Another Midnight Flight

“There. Mind the cables, mind the cables!” Cyrus said, as his brothers loaded the rest of the prototype’s power system in the back of the Chevy. Once it was in there, he cinched up the tarps as best he could, while Helena got the other side.

Across the way, his sisters were working in a line from the door to the barn, taking everything that Mom threw into Ruth’s arms and over to the pile of luggage and boxes. Say this for Judith Colfax; it had taken longer for Dad to convince her they had to go, then it had to get things squared away.

And if Cyrus was being honest, there wasn’t THAT much to square away. Seven years of drought had done a number on the Colfax family fortunes and heirlooms.

Gravel crunched as headlights flared at the start of the drive, and Cyrus stopped, looked to Helena. Her eyes were wide and white in the lamplight. Cyrus looked toward his Dad, who was already running over to the barn to get the old double-barreled shotgun.

Cyrus unholstered the Garand from the back of the gun rack, clicking the magazine into place. First thing he’d done once they started the exodus was go and get the ammunition. He waved Helena back and away, and put the Chevy between himself and the oncoming vehicles.

There were only two of them. This was probably who they were expecting, but just in case it wasn’t…

The horn sounded. Cyrus recognized it and relaxed, lowered the gun. They were safe.

Barry Dyson’s battered Ford Super Deluxe rolled to a stop with his ancient truck parking just a little ways off, and Barry and his wife got out of their respective vehicles.

A smaller figure wormed her way out from the car and ran immediately towards the barn to join the other girls, who grabbed luggage and piled it into the back of the truck. Beth had done her job and summoned help.

Dad met Barry at the barn door while Barry’s wife started questioning the girls, so Cyrus figured things were in hand. He put the rifle back, and did one last double-check on the equipment. And then he reached into the cab, and drew out a long cardboard tube. And from within that, he pulled out old paper.

Not all the Colfax family heirlooms had been sold. And not all of them were leaving on borrowed transportation.

Back when they’d still had a public library, the head librarian had pestered Steve Colfax to donate the old map of Cooperston. But for whatever reason, Steve had stood firm. And now Cyrus was glad he did. The map had been made back in the day, back before the highways and roads had gone in. And it showed the surrounding terrain to a degree that most newer maps didn’t. Previous generations of Colfaxes had left little notes here and there. In fact, Cyrus was pretty sure that a few scrawled lines and cribbed bits in his grandfather’s handwriting were talking about a prohibition-era rumrunner route that he’d probably been paid well to overlook.

So Cyrus felt little guilt in marking a neat X by the creek nearest his house.

“What are you doing with that?” Beth asked, and Cyrus jumped, almost tore the paper with the pen.

“Triangulating,” Cyrus said, shooting her a glare, and readjusting the map. “I don’t have time to explain it—”

“I do,” Catalina said, coming around to look at the other side of the map. “Because it’s very simple. Your brother disappeared here.” She tapped the X with one fingernail. “Carmina disappeared around where Bunktown is. There have been other disappearances, yes? Once he finds all of them and whatever that thing that we loaded does what it does, there will be something at the center, yes? That will be where to find the children?”

“I… yeah,” Cyrus said, staring at her. “Were you talking with Bartleby?”

“No. But it’s obvious how to go about it. And it isn’t enough to just know roughly where they disappeared from, or you wouldn’t be taking that equipment in the back. You need it to get precise measurements, I’m guessing.”

Cyrus didn’t know for sure that he needed precise measurements, but he knew he only had one shot at this, and he didn’t want to fuck it all up by NOT getting precise measurements.

“Yeah, that’s about the size of it.” he said, glancing backward at the sound of Mom’s voice, saw her snapping orders to the rest of the children, and them scrambling aboard the vehicles that the Dysons had brought. “And now you two need to clear out. Tell Dad to wrap things up, I literally need him to ride shotgun.”

Neither of them budged.

“Christ.” Cyrus leaned on the car, felt his legs wobble, and caught it, one handed. With the other he pulled off his glasses, and rubbed his eye. “Okay, look. There’s only room in the truck for three people—”

“I can sit on someone’s lap!” Beth blurted out. “Please! I want to save Rusty too!”

“You have five adults and three cars,” Catalina pointed out. “And I don’t know how to drive so I can’t take children to safety. And I wouldn’t, anyway, because you have a big family and a ton of luggage, so there’s no room for me. Better to come with you.”

“I don’t… Jesus. Beth, no, Mom would skin me if I brought you. And those fuck… hnnn, those idiots,” he caught himself. “There’s a lot of old frustration bein’ taken out tonight. Lot of idiots got their blood up, and me to blame. They’re probably gonna try and kill me. They’ll do worse to you. Both of you. And they might feel guilt about it later, but there’s enough drunk and angry and mean up in’em right now that it won’t stop’em.”

Catalina shrugged. “I knew it would get bad the moment all the farms arranged to pay us on the same day. But he has a point.” her eyes flicked down to Beth, and she knelt. “You have to go. Because if we fail, who else would believe us? Who else would be able to get help, and find others?”

Beth’s lip trembled, as she stared into Catalina’s face. Her mouth set in that way that she’d learned from her Mom, that Cyrus was all too familiar with. His heart sank, and he knew he’d have to leave her to Catalina, that there was no time for the arguments that would follow.

But to his surprise, she simply nodded and ran towards the rapidly-diminishing pile of luggage. Cyrus breathed a sigh of relief… a sight that turned into an alarmed squawk as a hand settled on his shoulder.

“You packed up, boy?”

“I am.” Cyrus turned his head, stared at his Dad.

This wasn’t the pale, shiftless, sleeping until two in the afternoon drunkard that he’d come to know after the last five years.

Dad stared back, grinned. “Something in my teeth? Come on, we’re burning moonlight.”

“Give me one last second,” Cyrus said. “Look. Catalina, I can’t let you go into danger—”

There was no one behind him.

“She’s in the truck,” Dad whispered.

“She’s in the truck?” Cyrus whispered back.

“Yep.”

They looked at the truck.

Catalina looked back, arms folded, from the driver’s seat. Then she shrugged, turned the keys in the ignition, and gave Cyrus a look that said she was pretty happy where she was sitting, and would be distinctly less happy at any sort of relocation attempt.

“She’s in the truck…” Cyrus muttered. “Can we get her OUT of the truck?”

“Son, piece of advice.” Dad said, giving his shoulder one last squeeze. “A woman parks herself in your truck, you let her sit just as long as she likes. Lot less trouble all the way around.” He slid in next to the passenger seat, arranging the shotgun on his lap and slamming the door.

“THEY’RE in the truck.” Cyrus squeezed his eye shut. “All right. Fine. But I’m driving!”

*****

They drove with lights off, avoiding the highway. It took more time, but Cyrus knew that the only chance of getting this done without bloodshed was to keep quiet as long as possible.

About half an hour in, they were rounding a dusty hillside road that only got used during harvest time, and saw a parade of flashing lights down on the flatlands, heading east. Heading in the general direction of the Colfax homestead.

“Figures they’d send Buxley in first,” Cy snorted. “Arrest me, get me in a cell and away from a rifle, so I can have an accident during the night. Y’know, like fall downstairs onto a bunch of bullets going up. Or maybe just hand me over to the Bridgers for a hemp necktie.”

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“Naw, that’s not how Buford operates,” Dad said, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. “He’s a fucking coward, always has been. He’d probably try to pin the transformer fire on you, kill two birds with one stone that way. And he’d need you alive for that.”

“Doesn’t seem like the cowardly way,” Cy said, watching the cars go by, and only restarting the engine once they’d been gone for a good thirty count. “I know how this place operates. The mob didn’t get blood at Bunktown. They’ll want ours. The sheriff would make himself real unpopular if he tried to keep me alive.”

“Trust me, Buford’s more afraid of outsiders with authority poking around in his business. They might find that bunch of dirty laundry in his closet. The kind of laundry that’s got eyeholes and smells like the smoke from burning crosses, I mean.”

“Klan?” Cyrus lifted an eyebrow, as he eased the car out onto the road.

“Like father, like son. Don’t think Buford was as gung-ho about it as his father, though,” Steve tapped his teeth with one nicotine-stained nail. “The man’s more about money and keeping what he’s got. Mind you, he ain’t alone in that. Lot of folks around here get fixed on that last notion. Anyway, if Buford’s a problem later, you let me handle him. I know where a few of his family’s skeletons are buried. Literally.”

“I might have a few things to use, too,” Catalina offered. “Depending on who we run into. The farmers talk a lot around us, they forget that a lot of us understand English pretty well. Talk gets around and I have a few rumors that some people might not want let out.”

“I mean shit, sure, if we get backed into a corner it’s worth a try,” Cyrus said. “But listen, there’s at least one guy out there that won’t work on. Dad, if we run into Benjy Custer, and he’s any type of armed, we’re probably gonna have to shoot first.”

Dad looked away. “Hopefully it ain’t gonna come to that.”

Years back, when he was younger and stupider and arguing with Dad about everything under the sun, Cyrus had thought him just about the weakest man he knew. Dad didn’t like to fight. Avoided it as much as possible.

A few years in Korea had made Cyrus see that in a different light. And yeah, Dad was weak in a lot of ways, but… well, he was here.

That maybe didn’t make up for when he spent Cyrus’ sixteenth birthday away from home, drinking it up with his buddies. But it was pretty close, all things considered.

Cyrus shoved the thought away, and followed the gravel road out of the hills. Towards that faint glow and plume of smoke that billowed black against the stars.

*****

Say this for the new deal buildings; their asbestos-lined frames didn’t burn near as well as the mob had hoped. Most still stood, blackened and charred, but intact. It was small comfort; the smell of ash and smoke was still enough to bring back old ghosts in Cyrus’ mind, and he took it slow, picking his way around the perimeter of Bunktown, looking for sentries that he knew weren’t likely to be there. No one watched, as far as he could tell, and after a few minutes he ran out of mental excuses to stay back, and rolled the truck as close to the remnants of the school shack as he could.

The shacks that the migrants built had the opposite problem as the new deal buildings. They’d burned, and well, but there was nothing left of them and the scrubby, sandy soil was too sparse to keep the flames going. Still, the heat was palpable even from here, and the fire they’d set in the transformer station was smoking like the devil’s chimney, flickering with embers whenever it parted enough for them to get a view.

“Do you think you can find the spot?” Cyrus asked.

“If not, we’ve come a long way for nothing,” Catalina said, tying a scarf around her lower face. “I’ll run to the river to wet this down, then see if I can find the place now that everything’s covered in tracks and cinders and mess.”

“We only need a rough area for it,” Cyrus said. “I hope. The firelight might skew visibility… shit. Only one way to find out. Dad, go with her. I’ll get the prototype set up.”

Dad frowned. “Before we do, something occurred to me. That device of yours gobbles up a whole mess of power. Normally ain’t a problem, here, but…”

They looked up at the smoke.

A chunk of wires and girders creaked, gave way, and crashed to the bottom of the enclosure.

They looked at each other.

Cyrus nodded. “I thought of that. That’s why I threw the spare truck battery in the back.”

“Don’t know if that’s got enough. Your device there is downright thirsty.”

“It’s not. It’ll give us a few seconds, at most. So we need that spot. And we don’t have time, so please, go!” Midway through his command, he was coughing, his eye tearing up. The wind had shifted, and oh, did this smell hurt to smell again.

At least it’s not my own skin sizzling, he thought, as the other two ran into the lighter ring of the haze, and he grabbed his cane and stumped back to the truck’s bed…

…only to jump back and almost fall flat, scrabbling to catch himself on his cane as a familiar head poked out from under the tarp.

“So what should I do?” Beth asked.

When Cyrus got his breath back and was semi-confident he wasn’t going to collapse, he barked, “You can go home!”

“And how am I going to get there? You don’t have time to take me back!”

“I told you not to come in the first place!”

“Yeah and that was dumb so I came!” Beth was standing now, and oh yeah, there was that frown, Mom’s frown, the Colfax stubborn that was passed on from mother and daughter. Stronger than blood, he knew.

“Why… god dammit.” Cyrus said, leaning on the lip of the truck bed. He’d been through a night already, and all his aches and pains were acting up, now. His legs had gotten softer and he’d gotten fatter, since the last time he’d had to do anything remotely near this much activity. He ached. He was tired. He had bruises, and when’s the last time he had those? He wanted to be done.

But she was right. He couldn’t take her back. Not now. Not without giving up on… well, everything. Couldn’t leave her here. There were no friendly faces, there was nobody he could trust in the surrounding farms to take her in.

“You’ll need me, anyways,” Beth said.

“Why the hell is that?” Cyrus asked.

“Because I know where Janice Beel disappeared from. Down to the block and street.”

Cyrus opened his mouth. He shut it again.

Even Janice’s own father hadn’t known that.

Beth hadn’t been as idle as he’d thought she had. She’d been digging…

“Where?” he asked.

“I reckon you’ll need me to guide you, now won’t you?” Beth grinned.

With a grunt, Cyrus accepted the inevitable. He gave her a few gruff directions, and she helped him arrange the components as he set up the prototype.

Dad was less sanguine about it than Cyrus was, when he returned. And it took Cyrus and Catalina precious minutes to calm him down as he and Beth filled the air with shouting.

“There ain’t time!” Cyrus finally grabbed his Dad’s shoulder. “I need you on the jumpers! Catalina, we got the spot?”

“Yes! This way!” she put her hand on his, overlaying it where he was grasping the cane.

“I can’t follow, I need to work the device.”

“It… ah, alright. Can you see where the earth is disturbed? Where Miguel de Rojas was digging?”

Carmina pointed, and Cy squinted, but the firelight was pretty bad against the shadows. “It’s hard to—”

“Wait,” Steve Colfax said, turning around, eyes wide. “De Rojas? The missing child, was she a girl? About twelve or so?”

“She was,” Catalina said, surprised. “She is! And we need to find her! So please stop arguing and—”

“Go stand near the spot. I’ll work the jumpers. Son, you do your thing.” Dad commanded. “No questions, we’ll talk later. Go!”

Cyrus stared at his Dad.

How little had he truly known this man?

“Go!” Dad commanded, pointing at the scope.

Cyrus got it set up, watched the flickering fire through it, flipped through the filters until he had the proper one lined up. “Catalina, are you in place?”

“Yes!”

“When I tell you to, move exactly as I say. Got it?”

“Yes!”

“Alright… Dad, do it!”

Dad put the battery down on the ash-strewn ground, and clamped the cables in.

Sparks flew.

The lights flickered to life, one by one, slow, so slow, and Cyrus grunted with impatience but you couldn’t rush the vacuum tubes, couldn’t stress this thing.

And finally, he turned it on.

For a moment, he thought the smoke had blown across and covered what he was looking for.

For a longer moment, he feared that there would be nothing there. That what he’d seen by the river was a fluke, a random smear of oil caught in the filter.

But only for a moment.

The way ahead of him lit up in all colors of the rainbow, and he gasped in joy, stared for just a bit too long.

The light started to fade, the scope grew dim.

“Catalina!” he yelled, in the few slippery seconds that had yet to escape, “Twenty feet left, five toward me!” It was just an eyeball, just a wag, which was military for wild-ass guess, but it would have to do. Because now he was peering into a darkened, unlit tube, and the world beyond was a smear of smoke and midnight.

With Catalina marking the spot, he and Dad and Beth surveyed the map by firelight, and marked it as best they could. And when Dad slid in first and took the wheel, Cyrus let him. He slumped into the passenger seat and felt the weariness catch up with him, found himself nodding off as they rolled out into the night again, Beth sitting on Catalina’s lap and giving the best directions she could.

After the third time he jerked his head up and away from sleep, he felt Catalina lean into him. “Rest,” she said. “We have a long drive ahead.”

“I have to…”

“You need to rest. Without you, nothing happens. Sleep now,” she said.

So he let his head fall on her shoulder and gave in to sleep. For once, he thought as he drifted off, it was nice to have someone helping him that he could rely on…