Authors: Mary Rosenblum
Tags: #Fiction, #Science Fiction, #General, #Collections & Anthologies
“Yeah, I think you do.” Jeremy sat down beside him. “This is kind of a bad neighborhood to wander around in. If you’re wearing a uniform.”
“Do tell,” Carter growled. And Greely had been sitting in his car. He looked around the shadowy interior of the old warehouse, dimly lit by the afternoon sun seeping through the grimy windows. Wooden fruit crates and bales of flattened cardboard boxes towered in haphazard piles, coated with cobwebs and a thick layer of brown dust. “You’re living here?” A sleeping bag, a water jug, and a scatter of cooking utensils lay on a freshly swept spot on the concrete floor.
“It’s free.”
“I think I’m a fool,” Carter said bitterly.
“I doubt it,” Jeremy said dryly. “I’m an outsider, remember? I’ve got nothing riding on this crazy horse race. From what I’ve heard and seen, you’re doing pretty well with a pretty shitty situation.”
A glowing insect popped into the air in front of Carter, who flinched in spite of himself. “A dragonfly?” He’d seen a picture somewhere. Fascinated, he passed his fingers through the iridescent green wings. “That’s really incredible. Can I see that projector of yours?”
“Sure.” Jeremy reached into his pocket, hesitated. “Or maybe no.” He cleared his throat. “Professional secret. I guess I’d better be rude.”
The pocket was empty. Carter could see the bulge of Jeremy’s thick fingers through the worn pocket. “You don’t have one.” He stared at Jeremy. “I wondered how I could have missed something that advanced, how come I’d never seen that kind of holo projection before. My God,
you’re
doing it.”
“Sooner or later I always blow it.” Jeremy shrugged. “I guess it’s some kind of . . . shared hallucination or something.”
He was watching Carter from the corners of his eyes. “That waterfall I saw.” Carter whistled. “That was you, too? You were right there. Tell me about this stuff, will you? I’ve never run into anything like it.”
“Yeah, it was me . . .” Jeremy dragged the words out reluctantly.
He looked ready to run. “Hey, what’s wrong?” Carter spread his hands. “It’s not illegal to . . . do whatever you call this. What’s up?”
“Nothing.” Jeremy managed a crooked smile, relaxing fractionally. “I’m never sure . . . how people will react. When they find out. Sometimes it’s . . . bad.”
“Bad?”
“Do you understand why it’s dry, Carter? Really understand?”
“Yeah, global warming, we let too much CO2…” He let the words trail away as Jeremy shook his head.
He knew the mechanics of water distribution better than all but a handful of people on the planet. “I think I see what you mean,” he said slowly. “I guess no . . . can any of us really understand why it’s happening? To us?”
“I don’t understand this either.” Jeremy held out his hand and the dragonfly seemed to light on it, fanning its wings slowly. “I can make the little things like this happen when I want. The visions of the past just come on their own. I don’t know how, or why. People don’t understand this drought and it terrifies them. They don’t understand the things I do either.” He smiled thinly. “Sometimes, I guess they link the two. They can get . . . a little crazy.”
“Like how?”
Jeremy shrugged. “I’ve heard stories about other kids being born with . . . weird powers. Out in the Dry. People usually kill them. You run into a lot of superstition out there.” He hunched his shoulders. “It’s a god, the drought. Like it or not. And it’s an ugly one. My dad used to beat me if he caught me ‘making.’ This drifter gave me the idea of doing the magic show thing. He thought what I did was wonderful.” Jeremy gave a short laugh. “When I hit the road and tried it, I damn near got myself killed right off.”
His tone made Carter shiver.
Jeremy laughed softly. “Hey, it’s your fault for figuring out my scam. I’m getting careless, I guess. But I met this woman the other day. She’s kind of like me. Different. She’s an empath — she hears your emotions and your feelings. It’s been . . . a long time since I ran into someone who was . . . different. Want some water?” He went over to his campsite, fished a plastic mug from his pack.
“Thanks. Why’d your dad beat you?” Carter asked.
“Maybe because he was scared.” Jeremy shrugged. “Maybe because I was his son, and he didn’t understand it any more than he understood the drought. He was afraid of the drought, too. He should have been. It killed him, finally.”
“He plowed his soul into your land?” Carter said softly. “And died with it?”
“You were listening.” Jeremy handed him the mug full of water. “At that party.”
“Yeah, I was listening.” Carter drank the tepid, musty water, watching the gathering shadows turn the stacked crates into shapeless towers of darkness. “What’s it like to see the way it used to be?”
Jeremy was silent for a long time. “Sometimes I get angry,” he said at last. “We could have stopped it, you know.”
Carter got stiffly to his feet and went to one of the front windows. It was getting dark. He rubbed dust from a windowpane, wondering how many kids were hanging out at the truck plaza tonight.
“I’m going to walk back to the dam with you.” Jeremy fumbled in his pack, then straightened with a small automatic in his hand. He held it comfortably and Carter noticed that the trigger guard had been partially removed to accommodate Jeremy’s thickened fingers.
Carter looked at it. “I shot a kid once,” he said slowly. “During a riot. I pulled the trigger because I was scared and mad. I thought I’d never do anything like that again.” He shook his head. “Maybe there’s no way to keep this mess from turning into a war.”
Jeremy looked down at the gun in his hand. “When people want something from you and you can’t give it to them . . . sometimes they hate you. Let’s go.” He slipped the gun into the waistband of his jeans. “I know a route that should be safe.”
Carter slipped out the crack after Jeremy, shadows crowding his heels. The scabby towers of the old grain elevators filled the alleys between the warehouses with darkness. Carter and Jeremy followed the rusted railway tracks along the bank of the riverbed. Semi rigs slept in the truck plaza lot. Lights gleamed behind barred windows in the old motel, but Carter didn’t see any kids.
They went slowly, at Jeremy’s limping pace. “Your knees hurt you, don’t they?” Carter asked. “I could get you some painkillers from the pharmacy at the base.”
“No thanks.” The smile was back in Jeremy’s voice. “I tried booze and drugs once or twice when I was a kid. Things . . . get out of hand. Visually, I mean. You wouldn’t want to be anywhere near me.”
The wind whispered dryly and Carter welcomed the yellow wash of light from the big halides above the lower gate. He returned the guard’s surprised salute briskly. “Thanks for the convoy.” He turned to Jeremy. “You want a ride back?”
“No thanks. It’s a nice night for a walk.” Jeremy’s faded shirt hung open, unbuttoned.
The light gleamed on irregular patches of shiny white scar tissue. They blotched his chest and flat stomach, ugly and visible against his tawny skin. Burn scars.
Jeremy noticed Carter’s glance. “This old guy was pretty good at picking up my visions.” He touched one of the scars. “He thought that if I could see water, I could find it for him. Make him rich. He . . . didn’t believe me when I said I couldn’t. After that, I made up the projector,” Jeremy said softly.
“If you need to get onto the base, come to either gate,” Carter said. “I’ll leave orders to let me know. Any time.”
“Thanks.” Jeremy gave him a short, sharp nod. “Don’t forget,” he said. “People around here want something from you and you can’t give it to them, either.” He turned abruptly and vanished into the darkness without a backward glance.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
T
he beans at the west end of the field were ripening too early. Nita’s feet stirred up the brown dust of the path as she carried the yoked pails of freshly picked soybean pods back to the house. Dan thought it was because they weren’t getting enough water, that a feeder line must be plugged. The beans were too immature to dry, Dan had said, so they’d have to go fresh to the local market.
“So we pick beans, love,” Nita murmured to her daughter. “It beats chopping bushes.”
Rachel grinned and gurgled, waving her fists.
“Glad you agree.” Nita smiled, but it turned into a sigh.
Carter wouldn’t talk to Dan. The town was so full of anger that it made her sick to her stomach when she went in to the market. The smart thing to do was leave before things got worse. She shifted the pole across her shoulders, wishing suddenly and intensely that she could step back across time to the hills and David and the bees. She had been safe there. Nita reached the edge of the field and walked on out to the rim of the Gorge. Far below, she could see the rocky ledges that had once been Celilo Falls.
The picture was there, on Dan’s bedroom wall. Nita could believe in the river, looking at Jesse’s painting of the cascading water. Jesse had been remembering; it came through in the soft colors like a whisper of the past. The paintings reminded Nita of the man she had met by the cultert — Jeremy — and her vision of the river. She had had that same sense of past.
Thinking of river water, Nita rounded the corner of the house and stopped in surprise. A battered car stood in front of the porch. She hadn’t heard it come down the road, and didn’t recognize it. One of the Coalition people, probably. They came and went all the time. Nita thumped the bean pails down on the proch, lifted Rachel out of her sling, and opened the door.
“I wondered who the hell was sleeping in my bedroom.” A small, wiry woman looked up from the table. She had short-cropped, graying hair and the tattooed left forearm of a convoy trucker. Gold chains glinted at her throat and a half a dozen gemstones winked from the rim of her right ear. “So Danny’s finally gotten tired of sleeping alone, huh? He went for a young one, this time.” She looked Nita up and down as if she were a goat for sale in the market. “That his kid?”
“No, she is not.” Nita flushed. “And I work for Dan. He told me I could use your room.”
“Relax, honey. I don’t need it.” The woman stood, stretched like a cat and gave Nita a thin smile. “I’m Renny Warren,” she said. “I own this farm, in case Danny forgot to mention it.”
“Oh.” Nita blinked. “You’re Jesse’s daughter.”
“Yes.” Renny said the word casually, but the whip-flick of her resentment made Nita wince. Closed subject.
“Where is Danny, anyway?” Off meddling as usual?”
“He’s out picking beans.” Nita heard the stiffness in her voice and tried to hide it by settling Rachel on her quilt.
“The kid doesn’t look like him.”
“Because she’s not. Like I said.” Nita straightened, staring the small woman in the eye. “I’m not sleeping with him.”
“A wee bit defensive aren’t you?” Renny patted Nita’s cheek lightly.
She was enjoying this, Nita realized suddenly. She was trying hard to make Nita lose her temper. “Of course I’m defensive.” Nita let go of her anger and laughed. “Everybody in town thinks I’m in bed with Dan.” She smiled at the older woman. “I should wear a sign: ‘I am not Dan Greely’s lover.’”
“They wouldn’t believe you.”
“That’s why I don’t bother.” Nita smiled and a bit to her surprise the trucker returned it. “Can I get you water? We’ve got beans left from last night, if you’re hungry. And fresh tomatoes.”
“I’ll take the water. I eat a lot better than beans.” Renny leaned against the table, her eyes on Nita. “I hear The Dalles is taking on the Army.”
“I guess so.” Nita frowned as she filled a mug. “I’m staying out of it, thank you.”
“You think so? Living here with Danny?” She snorted. “I guess I’ll sell this place, buy some land in the Willamette Valley.” Renny sipped at her water, her expression casual. “They’re irrigating a lot of new acreage down there. Bushes are a hot crop and they don’t take as much labor as beans. I wouldn’t need anyone year round. I could contract for seasonal crews.”
Nita kept the smile on her face as she knelt to dangle the wooden beads for her daughter. She felt the needling edge beneath Renny’s words. She hid a smile at Renny’s exasperation. Renny was not getting what she wanted here. “Do you want me to go tell Dan you’re here?” she asked sweetly.
“No.” Renny laughed suddenly and set down the empty mug. “Tell him I’m in town, staying down at the truck plaza. I’ll be around.” She reached out to cup Nita’s chin in her hand. “You’re too good for either Danny or this dead town. If you get tired of digging dirt, let me know. You might make a good trucker. We could find out.”
Absently tickling her daughter, Nita watched Renny stride across the yard and climb into the car. She wasn’t quite sure what Renny had just offered.
*
She told Dan about Renny’s visit as they drove down to the market.
“You never know when Renny’s going to drop by.” Dan’s voice was neutral. “How did you get along?”
“All right, I think.” Nita shrugged. “I’m not sure why.”
Dan gave her a thoughtful, sideways look. “Renny’s touchy,” he said slowly. “We’ve never liked each other much. Sometimes I think the only reason she keeps the farm is that she owns it and I work for her and she likes that. I don’t see much of her.” He shook his head. “Have you seen my tool folder? The one that I keep in the glove box? It’s missing. I might have put it down when I was working on the pump.”
“I haven’t seen it,” Nita said absently. Dan felt sad and a little angry. About Renny? I am tired of knowing, she thought sullenly. She stared out the window at the concrete wall of the dam stretching across the riverbed. She could feel the town even before they reached the main street; tension hummed in the air like the buzz of a kicked beehive. Nita shivered and held Rachel tighter as her daughter began to squirm.
“It’s early for fresh beans.” Dan parked at the edge of the market lot. “We should do pretty well.”
Nita settled Rachel in her sling and lifted two pails of the green bean pods from the back of the truck. Dan picked up the other two pails and they walked down the block to the market. The noise made her fingers twitch.
“’Lo, Dan.” A chunky man in faded suncloth coveralls waved. “Hi, Nita. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you. There’s space here.” He waved at the asphalt beside the pile of soap blocks he was selling.
“How’re you doing, Pete?” Dan set his pails down.
Nita smiled grimly at the soap vendor as she put down her pails. His lust felt like sweaty fingers on her skin. She spread out a towel with an angry snap so that Dan could pile the beans onto it. If Pete didn’t knock it off, she’d kick his damn soap right into his lap. That should wilt him.
“Hi, Carl.” Dan straightened as the chief of police marched up. “You look a little grim this morning. Anything wrong?”
“Maybe.” Durer cast a quick, hard look at the obviously listening Pete. “Want to come along for a little ride with me? I’ve got something to show you.”
“Sure.” Dan’s voice had gone flat.
Trouble, Nita thought. Durer was really upset. Rachel kicked and squirmed, her face screwing up to cry as Nita tried to sooth her.
“I’ll be back in a little while, okay?” Dan stood, brushing dust from his jeans. “You don’t mind staying here by yourself?”
“I know how to sell beans, Dan.” Nita smiled for him. Pete was seething with curiosity and lust in about equal proportions. Nita turned her back on him and began to arrange the beans.
“See you in a little while.” Dan followed Durer.
Not soon enough, Nita thought grimly. Dan’s weariness hummed in the air, a weariness of spirit, she thought. He didn’t want to be doing this. He was trapped. Nita tucked Rachel into her lap. Trapped by her father’s ghost. “I think it’s time we moved on,” she whispered to Rachel, and pretended that she didn’t feel a pang at the thought.
The beans sold faster than she had hoped. Dan had been right — most crops weren’t quite ripe yet, and green soybeans made good eating. Dan had given Nita a list of the goods they needed and she was able to trade for most of them before noon. The three rough blocks of soap that Pete swapped her for a bowlful of beans smelled like rancid vegetable oil. They smelled like his constant, irritating lust. Nita wrinkled her nose at the bars as she tucked them into her pack. Too bad no one else had soap to trade today.
A tall, fair-haired man stopped in front of her blanket. “I’m looking for Dan Greely. Do you know where he is?”
Everyone in the whole damn riverbed knew she was living with him. Nita eyed the man. He was dressed very city. “He’s off with Chief Durer,” she said. “He’ll come back here eventually. If it’s important, you should probably wait.”
“Chief Durer?” The man’s eyes evaluated her. “Is there a problem?”
Nita blinked at the sudden satisfaction in the man. As if he was glad for the trouble? As if she had answered a question for him? Wariness tightened her stomach. “I don’t know.”
“Hell, yeah, there’s trouble.” Pete clucked his tongue from behind his soap pile. “Anytime Durer comes looking for Dan, you can bet your ass it’s no social call. The uniforms are probably cutting up rough again. They beat up some kid last week.” His eyes gleamed. “You hear about that?”
Nita squashed a fierce desire to kick the jerk. “I’ll tell him you were looking,” she said, ignoring Pete. “What was your name?” She smiled at him, hoping that she looked dumb and innocent. “Can he find you somewhere?”
“My name’s John Seldon. I’ll catch him later.” He wasn’t smiling, but he was still pleased inside.
Nita watched him walk away, trying to place the name. She had heard it . . . Then it clicked suddenly. Johnny. This was Carter’s friend; the one he cared about, or owed a debt to. He worked for the government. So why did he want to see Dan?
She definitely didn’t like him.
The sun rose higher, driving what little shade remained into hiding. Nita spread a sunscarf over her head and shoulders and leaned forward as she nursed Rachel, so that her shadow would shade her daughter. A knot of people had gathered on the far side of the lot. Nita heard laughter and applause and felt distant ripples of excited pleasure. Pete draped a dirty cloth over his pile of soap and wandered down the street to watch. Nita craned her neck, curious, but unwilling to disturb Rachel’s sleep. Some kind of entertainment?
The crowd broke up after a while, scattering among the stalls, still full of laughter and good feelings. It was a nice change. Nita stretched cautiously and winced. Her right foot was asleep and her shirt was soggy with sweat beneath Rachel’s sleeping warmth.
“Hi, I’d about given up on seeing you again.”
Nita looked up. “Jeremy.” She smiled, pleased to see him again. “Was that you, down the block? Making people laugh?”
“Uh-huh.” He sat down beside her, his sky-colored eyes on her face. “I thought I scared you away, on the riverbank.”
“You almost did.” Rachel was waking up, hungry again, and Nita lifted her shirt, glad that Pete hadn’t returned. “I haven’t been hiding from you. I was at the market last week, but I didn’t see you. I . . . don’t like coming into town.”
“I bet.” His smile lit his eyes like sunlight. “Even I can feel the tension. It must be rough for you.”
“It’s . . . kind of wearing. Yes.” It made her feel funny, talking about it like this. Sometimes David had asked her what she heard in the bees’ song, but that was all. He didn’t ask her about what she heard from people, or how it felt to hear it, and that silence had become hers, too. She had never really put it into words before. “You made people feel better with your show. I appreciated it.” She wrinkled her nose.
“I’m good for something, I guess.” His smile was crooked now.
Nit sucked in a quick breath. At the end of the block, where the street ran up into the hillside, the ground had gone suddenly green with grass. Tree branches, heavy with leaves, swayed above the roof of the supermarket. Tiny white flowers bloomed beside her, poking up through the cracks in the parking lot’s surface. “It’s beautiful,” Nita murmured. She tried to touch one of the blossoms, but felt only gritty asphalt beneath her fingertips. Jeremy was staring at it, bitter inside. Sad. “I’m glad I can share this,” she told him as the green vision faded. “I can tell Rachel how it used to be, when she’s older. She needs to know. It’s like you pull a moment out of the past, spread it out for us to see.”
“For you, maybe.” But a slow smile lighted his pale eyes and eased some of the bitterness inside him.
“Excuse me?” A stocky woman with a pack slung over one shoulder had paused in front of them. “Do you have any beans left at all?” She frowned into one of the empty pails. “I meant to stop by earlier, but I got busy talking.”
“I have a few left.” Nita reached for the pail beside her and tilted it to show the woman the pound or so of pods remaining in the bottom.
“That’ll have to do.” The woman gave her a broad smile. “I can even give you scrip.”
Nita wrapped the beans in the faded piece of cloth that the woman handed her. As she started to put them into the woman’s pack, she froze, hand poised in midair, her heart contracting.
“Something wrong?” the woman asked.
“Where did you get that pack?” Nita asked.
“I bought it.” The woman eyed her warily. “Julio has a little secondhand store in Mosier. He comes into town for the weekend market. Is it yours? Was it stolen?”
The weight of the heavy blue cloth made Nita’s fingers tremble. She turned the flap over slowly. The letters D A had been worked on it in bright green thread. Nita touched the slightly crooked curve of the D, tears burning her eyes, threatening to spill over.
“What is it? Nita?” Jeremy touched her shoulder.
“David Asher,” Nita whispered. “This is David’s pack.” They were both staring at her, uncomprehending. “I’ve been looking for him.” Nita spoke past the lump in her throat. “My husband. He was supposed to meet me here.”