Chapter 16

The grass bent forward…












































…against the wind…


















































…in the front yard.


















































Click.


















































Stars sparkled in the sky as the moon peeked from behind a cloud. The light stretched across the nightscape, illuminating a small truck winding down a maze of broken pavement.
“Hey, you up?” asked Harvey excitedly.
Witticker growled an answer as he slowly shifted into a sitting position. He found this considerably difficult having recently discovered that, by sleeping in a truck, his lower right shoulder and entire right buttock were entirely numb.
“Surprised you didn’t wake up earlier! I’ve been takin’ some nasty turns on this stretch for a while. Hell, I nearly ran off the road a mile back. I coulda sworn I saw a spike strip across one of the lanes. Damn radicals out here on the outskirts’ll do anything to down a tough ol’ truck like this one. Turned out it was just a vine, but hindsight’s 20/20 you know. Didn’t lose much time in any case. Musta passed about a dozen cotton-tailed…”
Harvey continued his rambling as Witticker adjusted himself in the poorly-upholstered seat. The numbness he had discovered before was gone and had been replaced by an aching pain. He prayed that the aches would remain and not be exchanged with anything worse.
“…they tend to migrate here in the Summer. Anyway, how’d you sleep?”
Witticker simulated the conversation that would ensue if he described every pain that his sleep had caused and decided to work the conversation in another direction.
“Fine,” he said groggily.
“That’s good,” replied Harvey quickly, “doesn’t sleep the best, but it’s better than nothin’. Anyway, it’s a good thing you got up when you did. We’re not too far off from where we’re gettin’ to and I wanted to give you a quick prep about where we’re goin’.”
Harvey pulled a steel thermos from underneath his seat, unscrewed it, and poured a thick black liquid into the mug resting in the cup holder. He topped off his cup and held the canister towards Witticker.
“Hey, you want some? This is some good shit. I got it from a guy that said it came from somewheres deep down south. Coffee of the gods he said. Each bean ground out by hand. Each tablespoon passed by the hand of a virgin. Not really sure if that last part makes much of a difference, but it sure does the trick. This stuff’s kept me goin’ all night!”
Over the time that Witticker had come to know him he could tell that Harvey did not mean him any genuine harm. While his mannerisms and sayings were a bit off-putting Harvey was the sole reason he was still alive and well-fed. For these reasons, and those of an empty stomach, Witticker decided to quench himself with the dark brew that Harvey had offered. He poured a cup, sealed the thermos, and handed it back to Harvey.
“So, anyway,” started Harvey, “the place I’m takin’ you to is called the Long Spoon. It’s a distrip on the edge of what used to be called Chicago. Not much of a city now, but the distrip there is the biggest in the area.”
Witticker took a sip of the storied coffee and quickly realized that he had been sold a lie. His taste buds shriveled around the toxic horror and his eyes squinted in bitter distaste.
“Harvey…,” hissed Witticker, hot-mouthed from the unforgiving coffee, “what…is…”
“Oh yeah,” said Harvey, oblivious to Witticker’s distaste, “You don’t even know what a distrip is. Sorry ‘bout that. Keep forgettin’ you’ve been in that dungeon for the past two decades.”
Witticker winced at the description of his past residence and began to formulate a proper defense when he realized that the terrible taste had subsided and had led way to a most relaxed feeling of euphoria. He sat in awe of the magic feeling the drink had conjured as Harvey continued.
“The distrips are what formed in place of what used to be general farmer’s markets. They started formin’ in response to public demand. Public Demand! People don’t want organized governments or even neighbors, but they sure as hell still want food! Brisby told me their actual names are distribution properties, but people shortened it out to make’em feel less institutional.”
Witticker took another drink of the coffee and the taste, while still harsh, grew to be a bit more bearable. It appeared that with each sip the flavor became better and the relaxing effect sustained longer.
“They’re basically a one-stop shop. People have come out of the wood-work for these things, selling whatever they can grow or find. Hell, I know one guy who hunts down old televisions in recon-Chicago and sells them to antique dealers. People are crazy buyin’ that useless shit, but hey, whatever floats your boat. Ours is not to reason why, ours is but to do and die.”
Witticker’s attention was immediately drawn from his cup to Harvey’s words.
“What did you say?” asked Witticker, staring at the aged driver, “What is that from? I think I know that.”
Harvey thought for a moment about what he had said last before answering.
“What did I say? Hmm. You mean that ‘ours is not reason why’ thing. That’s just somethin’ Brisby used to say. Thought it was neat, memorable.”
Witticker sighed with disappointment and returned his attention to the comforting steam of his coffee.
“Anyway, that’s what a distrip is. Like I was saying, this particular distrip is called the Long Spoon and it’s the biggest one in the area. Not real sure why they call it that, The Long Spoon, but it’s good info to know. It’ll help ya fit in better.”
Harvey reached for his cup and took a long draw off it.
“There’s all kinds of stuff for sale in the Spoon and you should be able to find a quiet place to stay. Brisby told me about a guy once. He was young at the time, but I’d bet he’s about thirty or forty now. Name’s Terrence Girondo. He rents out to a ton of people in the area. He hunts down old apartments inside recon-Chicago and re-does’em real nice. Brisby said he went in one once and couldn’t believe his eyes. Hardwood floors and everything. Anyway, he’s also real discreet, so you won’t have to worry about anyone findin’ you.”
At the last statement Witticker turned to his guide.
“You know Harvey, what’s with this whole incognito effect? Ever since I’ve met up with you you’ve treated me like a fugitive. I’ve been in the same place for the last twenty-five years! Who’s going to come looking for me?”
Witticker suddenly realized that he was yelling. He slowly leaned back into the seat and turned his eyes to the road. Harvey took a drink of his coffee and let out a long sigh.
“Alright, Witt. I guess you’re entitled to know everything if you’re gonna head out on your own. Brisby told me not tell you this, but, hell, he’s dead, so to hell with it. Truth is we had three jobs when we were hired. We were supposed to watch ya, make sure you grew up okay, and,” Harvey stopped for a moment, “kill ya if ya ever tried to leave the property.”
Witticker looked wide-eyed at Harvey and scooted in his seat away from him.
“Now,” said Harvey warmly, “don’t worry ‘bout that now! Brisby and I decided about two years in that we couldn’t ever kill ya. We both decided that we’d tell anybody who come askin about ya that ya’d wandered off while we were asleep.”
Witticker’s heart began to slow down.
“When ya left the property a few days ago a red light blinked in our house, which was our signal to go out and get ya. Of course, I was just gonna bring ya the briefcase, but I don’t know if anyone else got signaled as well. So, keep your eyes open for people trailin’ ya. Somebody somewhere didn’t want you to leave that house.”
Witticker lifted his mug to take a drink when he realized that he had run out of coffee. As he looked at the bottom of the cup he wondered why somebody would want him dead. He wasn’t special, or he didn’t feel special. In fact, he was pretty standard as far as he could tell.
“It’s possible that someone else out there had a red blinking light too, so just watch yer back,” said Harvey as he reached for his coffee cup.
Witticker began to think about what he was going to do. He wasn’t particularly excited about being hunted, but he couldn’t go back to the house. He resolved to stay hidden until he figured out who he was and who was after him.
“My advice is to find that Girondo fella as fast as you can and get invisible. And stay out of the distrip as much as you can. People there seem nice, but you can never tell and if they find out who you are they’re bound to tell anyone, providin’ the price is right.”
Witticker nodded and looked down the road. Both men sat in silence as the truck zigzagged across the broken pavement. Witticker tried to push the thoughts of people dressed in black following him from his mind.
“Hey Harvey,” asked Witticker, “What’s with the road? Seems a bit distressed.”
Harvey laughed as they wove through two piles of rubble.
“Well, a while back there were a few skirmishes in this area between the locals in the distrip and a cult called the Golden Acolytes. I can’t remember what they were fightin about, somethin’ about ideas and numbers. Don’t honestly know to tell ya the truth. People in the Spoon call it the War of the Golden Sheet. Anyway, they got into it out here and blew the hell out of each other. This road used to be as straight as an arrow, but one of the two sides decided to bomb the other while they were on it. Don’t know if it worked, but it sure as shootin’ wrecked the road for the rest of us. That’s the long and short of it.”
Harvey opened his thermos and poured himself another cup of coffee. Witticker smelled the faint aroma of the concoction and his stomach yearned for another cup.
“Hey, Harvey?” asked Witticker offhandedly.
“Yeah?”
“You mind if I have another cup of that stuff? If you’ve got any extra?”
“No problem,” he said tossing the thermos over to him, “Glad you like it. I’ve been drinking it for months now. Addictive as hell.”
Witticker poured his cup and re-sealed the thermos. As he propped himself up on his seat Witticker sniffed the fumes rolling off the broiling mug.
“Should only be a little further,” said Harvey making a turn on the road.
The road curved farther ahead and the landscape grew more desolate. A skeleton skyline backlit by blinking stars began to grow in the distance as the two men drew closer to the edge of the abandoned city.