

  Peter shrugged. "Dunno. He didn't have no eyes anymore. Birds got to 'em, I guess." He made a pecking motion with his fingers.

  Paige lunged another step toward him and he reflexively lifted the machete at her. "How old was he?"

  "Old. Maybe forty."

  Paige sighed. "Christ. Kids."

  "We're not fucking kids, lady," Peter exploded. "We're a family. You got the fancy weapons, so if you're gonna use 'em, go ahead. Otherwise, get your asses outta here."

  "Language, Peter," Wendy clucked.

  Eric looked at Paige. "Let's go."

  "Not yet. Look, Peter, I'm sorry. You and Wendy have done a terrific job here. I mean that."

  Peter accepted the compliment with the same proud expression that Wendy had shown earlier. "We done all right."

  "So let us stay a few minutes longer. Let me try to work out some of the message on these tapes with your piano." She looked at Eric. "Maybe there's something on here about where he was going."

  Eric looked at his watch.

  "It's probably a very simple code, Eric," she pleaded. "Just give me half an hour."

  Eric gestured at Peter. "It's your house, man. What do you say?"

  Peter and Wendy exchanged glances, little smiles. It was the same kind of silent exchanges Eric and Annie used to have. That secret language of lovers.

  "Half an hour," Peter agreed. "In exchange for that fancy bow."

  Eric started to shake his head, saw the desperate look in Paige's eyes, and sighed. "OK."

  Peter clapped his hands together and rubbed them happily. "Right. Why don't we let your lady alone in here while we go outside and you show me how to shoot that thing."

  Eric stroked his scar, his mouth grim. Sure, he had the HK 93 now, but he'd had the crossbow since the quakes. It had saved his life several times. He didn't like parting with it.

  Paige carried the cassette player to the piano, lifted the lid, and turned back to Eric. When she spoke, her voice was husky with emotion. "Thanks, Eric."

  Eric tossed the two cassettes to her and followed Peter out the door.

  Paige sat at the piano, listening to the tape, matching the notes on the piano, scribbling them down on paper. She broke the code immediately. It was simple, just as she'd thought. Each letter of the alphabet corresponded to a note on the piano. She had a couple sentences written when she heard a noise behind her. Startled, she turned around.

  "Hi," Sarah said, cradling her sock doll, Rupert.

  "Hi, Sarah." Paige smiled, turning back to her work. Cute kid, she thought, then was lost again in the code, forgetting Sarah was even there.

  Sarah took tiny steps toward Paige. When she was only a foot behind her, Sarah reached inside her sock doll and pulled out a corroded pipe wrench. Some of the stuffing came out with the wrench. She picked clumps of stuffing from the wrench and carefully tucked them back into her sock doll. When that was done, she lifted the wrench over her head with both hands and brought it down on the back of Paige's head.

  Wendy stepped out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on her apron. She looked at Paige lying on the floor and at Sarah standing there with the bloody wrench. She smiled at Sarah. "Good girl, Sarah. Good girl."

  19.

  "So how does that thing work?" Peter said.

  Eric laid his HK 93 on the ground. Then he unslung the crossbow and held it out for Peter to examine. "You ever own a BB gun?"

  "Nah. My parents wouldn't let me. But Aaron Roth down the street used to let me use his sometimes. We'd shoot Coke cans in his back yard."

  "Well, this bow cocks just like a lot of BB guns, only it takes a lot more strength, so you usually put it on the ground and lean into it. Like this." Eric pushed the nose of the bow against the ground, leaned his body into it, and the cocking mechanism slid back until the bowstring was pulled back into the trigger. He straightened up and handed the bow to Peter. The weight surprised Peter, for the bow dropped a few inches in his hands.

  "Jeez, this sucker's heavy." He hefted it a few times, grinning.

  Eric smiled at the boy's delight. It had been a long time since he'd played teacher. He could imagine his classroom now back at the university, the students laughing at something, or arguing with him about some point, or groaning as he explained their next assignment. It was a role that had suited him well. Much more than his previous one of commando or his present one of avenger. From the house, the single notes from the piano echoed crisply in the warm air. He would give Paige a few more minutes tinkering with the code. Then they would have to leave. He still had to hunt down Fallows and steal Tim. Steal him? Funny word to choose, as if he were taking something that belonged to someone else. But that was his fear, wasn't it? That Fallows, with all the time he'd had with Tim, had somehow brainwashed him. He'd done it before in less time. Almost had done it to Eric.

  "Whoosh," Peter said, aiming down the length of the empty crossbow. "Thud. Got him."

  "Just be sure you don't fire a bow without an arrow. Damages the bow." He looked at his watch. Twenty-three hours left to retrieve Tim and get back to the shuttle. Less than a day.

  The piano notes had stopped coming from the house. Good, maybe she was done. He'd show Peter how to shoot the bow then they could be on their way.

  A few kids drifted from around the back of the house, wandering toward Eric and Peter. Eric noticed that little Sarah was among them. Together they formed a little group of eight curious onlookers, silently watching. Most of them looked pretty.healthy and clean, but a couple of them looked a bit pale and sickly. Well, that was to be expected under the circumstances. No medical supplies up here. No doctor. They were lucky to have food and water and shelter.

  "Can I try it with an arrow?" Peter asked.

  "Let me show you how first," Eric said. He took the bow back, slid a bolt into the brass groove. "Like this, see? With the guide feather in the groove."

  "Yeah."

  Eric twisted away from Peter, thumbed the safety button, and swung around again with the bow against his shoulder. "That branch," he said, indicating a gnarled stick of wood the size of a baseball bat about fifty feet away. He squeezed the trigger. The bolt rocketed from the bow with a whiz and dove straight into the stick, chipping off a chunk of wood.

  "Wow," Peter said, impressed.

  The group of children behind them applauded. They started to walk closer.

  Eric turned and smiled at them. "Hi, kids."

  They smiled back but didn't answer.

  Eric winked at Sarah. "Hi, Sarah."

  She hugged her sock doll to her neck and giggled. "Hi, mister."

  The children all walked closer.

  "Careful now," Eric warned. "Don't get too close to that gun. It's dangerous."

  The children smiled, but kept walking.

  "I mean it now," Eric said sternly.

  They stopped. One of the kids started coughing so violently his little baseball cap fell off. Beneath the cap he was almost bald. Eric noticed some hair loss among a couple of the other sickly kids.

  "What's wrong with them?" Eric asked Peter.

  Peter shrugged. "Cold or flu, I guess. They'll be OK."

  "You don't cook indoors do you?"

  "Nope. Wendy keeps a fire outside the back door for cooking. She read that burning some kinds of wood inside can be harmful. Sometimes we have a fire inside, but only
with dry branches around here. We're pretty careful."

  Eric nodded. The kids were pretty smart.

  "Can I try it, Mr. Ravensmith?" Peter begged. "Shoot your bow?"

  "Sure, Peter."

  He handed Peter the bow and a sharp bolt.

  Peter smiled. So did the rest of the children.

  They sure are a happy bunch of kids, Eric thought as he watched Peter cock the bow and slide the bolt into place.

  "Hurry up, children. Get the shoes first."

  Wendy's voice broke through Paige's haze as if it were being carried through a heating duct from one apartment to another. She felt little hands tugging at her shoes. She tried to kick them away.

  "Oh fudge!" Wendy said. "She's alive."

  Paige struggled to lift her aching head from the floor as her eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness of the small room. All she could make out was a cluster of little faces hovering around her and, above them, Wendy, looking flustered.

  "Darn," Wendy said. "I was sure she was dead. Billy, hand me that knife there. No, not that one. The long one with the teeth."

  "What are you doing?" Paige asked, lifting herself to her elbows, despite the throbbing at the back of her head. Tiny hands reached out and started pushing her back to the floor. She brushed a few aside, but there were so many of them. And now Wendy was leaning over her with that long, saw-toothed knife.

  "I'm sorry, ma'am," Wendy said. "Really sorry. We thought you were already dead."

  "Dead?" Paige repeated numbly. Then she remembered the thump on her head. "Sarah."

  Wendy nodded. "Yes, usually Sarah's much more reliable. She clobbers someone they're usually down for good. I guess her aim was a little off this time."

  "I don't understand. Where am I?"

  Wendy smiled slightly. "Used to be the pantry."

  Paige's eyes focused slowly on the surroundings. In the dark she hadn't recognized it. Sure, the pantry. How many times had she hid in this room nibbling Fig Newtons until she was sick? But it wasn't as she remembered it. There were objects of all sizes hanging from the ceiling. Beneath each thing was a pan or a bucket. A couple objects were still dripping into their pans. The smell of the room was different too. Heavy. Sickly rich.