The Free

by Willy Vlautin

  The chasing soldiers vanished from the casino parking lot and the casino itself became a haze of distant lights left behind them. For miles they walked along a barren stretch of road. Nothing was on either side but rain-soaked hayfields and barbed-wire fences. But as soon as he realized he felt better he began wheezing again; he began gasping for air. They came to a convenience store set back from the road. They walked along the parking lot and rested, hidden behind a dented dumpster.

  “Are you okay?” Jeanette whispered.

  “I don’t know,” Leroy muttered. “I don’t understand it . . . Sometimes I feel fine and other times I’m in so much pain I can hardly stand it.”

  “Your breathing sounds awful now,” Jeanette said.

  Leroy tried to answer but he was unable to. She held his hand and he closed his eyes in exhaustion. When he opened them again she was holding him.

  “How about now? Are you okay now? Can you speak?”

  “Maybe I’m better,” he croaked and slowly he made himself stand. He swayed back and forth in front of her, punch drunk and unsteady. “I don’t think I can walk all the way back to the marina. We’ll have to get a ride somehow, and if we can’t get a ride you’ll have to go without me.”

  “I’m not going without you. We’ll find a ride,” she said, and they began watching the parking lot. A truck pulled in and three men in fatigues got out, bought beer, and left. After that a woman in a uniform with two kids came in a minivan. She kept the engine running, but left the kids in the car. An hour had gone by when a kid on a motorcycle came. He left the bike running, put the kickstand down, and went inside.

  “This one,” Leroy said and they got up and went to it. The motorcycle had bald tires, a dented gas tank, and its seat was covered in silver duct tape. The engine idled roughly and gray smoke came from the exhaust pipe. Leroy got on the bike, pushed up the kickstand, and Jeanette got on the back.

  He was pushing the motorcycle out of the parking spot when the boy ran out from the store. “What are you doing?” he cried. He was holding a Drumstick ice-cream cone and a can of root beer. He was thin and small with brown hair. He wore a flannel shirt and jeans.

  “We have to take it,” Leroy said in a shaky, uneven voice. He was hunched over the bike, barely able to hold on to the bars.

  “But it’s my brother’s,” the boy said. “He left it to me.”

  “I’m sorry,” Leroy said and began wheezing harder. The boy ran up to the bike.

  “My brother was killed in the marines, in the desert over there. In the war. The only thing I have of his is this motorcycle. I’ll give you a ride wherever you have to go. I can fit three on. I’ve done it before. But please don’t take my bike.”

  Leroy looked at the boy. “But we’re in trouble.”

  “Please,” the boy said.

  Leroy looked at him again and swore to himself, but nodded. They moved back in the seat and the kid handed Leroy the can of soda and the ice cream. He sat in front of him, half on the seat and half on the gas tank, and revved the engine.

  “Where are you going?” he asked.

  “Kingston.”

  “Kingston,” the boy exclaimed. “I’ve never gone that far on this bike.”

  Leroy wheezed but couldn’t speak.

  “Will it make it?” Jeanette asked the boy.

  “I don’t know. I just got it running again ten minutes ago. That’s why I left the engine on when I went inside.”

  The bike strained under the weight as they left the convenience store. The motor lugged and the bike grounded out with every bump and pot hole. Jeanette held on to Leroy who held on to the seat. The boy wiped rain off his face and kept the bike going until a mile out of Kingston when the engine quit. He coasted to the side of the road, and Jeanette and Leroy got off.

  “I think she ran out of gas,” the boy said. “The gas gauge doesn’t work, and I only put three dollars in the tank.”

  “Thank you,” Leroy whispered and leaned into Jeanette, his breathing growing more shallow.

  “Are you going to be able to get gas?” Jeanette asked the boy.

  “There’s a station over that hill, but I spent all my money at the store.”

  Leroy took a hundred dollars from his wallet and handed it to the kid.

  “That’s a lot of money,” the boy said, looking at it.

  Leroy tried to say something more, but nothing came out. He handed the boy back his ice cream and soda and they left.

  They went up the road until Leroy could go no farther. They slept in a field of wet grass. When they woke, it was still dark and freezing but he could breathe easily. They began walking and at dawn came to Kingston and found the only coffee shop open. In a room full of soldiers they nervously ate. When they were finished they walked back to the marina, where the mechanic was at work on their boat.

  “I’ll have it done this afternoon,” he told them as he hovered over the torn-apart engine. He had a bag of potato chips next to him and took a handful with his grease-and-gasoline-covered hands and put them in his mouth. He washed them down with a can of Coke. “But I have a question. I was hoping you could pay me now. My rent’s due and I owe the parts store. If you give me the money I can deposit it when I take my lunch break.”

  Leroy nodded and the mechanic went to his office and came back with the bill and started on the engine again. They went to the cabin and drew the curtains and locked the door. They lifted the mattress and the loose board. They took fourteen hundred dollars from the box to pay the mechanic and three hundred more to buy groceries. They went topside, gave him the cash, and left.

  Again they passed back through the deserted city center, but the grocery store they had gone to the day before was now closed. A toothless old man riding a bicycle passed them and they called out for him to stop. They asked him if he knew of another grocery store, and he told them of the military commissary and gave them directions. As they went toward it, they saw an old woman with a young girl who had Down syndrome pushing a grocery cart full of firewood, and a young man with no legs driving an electric cart down the middle of the street.

  They walked until they came to the edge of town. The Laundromat they had used the day before was also closed. On its front window in black spray paint were the words GREEN LOADER. They looked in the window to see the short plump woman they had met the day before hanging by a chain from a large cast-iron sewer pipe. She was naked, and her entire body except for one hand, her neck, and head, were dark green and black and purple with the mark. There was a bullet hole in her throat and one in her forehead and a huge pool of blood at her feet.

  “Oh my God.” Jeanette shuddered. “Please, Leroy, let’s get out of here.” She took his hand and pulled him across the street and away from the building.

  “What are Green Loaders?” she whispered.

  “I don’t know,” he said.

  “We’ll be okay, won’t we?”

  “We’ll be okay,” Leroy said, but he knew then, in his heart, that they never would be okay. They walked across the railroad tracks and past a half-dozen empty warehouses and buildings. A mile from town they came to a military base. It was a five-mile-long complex surrounded by thirty-foot electric fences and manicured green lawns. No buildings were visible except a commissary that was butted next to the fence with a large parking lot outside of it. Above the building an enormous neon sign read, ALL CITIZENS WELCOME.

  The store was as big as two football fields, and it was painted glossy white and lit with massive fluorescent lights that hung from the ceiling. Aisle after aisle held civilian clothing, camping gear, sinks, couches, water heaters, plumbing supplies, electrical supplies, auto parts, produce, canned foods, meat, fish, lawn mowers, power tools, sporting goods, hunting gear, TVs, computers, and jewelry. It was the largest store they’d ever seen. They took a shopping cart and bought as much food as they could carry and made the trek back to the marina, where the mechanic sat watching TV in his office.

  “She’s done and good to go,�
�� was all he said and leaned back in his chair and grinned. He reached on his desk for a piece of beef jerky and opened a can of Coke. He adjusted the antenna on the TV, turned up the sound, and resumed watching his program.

  They traveled five hours north along the coastline on calm sea. The engine ran strong and quiet, and they anchored alone in a small, sheltered bay. They drank bottles of Rainier beer and rain fell on the cabin roof and spaghetti sauce simmered in a pan on the propane stove.

  “I’ll never get that woman’s body out of my mind,” Jeanette said as they sat across from each other at the galley table. Tears welled in her eyes.

  “Me neither,” said Leroy.

  “When we were in the store, I went to the bathroom. In the hallway leading to it was a bulletin board. On it were dozens of flyers. Some of them were about Green Loaders. One said something about how when you first get the mark it turns a light shade of green. If you’re green you’re a coward, and if you’re a coward you’ll get the mark. So in their opinion anyone with the mark is freeloading off the nation. That’s how they came up with the name. That’s what the name means.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “I think so, too.”

  Leroy took two more beers from the icebox and opened them. “You know my uncle said a person can only see so many bad things before it ruins him.”

  “I hope that’s not true.”

  “I think about it all the time, and lately I think he might be right . . . I remember when I was a kid my uncle would buy the Sunday paper and he and I’d look for boats. He’d read off each ad and ask me what I thought. Well, I didn’t know anything about boats, but even so I’d blurt things out. I’d make up crazy things and it would always make him laugh. Anyway, the problem was that he had no money and every boat he liked was at least five grand. Then finally the boat we found was right next to us in the back of our neighbor’s yard. But I think I told you about that.”

  “You did.”

  “Anyway, the point is he came back from the war and he had a hard time sleeping. And when he did sleep, he had nightmares. He’d moan and cry and talk in his sleep. He hated sleeping anywhere anyone could hear him ’cause he never knew what he said or did. He just heard about it later on. For a while, when he first got back he had girlfriends, but then he didn’t have them anymore. My mom hoped he would get better as more time passed but he didn’t. He got worse. My uncle told her he’d seen too many bad things and that the bad things would never leave him alone. Not even when he was sleeping.”

  “That’s an awful way to live,” said Jeanette.

  “It is.”

  The next morning they traveled farther north. They saw military ships and oil tankers, a half-sunk sailboat and a capsized trawler. They passed a naval air base and two dying coastal towns. The weather turned and rain became snow and visibility was lost. They had no running lights or spotlight. Leroy slowed them to a crawl and they took turns on the bow looking for deadheads with a flashlight.

  They arrived finally in the town of Friday Harbor. The winds were flurrying snow in a constant wash. They found a public mooring, rented a slip, and collapsed in exhaustion. The next morning rain pounded down on the small boat. Leroy sat at the galley table and wrote out a list of supplies he’d need to rewire the running lights. When he finished they lifted the mattress to take money out. He pulled back the board and Jeanette took out the box. She set it on the table and opened it to find all the money gone.

  All that was left was a note.

  I told the cops and the military police about you. They know the make, the year, and the number of this boat. All Green Loaders should be burned alive.

  She handed it to Leroy. “The mechanic?”

  He nodded.

  “How would he know?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What do you think we should do?”

  Leroy sat down defeated in the galley booth. He took his wallet from his pants pocket and counted a hundred and fifteen dollars. “How much do you have?”

  Jeanette checked her purse. “Fifty-five dollars and my credit card.”

  Leroy rubbed his face with his hands. “If we believe the note then maybe they’re already looking for us. If that’s the case then we should just get gas and go. Maybe use the card now and save the money for emergencies.” He started to get up and then fell back into the booth. His breathing became difficult again. His voice faltered. “It took my uncle years to save that money. And you know the only reason he did it is ’cause he thought he was going crazy and he wanted to make sure my mom had enough money to take care of him. He wanted to make sure he didn’t make her life even harder than it already was. I know it was only seven grand but he was trying.”

  For three days they traveled farther north. They changed their American dollars into Canadian, and used Jeanette’s credit card twice to buy gas and once at a grocery store before it was finally maxed out. The weather grew colder and Leroy became more and more tired. There were constant shooting pains in his chest, and he’d spend hours just trying to catch his breath. He began to weave in and out of panic, and his moods grew dark. He began losing himself in visions of violence and chaos and destruction. It was as if he were constantly falling and the only things he could see were the things of hell.

  At four in the morning the graveyard shift nurse made a routine check on Leroy to find him with a fever. His face was sweaty and pale and he opened his eyes in panic and looked at her. She hit the Call button for help. Leroy’s eyes followed her. He could see her and could smell her perfume. He watched her and then watched as another nurse came into the room followed by a doctor. He could hear them talking and he could feel the pain in his chest growing. His eyes became so blurry from the sweat and tears that soon all he could see were distortions of motion and light.

  17

  In the basement Freddie McCall found an empty cardboard box and began wrapping toy train engines in newspaper. There were eight in total and he set those on the bottom of the box, and put all twenty boxcars on top of them. In another box he put his remaining track and switches, transformers, and various wagons and buildings. He packed them into his car and drove ten miles to a suburban subdivision and stopped in front of a nondescript white house. He carried the two boxes to the front door, knocked, and a frail, bent-backed, eighty-three-year-old man in striped railroad overalls answered and let him inside.

  “How have you been, Terrance?” Freddie asked.

  “Oh, I’m fine,” the old man said. “But I have to say I was pretty surprised by your call.” He led Freddie in and shut the door behind him. His front room was clean and stark with just a couch and a coffee table. There were no pictures on the walls or shelves. The old man walked like he was looking for something on the ground. When he looked at Freddie he moved his neck back like he was looking at the sky.

  Freddie set the boxes on the coffee table. “Before you get started, Terrance, I know what you’re going to say. Regardless of what it is, I want you to have them. I can’t think of a better person to take them over.”

  Terrance cleared his throat and shook his head. “I just don’t understand why you don’t want them anymore. It doesn’t make sense. You’ve spent years building your collection.”

  “I know I have, but I don’t need them now. And I want you to have them. I don’t want you to worry, Terrance, but I might have to move out of my house and get an apartment. I won’t have enough room for them if I do and I don’t want them sitting in a storage space rotting away.”

  The old man moved his head back and looked at him. “Are the bills that bad, Freddie?”

  “I just can’t afford the house anymore. That’s all. But it’s okay. I don’t need that big of a house. I live by myself now. Anyway, can’t a friend give another friend a gift?”

  The old man nodded. “But you kept the Erie-Berkshire, didn’t you?”

  “No, it’s in the box, too. I know you’ve always wanted one, and I don’t need it anymore. That’s the main one I wan
t you to have. But there’s also the four Civil War engines plus a couple of oddballs. I even put in the Southern Pacific. I know it’s not the best engine, but it was my first one and probably still my favorite. And of course all the cars. I put them in there, too, along with the mule train. I don’t know where it’ll fit in on your set, but I wanted you to have it ’cause it was the first one I ever painted.”

  The old man put his hand on Leroy’s shoulder. “I’m about to have a hot lemonade. Do you want one?”

  Freddie nodded and followed Terrance to the kitchen. It was a small and clean room and although his wife had died ten years previously it still looked like a woman’s kitchen. Four ceramic fawns sat on a shelf near the sink, and two framed pictures of flowers hung on the walls. He took two cups from a wood cupboard and filled them with lemonade. He set them in the microwave. As he stood waiting, he stared out the kitchen window and his hands shook and his nose ran and he took a red bandanna from his overalls and wiped his nose. When the bell rang, he took the drinks and handed a cup to Freddie, and they walked down the stairs to the basement where the old man had a twenty-by-forty-foot layout of Denver, Colorado, in the 1920s. He put on a worn railroad engineering cap and sat down at a control panel and began moving trains around the various tracks.

  “I won’t own them,” Terrance said finally. “But I’ll take good care of them until you want them again. That’s the best I can do. It’s either that or you take the boxes back to your car.”

  “Fair enough,” Freddie said and smiled. “Thank you.”

  The old man nodded as his eyes followed a Denver-to-Salt-Lake engine pulling a dozen various-colored boxcars. “You look tired, Freddie. Are you eating right?”

  “I know I look pretty worn out, but it’s nothing to worry about, Terrance. I’m doing alright. And I’m eating pretty good.”

  “Are you taking your vitamins?”

  “I’m trying to.”

  “You should always take your vitamins.”