Chapter
1
Easy
Money
Heavenly
Father, are you really there?
And
do you hear and answer every child's prayer?
“A Child's Prayer,” verse 1
Children's Songbook
--Janice Kapp Perry
(used by permission)
Margret DeVray was out of money. A crumpled scrap of paper in Alyssa's handwriting lay in her pocket, with the name
of some town still too far away, where friends might be, and shelter. New Hope. Alyssa’s gift of all her savings had gotten Margret and her two kids, Marcus
and Natty, from South Central City to West
Des Moines.
Margret’s ex-husband Ralph was far behind, and her moves were untraceable. She breathed easier.
One phone call, three seconds of his distinctive voice, and she ran like a
scared fox.
I
found you, Margret, he said, gloating. Did you think I'd forget? She
shuddered, remembering, and crossed herself; what if
he hadn’t called at all, and appeared at the door before she could escape?
She
had trusted too much in the Gardens, staying too long, forgetting the day of
her discovery might come. The Gardens felt so safe and hidden.
She
wouldn't make that mistake again. If Ralph
was still trying to carry out death threats after four years, he wasn't likely
to stop.
She
wished for the millionth pointless time that she'd never gotten involved with
that psychopath. You can't pick 'em by their looks, that’s for sure. And she got pregnant with
Natty on the first time with Ralph. Rotten luck. Marcus’
father had refused to marry her, and Papa was already angry with Margret’s behavior and her single, irresponsible
motherhood, embarrassing the family and casting off her devout Catholic
upbringing. Ralph was willing...so she did what she thought was the right thing
this time, even though Papa hated ‘that nasty white boy,’ and she wasn’t that
much in love with him. She didn’t catch on how twisted the man’s mind was until
after the wedding. He changed instantly, scarring her leg on their wedding
night with a vicious knife wound, his first threat against her ever leaving
him.
She
escaped when Marcus was four and Natty
was just learning to crawl, and they lived in fear of his finding them ever
since.
Stay
focused. She couldn't wallow in the past; survival was key.
Rotten as it was, the present wasn't the nightmare that living with him had
been.
She
couldn’t settle in and get a job just yet. She had to keep running. And most
places wanted work history, citizenship, and ID, which she either didn’t have
or couldn’t afford to give out. It left tracks. After a single, failed attempt,
she discarded prostitution as a viable source of income; she just couldn’t go
that far. Outright theft wasn’t that easy, either, with electronic surveillance
everywhere. Strange that sex could legally be sold for any product or price,
but picking a pocket or snitching a few apples for her babies would send her
straight to prison.
Article
28 had killed off charities, soup kitchens, homeless shelters. She had little
choice but to keep moving, to avoid getting arrested for transience as well.
She
almost thought of giving up...but they would take her children away and she
couldn’t bear to lose them. They slept behind buildings, industrial parks,
anywhere they could find to hide for a day, and move on, hopefully one day
closer to their destination.
She
stooped to foraging out of dumpsters behind restaurants at night while the
children slept.
Marcus woke up slightly when she returned. “Are you back, Mama? Did the
restaurant give you something yummy?”
“They
sure did. We’ll eat in the morning.” She wrapped her arm around him, running
her fingers through his wavy black hair.
“Sing
me a song, Mama,” Marcus mumbled,
drowsy.
She
hummed a song that reminded her of Bert’s
constant gospel singing of Amazing Grace. She never learned all the words, yet
the tune calmed her and her harried breathing slowed.
She
told her kids, the restaurants gave us leftovers, weren't they nice? Neither Marcus or
Natty complained. Much of it was barely touched; bread, salads, even fresh
fruit. Not perfect enough for pampered taste buds, but it fed them well. She
discovered that cold salmon in beurre blanc at seven
a.m. wasn’t so bad after all.
One
night the trash pickup came before she did; the dumpsters were all empty. They
hiked at least three miles through back alleys the next day and still she found
nothing. By lunch their bellies were long empty, and Natty complained the
loudest.
She
took a risk. She walked the kids to a large grocery store. “Here's the plan. We
go in, and put stuff in the cart like we're shopping, eh? You follow?”
Marcus nodded.
“We'll
snack as we go. I'll say we're paying for it on the way out. Then we'll duck
into the bathroom, ditch the cart and leave.”
“But
Mama, that's stealing,” Marcus said.
She
hoped he wouldn't figure it out, but she knew he was too smart for that. “I
know.”
“You
taught us never to steal.”
“I
know that too. Marcus, baby, this is
an emergency. I don't have any money left or any job and it's the best I can do
today. Just this once, it will be okay.”
Marcus thought long about it. She could see the turmoil that brewed in his
amber eyes. Eight years old and so pure. I was mean by his age, she
thought. My sweet baby--he'd rather starve than do anything wrong.
Natty,
only four, whined in her ear.
“What
happened to the restaurant people?” Marcus
asked.
“They
didn't have any leftovers today.” That was true, in a way. “It won't look like
stealing,” she added.
“There's
no money at all?”
“None.
Baby sister can't go hungry, Marcus.
Neither can you.”
He looked
at Natty. “I can't think of another way, either.” He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Good
boy.” She hated tarnishing his natural goodness.
On
the way in, a security guard asked for ID as she put Natty in the cart.
“Yeah,
I got ID, what's it to you?” Margret
asked.
“Sorry,
ma'am, you look--May I see it, please?”
“Excuse
me? I don't look like I can shop here? I've had a hard day, all right,
Godzilla? I work graveyard, then come home and clean house before I go to my
other job. My man don't do squat and I don't get much sleep. I don't need this
routine every time I come in here. This is your last warning, hear?”
“But
I've never seen you before.” He furrowed his brow, a single, furry line
wandering across his forehead.
“And
you work every shift?” She had to look way up. He was big; she surprised
herself to be taking this on. Must be desperation.
“I'm
sorry, ma'am. I was gonna say you look sick is all.”
Her
Hispanic accent came on thick. “Listen, you racist pig, I am way too tired to
put up with this crap. Sorry if I look so bad to you.”
His
eyes narrowed. “I don't like how you called me Godzilla. Your
ID, please?”
“It's
buried in my hand, idiot. This one.” She held up her
right hand, middle finger extended, and moved past before he forced the issue.
“He
wasn't nice,” Marcus said.
“He's
prejudiced because we're Mexican. Remember that.”
“I
thought we were black.”
“We're
both. He's still racist.”
“I
want an orange.” Natty leaned out. “Over there, Mama.”
Margret mumbled to Marcus, “Follow my
lead. Don't stuff yourselves. Watch me.” Her mouth watered as she piled oranges
into a produce bag. The citrus scent clung to her fingertips.
Margret compared canned goods as if checking for sales. They accepted the
tidbit samples employees handed out, and Margret put packages of the samples
she liked in her cart, making every effort to be polite and gracious, painfully
aware how bedraggled and smelly they were.
Marcus held up gourmet cookies. “Can I have these?”
“Not
this time. We'll get these instead.” She grabbed the store brand and tossed it
in the cart.
“Can
I have one now?” he asked, hopeful.
“Go
ahead.”
Soon
the cart was full of discreetly opened packages of prepared food mingled with
produce and meats; it looked normal enough. She didn't fuss when Natty whined.
Nobody messed with them, whether in spite of or because of their ratty
appearance, she didn't know.
Natty
announced, “I have to go potty, Mama!”
“Is
your tummy full, honey?” Margret
whispered.
“I hafta go,” Natty said, bouncing in the cart.
“Come
on, Marcus. Time's
up.”
The
restroom was in the back. She left the cart and they went in. “Come with me, Marcus.”
“I'm
too big for the girls' room, Mama.”
It
was unlike him to complain, and she hadn't expected that to be an issue. Her
whisper was harsh. “I'm sorry, but you gotta go with
us. I can't risk losing you!”
“Okay.”
He stared at his feet.
She
washed their hair, faces, and hands in the sink. She had grabbed a brush; she
should have added a pair of scissors. Their hair was more matted than she
realized, and she could have cut it all off.
Natty
had fun standing under the automatic dryer, giggling.
Margret crossed herself, grateful they were alone and undisturbed. They went
out. With Natty balanced on her hip, holding Marcus'
hand, she turned down a different aisle toward the exit.
“Miss?”
Sunshine
beckoned through the plate glass doors. She squinted.
“Miss?”
the voice repeated.
Surely
he couldn't mean her. But it was more natural to look back than to plow
on ahead. So she turned. There was a man pushing her cart. Caramba!
Her cart. Her eyes went wide in horror.
That was it, opened packages and all. She stopped short and held her breath.
“Yeah?”
“Did
you forget this?” He had a warm, friendly smile.
She
trembled. Marcus squeezed her hand,
their knuckles going white.
“No.”
It wasn't exactly a lie; they hadn't forgotten. “I needed a certain brand and
they don't have it here. Do you mind not getting into my business?”
He
persisted. “I'm almost positive I saw you with this cart. I noticed you back in
produce.”
“You
noticed me back in produce.” It occurred to her that maybe he was single. But
she was an unlikely pickup, ratty and stinking and dragging two kids. “Tell me
what you really want, and I'll see what I can do, buddy. You work here?” Maybe
he was plainclothes--even worse.
“No,
no, I don't work for...Listen. I don't know how to say this, but I can help,”
he whispered.
“Help
with what?” She kept a guarded eye.
His
voice stayed at a whisper. “You can take all this
home. I mean it.”
“What
makes you think I want it?” She tossed back her curls.
“I
saw you eating, back there...the children...” His smile faded. “I'm sorry, I
thought maybe...”
“Wait,”
Margret said. Maybe he was for real.
“Don't go. We could work something out.” She looked him over. Back to Plan A. Or C. Whatever that
once-failed idea was. He wasn't muy
good-looking, but not bad. Even on ordinary non-financial terms he might do.
She shifted Natty on her hip.
“We
can discuss arrangements,” she smiled.
“Great!
Let me take this through the line for you.”
“No,
we'll never eat it all.”
“Your
kids are much too thin. Take it.”
They rolled the loaded cart out into the
parking lot. “Where's your car?” he asked.
Margret laughed. “My car? Look at me! What planet are
you from?”
He
smiled. “Bus, then?”
They
headed for the stop at the far end of the parking lot.
“But
this is the long-distance line to Sioux
City...?”
“I
know,” Margret said. “So what's your
name?”
“David. And yours?”
“Margarita Juarez.” Marcus
tugged on her shirt. She waved him off with a shh.
“That's
a pretty name,” David said.
They
reached the stop. Margret seated Marcus with his sister and fished out the cookies.
“Eat. Watch your sister. Natty, be good.” She kissed her daughter on the chin.
“I'm going to talk to David some more,
all right?”
She
caught him by the hand and pulled him out of earshot. “Now,
about those arrangements.” She forced a smile. “You'll get more than you
paid for. I'm very good, eh. And that food's worth a lot to me. Anything you
like, you got it. I can do it all.”
“Excuse
me?”
“What
you see is what you get.” She tilted her head, showed off her body. “Does your
car have tinted windows? Or I'll go with you wherever--your place, a hotel,
just so my kids don't know, eh? And the deal's off if you want the
kids.” She had to be clear; that was how her first attempt went sour.
“Wait--you
think I want sex for this?”
“Buddy,
nobody hands out that much money.” She folded her arms. “What else do I have to
pay with? Nada.”
“You're
not paying me back, and definitely not that way.”
She
was half insulted. “Why, are you gay?”
He
was flustered. “Margarita, that's not my way any more than it is yours.”
“You
think I don't want to, is that it?”
“That's
beside the point.”
“Then
what is your point?” she asked.
He
paused. “You don't have a home, do you?”
“What
do you care?”
“Tell
me the truth. Please,” David said.
Margret sighed. “We're traveling.”
“Where?
And with what means?”
“I
don't owe you answers about my personal life, mister.”
“That
bus is coming in a few minutes, and you're not getting on, are you? You don't
have anywhere to go or any money to get there.”
“I
do too,” she retorted. “Listen. David.
I'm extremely grateful, but we were fine. If you don't want to trade, fine. But
don't bug me about my life, eh? I don't owe you that. Take my offer or
leave me alone.”
To
her surprise and shame, he pulled out his wallet and took out her several
bills, shoving the money into her hand.
“I'm
not taking any more of your money unless I work. I’m a seamstress. I can do
lots of stuff, mending, laundry, gardening. Anything.” She tried handing the money back, but torn by
need, her hand wouldn't budge.
“Just
get your kids to safety, Margarita,” he said, closing his hands around hers.
“Promise me.”
“Sure,
I promise.”
“Hurry.
You do that, call it working for me, and we're even.” His broad smile returned,
with straight, white teeth. He walked away, back through the parking lot.
She
looked closer; the bills weren't twenties, they were hundreds. She gasped. “David--wait!”
But
he didnt' turn back, and she didn't run after him to
see if he'd made a mistake. She shoved the money in her jeans pocket and
hurried back to her kids. No sense arguing with fate.
“What
were you fighting about?” Marcus
asked.
“We
weren't fighting. He gave us bus money. Want to ride the bus?”
“Yeah!”
Natty brightened up.
“See,
baby, we didn't have to steal after all!”
“I
knew it would be okay,” Marcus said,
his eyes misty, relieved.
“What
do we do with all this food?” She looked through her bags, nervous laughter
escaping her lips.
“Eat
it!” Natty squealed and clapped her hands.
“Yes,
sweetie, we'll eat it!” Margret hugged
her daughter.
In
her effort to seem like a normal shopper, she had thrown a lot of food in the
cart that she couldn't use. Plus, ten heavy sacks of groceries was too much to carry far. If she had only understood, she'd
have gone back and picked different stuff. Raw roast beef.
Rice, potatoes, onions. Tin cans--and no can opener. Stupida.
She
separated the things she couldn't cook, carry, or eat raw from the practical
stuff, and kept six bags. If only she hadn't rushed. She was grateful, but
kicked herself for not doing better.
Well.
It got them out of town with money left over, even though bus fare wasn't
cheap. Their legs could use the break. And they could eat a real dinner that
evening.
The
bus west to Sioux City
came up with a whoosh and squeal of brakes, and they climbed aboard.
#
As
they traveled, a passenger had a coughing fit. The bus stopped. The man was
forcibly hauled off by other passengers and left at the side of the road. Margret hushed Marcus'
questions, frightened. “Whatever you do, babies, don't cough, eh?”
The
other passengers wore fearful, nervous expressions, and no one argued the man's
treatment was unjust. She was silent. There were times questions did more harm
than good.
#
They
disembarked at Shelby, Iowa. The passengers acted so strange;
snatches of whispers made out Central City like it was the source of ultimate
evil. She got too nervous to stay on the bus any longer.
Best
no one knew where they came from.
#
“Kids
ain’t allowed in this pub,” the bartender said, an older man with bushy, white
eyebrows.
“Give
me a minute, I’m watching this.” Margret
indicated the TV screen. Something big was up--she had to know what it meant .
The
broadcast was unreal. She had missed something important. Some disease taking over Central City. And half the City was
burning.
“You’re
not drinking. Give me a reason to let you stay.” He held out his hand.
She
ignored the gesture--she wasn’t about to pay to breathe the air. “I ain’t heard
any of this, all right?”
“Ain’t
you got a TV?” he frowned.
“No.
Gimme a few minutes, eh.”
Marcus sat on a barstool, looking down at his feet. Margret
held Natty on her lap next to him.
“What’s
Mandy Tyler doing as anchor?” she asked. She was just a regular reporter.
“Where
you been, lady? They’re all dead.”
Dead?
Mandy
Tyler’s
face showed terror. That woman usually had a face of stone, except for that
polite TV-smile, no matter what story she covered. Except this time. “A
special election is announced--”
“What?”
Margret asked.
The
bartender said. “It’s that toxic flu thing going on. Man, lady you are
out of it. It’s killing everybody in Central. President
Garrison, reporters,
politicians--didn’t you see the Palace blow up? General
Horne’s ordered a
quarantine. Nobody goes in or out.”
That
explained the odd behavior of the people on the bus. Margret
caught her breath in a sudden, sharp gasp.
Alyssa-- Bert--
Papa! All her estranged siblings,
cousins, aunts and uncles. Multitudes of others she knew. Dead?
Ralph? A shiver ran up her spine.
“Tyler’s
on the air because she was on location when the disease started and didn't
catch it. The usual guy, old Everton, he died right away.”
“I
miss Alyssa, Mama,” Natty said out of
the blue, burying her head in Margret’s
chest. Sometimes the girl had uncanny timing. “Can we go see Alyssa?”
Margret could ran her fingers through her child’s
soft, wavy hair. She blinked away tears. “Not now,” she said, finally, when she
could speak without choking up.
She
could barely comprehend the scope of the destruction.
Mandy
Tyler
went on, “General Leopold
Horne has requested surviving
citizens of Central City to check in at designated sites. At these checkpoints,
we can begin restoring your lost information. Your citizenship and rights may
be lost otherwise. Main Central City servers have exploded, causing permanent
data loss.”
The
picture zoomed in on a completely destroyed location in Central City. Margret gasped, recognizing famous landmarks
smoldering in ruins.
The
bartender said, “You’re too young, but I remember when Blankenship nuked L.A.
Couldn’t get clear pictures through the ash, but that was worse than this,
except for casualties.”
The
news anchor listed off checkpoints from a long list. A map showed up in a corner
of the screen.
“I
hope we’re not a checkpoint,” the bartender said. “I don’t want all them people coming here.”
“From
satellite photos, we estimate a minimum of two million lives have been lost to
this disease. There is worldwide panic that this toxic flu virus will spread
into an ELE. General Horne reassures us our fears are
unfounded. The CDC is containing it within the quarantine boundaries. If this
disease proves to be genetically engineered, as we all suspect...”
“You
ain’t from Central, are you?” The bartender looked at her hard.
The
question startled her. There was only one right answer. “Never
been there.”
She
gave Marcus a fierce look as his mouth
dropped open. He shut it.
He
said, “They say it spreads only by water and body fluids--but they don’t know
squat. Germs go everywhere.”
The
news anchor continued, “As viewers well recall, rather than facing a second
Civil War after passing of Article 28, President James A. Garrison allowed Utah
to quietly secede from the Union. Today we
have confirmed that four other states--Florida,
Montana, Nevada,
and Arizona--have submitted petitions this
week to follow Utah
in secession. This request comes now, not over religious issues, but through
the desire of these States to govern themselves until
the leadership crisis is resolved. Again we remind you to vote in the upcoming
election--”
The
bartender scoffed. “Ain’t nobody running against Horne, what’s the point?”
Video
came on the screen of marching soldiers in fatigues, tanks rolling in near the
southern outskirts of the City.
“U.S. troops have been mobilized to
patrol the quarantine perimeters under the direction of General
Horne. His expected attack on the Middle East has been temporarily postponed due to this
major repositioning of troops. The downside to this is that the oil embargo
will continue to drag on. Gasoline prices have suffered yet another sharp
hike...”
“The UN is searching for motive among
remaining terrorist factions. We do know the organism was seeded inside a
government-owned reservoir east of city limits, pointing suspicion to someone
or some organization on our own U.S.
soil...”
After
repeating the list of checkpoint stations once more, the broadcast switched
over to local news. Sports. People were playing
organized sports in the middle of all this?
“You
got your news report, lady. That’s all the patience I have,” the bartender
said.
“I’m leaving, all right? Thanks.”
“Mama,
you told a lie in there,” Marcus said
as they left the pub.
She
groaned. “Weren’t you listening? He would have hurt us if he knew we were from
Central! Couldn’t you tell he was scared?”
“It
was still a lie,” he said, sullen.
“I
wish me and your old pal Bert hadn’t
taught you so good, baby.” A wan smile flickered across her face. “I protected
us. We’re not sick. He wouldn’t have cared.” She hated how every day it was
harder to justify herself to him.
#
Margret decided to head to the countryside and come up with a makeshift camp.
She dared not waste precious money on soft motel beds. Tempting,
but stupid. They'd been fine on cement, and dirt would be an
improvement.
At a
convenience store north of town she bought a lighter, for starting fires, and a
few other things that looked useful. She asked casually, “I'm looking for a
place called New Hope?”
The
clerk wrinkled her nose. “That's Mormon country. You one of
them?”
“Do
I look like it?” Margret laughed. Her
multiple earrings jangled.
The
woman sized her up. “Come to think of it, no. What do you want to go up there
for?”
“I'm
just curious. Aren't they weird?” Margret
only remembered Alyssa saying her
friends were Christian, not tacking on
Mormon. She narrowed one eye. Maybe she should stop for good in Shelby.
“It's
hardly a tourist attraction,” the woman said. “They're not so
interesting as the Amish. You want to see different, go see them. They ain't too far neither. Mormons use electricity and
computers and all that, and their clothes ain't even too funny. If you ask me,
they just got a bad deal from that Article 28. Those I've seen seem almost
normal. Nice folk.”
“You've
been there?”
“Nah. We
get a few come through here on their way to or from Utah Nation. You go back
out north on 59 about 80 miles. It's northwest of Holstein
a ways. They say you can't miss it.”
“Thanks.
Come on, Marcus. Natty.”
She'd
forgotten to watch them. Marcus
clutched a comic book in his hands, and Natty had her grubby fingers firmly
attached to a package of bubble gum, which she was working on opening. “Marcus, weren't you watching your sister? I'm sorry,
ma'am, they know better. Come on.”
“Okay,
Mom.” Marcus put the book on the rack,
with some effort, and went to the door.
“It's
all right.” The woman leaned over the counter. “I had kids. I know how it is.”
Margret reached to separate the package of gum from Natty's
determined fingers, but as she did, something softened. They had so little for
fun, and nothing lately. They were only kids.
She
pulled out a little more of the precious money. “I'll take the gum. And the comic book.”
Marcus let out a startled noise. “No, Mama! I was only looking, honest.”
“I
know, baby. Let me do this, okay?”
He
shook his head no, his eyes like saucers.
“Go
give it to the lady so she can ring it up.”
Hesitating
and open-mouthed, he did so.
On
the way out, she mussed up his hair. “Smile, baby.
Live a little.” A sudden sob choked her throat, but she held it back so he
wouldn’t hear.
“All
right, Mama.” He looked up with a wide grin, clutching the book with both hands
like it was solid gold.
Knowing
they were close to their destination, with easy directions, made her feel
better than she had in weeks. They should walk to New Hope from here, saving the rest of the
money for food, but she made up her mind to try. It was a real place, even if
it was filled with Mormons.
Of all the luck. Had she known beforehand, she may not have worked so hard to get to New Hope.
On
the good side, Ralph would never dream
of looking there. And the Mormons ought to be friendly, if she
remembered right.
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