Eva puts her own beer and cigarette down on the counter by the fridge. She pops the top on a cold one and hands it to Bo. I see the edge of the counter has lots of brown marks where cigarettes have been set down on it and forgotten, but this time she remembers; she picks it up and tucks it in her mouth. “What about you, honey? Thirsty? I think I got some ice tea back there somewhere if you want it.”
I shake my head.
“Change your mind, you let me know,” says Eva, then she walks over and settles into the couch beside Bo. “Relax,” she says. “Make yourself at home.” Then she picks up the TV remote, leans back, and puts her feet up on the coffee table so we know how to do that in her home.
“About time. I thought I said be home because we were going to have dinner,” says Eva when Stormy comes through the door. “Bo and Valley are here.”
Stormy makes a kissing face, maybe at Bo, then turns and heads down the hall.
“I’m calling Wolf,” Eva says in our general direction. “He probably lost track of time. He does that.” She walks over to the counter and digs around in a purse, but before she finds the phone, the door opens again. It’s Wolf.
“Let’s eat!” says Eva. “I picked us up a real dinner in town.” She pulls a cardboard bucket full of fried chicken out of a paper bag.
“Beer me, woman,” says Wolf.
“Always, babe,” says Eva while she opens the fridge. After she passes the can over, she yells, “Stormy, get your ass back here. Time to eat.”
Stormy comes back and sits beside Bo on the arm of the couch. She leans over and looks in the bucket of chicken, then she turns and takes the food right out of Bo’s hand. She holds the chicken bone in her right hand; with her left she pulls Bo’s hand to her mouth and licks the grease off his fingers. Bo smiles like that is perfectly polite. It is not.
“Where’s Sky?” says Eva.
Nobody answers, because, I guess, nobody knows.
“This is my office,” says Wolf. There are flags hanging on the wall behind a big computer desk. The closet doors are open, and I can see boxes full of cables and equipment in there. I guess having those things makes this an office. When they built the trailer, it was probably supposed to be a bedroom. If it were still a bedroom, then Sky and Stormy wouldn’t have to share, but I don’t think that matters much, since I gather neither of them actually sleeps here very often.
There are shelves along one wall: some books and a bunch of little things. I step closer to look: silver and black dragons with shiny crystal eyes, wizard guys with walking sticks — or magic sticks, whatever those are called — soldiers in grey uniforms, soldiers in blue, and, on horseback, valkyries.
“My chess sets,” says Wolf. And when he says that, it becomes obvious. I can see how they are ranked, eight pawns here, eight pawns there. Why one guy in uniform is a bishop and another a knight I do not know. And why the valkyries are knights? Because they are on horses, I guess. But truly, valkyries are like queens. They play the pawns wisely and choose the best. They decide who dies and who lives forever.
“I wanted you to see this,” says Wolf. He leans over and taps the keyboard in front of the computer screen. “I got this message this morning — from Nichols. The guy who put us in touch with Bo when we needed some stuff delivered.”
Wolf waves at the chair by the desk. “Here, take a look,” he says.
There is no way in hell I’m going to sit down and be trapped in that chair. I feel inside my pocket for the little knife I always keep there now.
“He writes that you two owe him money. That you’re dirty and untrustworthy. He says if we see you, keep that in mind and let him know.”
“We don’t owe him money. We don’t owe him shit.”
“He’s a greedy asshole. I know that’s true. But what the hell is the rest of this about? Did you put the cops on him? What?”
“If the cops are on him, why’s he sending messages to you? If you believe what he wrote, you wouldn’t be here this moment now. You’d have better things to do.”
“That is true. You are a smart girl, Valley. And no, I don’t think Nichols is telling any kind of truth. He’s full of bullshit as the day is long. But I did think you deserved to know what the word is out there. Some people who read it might not be as smart as you and me. Some people might believe it. Thing is, Valley, you are welcome to stay here. Far as I’m concerned, Bo is one of my men.” Wolf picks up one of the chess valkyries and looks at it while he says, “And you, Valley, you are under my protection. You belong here, with us. From the first moment I saw you I knew that.” He holds the little valkyrie out to me, I reach out, and he drops it on my palm. It is warm from when he held it. “Welcome home, Valkyrie,” says Wolf.
I stand by the edge of the lake and see how the water lifts and falls in small panting breaths. I hear it move the smallest of the stones, click, click, tick. A buzzing, it is tiny, no longer than my smallest finger, but much more slender than bone, and it’s blue, flashing blue in the sunlight. Bo told me this is not a dragonfly, it is a damselfly. He thought they would please me when he showed them to me. They don’t please me, the damselflies, but they remind me of my purpose. They remind me of the black helicopters.
They do not remind Bo of the black helicopters. He has forgotten his purpose — or he has found a new one. I can hear him, now with the others, coming out of the trees and down to the shore. They are so noisy; I don’t think they can hear anything but the sounds of their own voices.
I walk in to the place where their path meets the beach. I need to have a moment with Bo to remind him that I have the com, and staying here forever is his idea. It is not my order. It is not our mission. But there is no time to talk to him; I see him come out of the trees and kick his boots away. His shirt is off, and he peels his jeans down his legs and tosses them. For a moment he looks toward the trees, then he turns and runs, crashing through the shallow water before he falls forward, like he was shot in the back.
But there is no crack of gunfire. Nothing echoes, like I have heard it echo, off the steep hills and the sky. All I hear is laughing and yelling. I see Bo splashing farther and farther out into the lake. I did not know he could do that.
The rest of Wolf’s men come out of the trees and follow him into the water. Stormy and Sky, the last two on the beach, those two. Stormy is pulling her T-shirt up and over her head. She is very slow about it. I’m close enough now that I can see the red welts like a belt around Stormy’s white hips when she pushes her tight jeans down her legs. Then she stands on her tiptoes and spreads her arms wide. The men splash water in her direction, but they are too far out for the spray to hit her or Sky, who is standing beside her, mirroring every motion. Then both girls make squirrel-bird shrieks while they run into the lake and then slide like floating leaves along the surface of the water.
“Hey, Valley girl, come on in — the water’s fine,” yells one of the men.
“If cold is fine,” yells Stormy as she rolls onto her back and floats there, facing the sky.
“It is a little nippy out.” A man laughs, and then splashes Sky, who sputters and splashes toward him.
“She can’t,” says Bo, my Bo. “She can’t swim.”
“I’ll teach you,” says Wolf’s man, Dolph, and he swims a couple of strokes nearer the shore before he stands up and starts wading toward me.
I turn and walk quickly up the path, into the trees.
I do not need Wolf’s man Dolph to teach me to swim.
It is not part of my mission.
Tarzan hated water, but he learned to swim when he had to escape. “Kreeg-ah! Kreeg-ah, Abalu.” Danger! Danger, Brother! Little Willow Creek was too shallow for swimming. We pretended to learn there, but it was only pretend. I can’t. I can’t swim, but Bo can. I did not know he could do that. It is another thing he learned to do when he could go out in the world, and I could not.
When I was alone so much, I learned to play chess against myself. Most people, they only know how to play for thems
elves. I know how to play a much bigger game.
But it made me ready to play chess with Wolf.
“I played chess with your father, Valkyrie,” says Wolf. “He did some work for me, oh . . . a long time ago. Sky and Stormy were just little girls then. They left their dolls scattered all over the place in the woods. They always needed more dolls.” He moves his piece just as I expected, just as I planned. “Those dolls were always naked. Why is that? Why are those dolls always naked?”
I move my piece. It looks like a smart move, but it isn’t. I’ll see if he figures that out. Then I say, “They give them to you naked. Dolls. Check,” I say.
“And mate,” says Wolf as he moves to the place I prepared for him. “Good game, Valkyrie.”
He’s right. I played a good game. It was a better game than he knew. I could have won that game, not once but three times before Wolf finally did.
“You play a romantic game, Valkyrie.” He answers the question he sees on my face. “You are not afraid to sacrifice pieces. I think you would beat most players.”
I don’t tell him the truth. I could have won. I let him win. I don’t tell him that because the game I am playing is bigger than he knows.
The King is dead, but he isn’t in check. As long as I’m playing, the King isn’t in check. He is free. He would want us to carry on. I’m the Queen. I’ve castled, which is always a risk. But I have my knight in play. And I see Wolf’s sideways, sliding glances and diagonal advances. I see them for what they are. I’ve finally got a bishop. With this piece, I can win.
I watch how things work, and even though there are some details I can’t see under the surface, I see. There is money flowing here, flowing in Wolf’s direction. When Wolf speaks, people listen — not just the people here, like Dolph. Wolf composes messages — videos, podcasts — and those get heard. Lots of people are listening to Wolf.
That is one thing that happens in the Quonset. Messages get made there, where it is quiet. With target practice, TV game shows, and truck engines, it’s hard to find a quiet place, but the Quonset is quiet.
I noticed that the first time I went inside. I noticed the quiet, and I noticed how it felt, snug and cool, like the den. When Bo moved into the guys’ trailer, Eva thought I should share the room with Stormy and Sky, but I said, “No, thank you. I’m not used to sisters.” I didn’t say Because Stormy and Sky are idiots. There are things that need to be unsaid. I just asked if I could have a bunk in the Quonset, because it is quieter, and I like quiet.
Did I understand that the door would have to be locked?
It only makes sense. There are precious and dangerous things in there.
Really, the locks are a comfort.
When the door is locked, I’m safe inside.
This is my den, my zukat, my wala.
This is the place where I think of Valhalla.
“Hey,” says Bo — or the one that sounds like Bo, but doesn’t look right. It runs its hand over the skin that rides tight on its skull, pale, shiny skin, skin that hasn’t seen the light of day until now.
“Hey,” I say, because what else can I say? Can I say, Who are you? Can I say, You don’t look right? I can’t; so I just say, Hey, like that says those other things. Like that says, Where are you, brother? Abalu?
“I got my hair cut,” says Bo’s voice. “Eva, she had clippers. Now I look like the other guys.”
There’s nothing to say to that. I mean, it’s truth. But I say, “You look different.” That means: People might notice you now. You have given up your invisibility. Why?
Bo says, “Like the other guys.”
I don’t say, Yeah, like the other guys here. Like Wolf’s men. You look like them. You are invisible here, but in the outside world? No.
What have I got to say about this? My white hair? That’s different. The wide distance between my eyes? Different. But my different, that’s not my doing. That just happened. I never had a choice. I was born with my Mabby’s looks. I was born different. And now, Bo, you are different because you choose to be.
“Abalu, gree-ah,” I say. And that means, I see you, Brother. I see you still, and I love you.
“Hey,” says the one that sounds like Bo, “there’s a keg and fire. You coming?”
“Abalu, gree-ah,” I say. And Wolf’s man who sounds like Bo walks away, but I stay where I am.
In the kitchen, Eva is trying to smoosh some more garbage into the can, but it’s already so full the lid won’t close.
“I’ll take that and burn it,” I say.
“Thanks, hon. It was supposed to be Sky — I think. Never does anything.”
“Not a problem,” I say, and pick the can up by the hinge in the back. Some stuff slides out. That was inevitable. “I’ll make another trip and get this.” I point at the stuff that escaped and some pizza boxes leaning up against the wall.
“Above and beyond, sweetheart, that’s you,” says Eva.
“Maybe you can do a thing for me,” I say.
“You don’t have to do stuff. You can just ask. You’re family now. Wolf and me both said it.”
Hearing her say that makes it sound like I was making a bargain instead of just doing my share. My hand is getting tired from standing there holding the can.
“What is it, hon? Just ask,” says Eva.
“Will you shave my hair? Like you did Bo?”
“Oh, sweetie, god no! I mean, that would be wrong. Why would you want that? Tell you what — I’ll trim the ends if you want. Let’s just do that. After you burn the trash, you hop in the shower and wash it, then I’ll trim up the ends.”
I wonder if Bo had to tell a reason before she cut his hair. I build a fire in the burn barrel and feed the trash into it, little bit by little bit. While the garbage burns, sometimes the flame turns green and the smoke smells of plastic. It all burns; everything I put in there burns. And it all burns for the same reason. When it’s done burning, everything is ashes, just like the other ashes.
When I go to move my knight, my hand is slick with blood. Wolf reaches across the board and turns my hand over. I’m cut to the bone.
Wolf touches other places where I am cut open, on the inside of my legs and into my body.
“Open it up,” he says.
And I open my body. I open my ribs so I can see my own heart, but it is hidden under black feathers. It is hidden in thought and memory.
And Da comes back. He lifts away the raven’s wing, and I see my heart is a flat coiled spring wound up tight, energy bright, trapped in the turnings. He doesn’t say anything, but I know the orders.
I know what to do.
When Wolf makes his messages, I sit on my cot and watch. I listen while he talks about his nation within a nation and how it is growing stronger. Wolf’s invisible nation is very important to him. He is a great storyteller, Wolf is. He weeps over Ruby Ridge: the mother shot through the head while her baby was in her arms. He rages about Mount Carmel: a bone of a nameless child found in the ashes. The whole time, I’m right there, a visible part of his invisible nation. Then, after he is done sending his message, we play chess and talk.
That is when I set up the plan for Wolf. I tell him my story could be his story.
I watch how he slides his bishop, slippery to the side.
He wants to win, but he wants to lose nothing.
I can make that happen.
I show him the game, little bit by little bit. I show him how to win.
He doesn’t say, “Oh, sweetie, god no!” like Eva. He rubs his chin while he thinks of his next move, then he says, “I see it.” He taps his finger on one of the knights that has been lost in the game. He picks it up and turns it over in his hand before he holds it out to me. “You will be our valkyrie.”
Wolf has money. He provides the diesel, the fertilizer, the emulsion explosives, and the C-4.
I provide Bo and his expertise. Bo will know exactly what he needs to know about this job, and nothing more. He will not know that I am one of the customers. H
e will not know that I am one of the bombs he is building. He will rig the trigger I will wear beside my heart.
I have the com. The decision is mine.
Even though I have written messages before, Da always gave me the words. This time, I have to find my own words.
But then, the words don’t matter. I could write in the language of ravens or Tarzan Talk. The truth is in the blood, I think. The blood is what they need to read, and the blood is the easiest part. The easiest part is sliding the blade along my thumb. The easiest part is watching the red straight from my heart where it’s been wound tight. I have more than I need. I can hear the little drops: tick, tick, tick. There is a certain comfort in this moment when I put the blood against the page. This is the last time.
“We’re screwed,” says Eric.
“What?”
“A flat, maybe, I think we have a flat. I don’t know. It’s like — harder to steer?”
“Well, pull over and look. What side?” I say. I can’t see anything, but it’s dark and the side-view mirror isn’t set to reflect the tire.
“What if it is flat? Then what?”
“Don’t be stupid. You know what. When a tire is flat, you change it. You have a spare, right? So if it’s flat, you change it.”
“Yeah. I guess. I mean, my mom said, if I get a flat I should just call the towing. They’re fast. And it’s safer that way. But we don’t have my phone.”
There are a thousand things I could say to Eric in this moment about his mom and the dumb-ass lazy way of living she is teaching him, but all I say is, “We are going to get out. We are going to check the tires. If we have a flat, you are going to change it.”
The rear passenger-side tire is flat. Not smack-dab, rolling-on-the-rim flat, not yet, but flat. Eric is standing there beside me staring at it like he never saw such a thing before, and I suppose he hasn’t. I suppose it never came up.
“My dad,” he says. “He died while he was changing a tire.”
“He get hit by a truck or something? You don’t have to worry about that tonight. You won’t be hanging your butt out in traffic. You’ll be way over here, on the shoulder, if anybody comes along.” When I say that, the headlights of a car stab us with light for a moment, then the glare slices away and the car blows past us.
Black Helicopters Page 9
