A New Day in America (21 page)

Nos is ashore, running through the wetness and stick of the forest, through the fallen brown pine, and past the bald edge of rocks until he reaches Naomi. She remains unmoved in her turtle shell.

“Come.”

Nos carries her in his arms back to the water. He swoops the gun and coat from the bank and drops both packages into the RIB. Naomi’s small hands reluctantly leave the safety of his arms. He gets in the RIB and pushes off into the blood swept current.

Add one real boat to the assets
.

The RIB hisses through the channel under the cover of night. A mist rises from the water. Faint shadows smoke in the headlights. Nos stands at the wheel in the hooded cabin. Nay waits at the front and squats behind the thirty-millimeter-hull gun, watching the skies. She shivers as the water sprays at the sides of the boat.

The distant sound of chopper blades beat above like invisible bat wings.
They are searching for us
.

Nos sits at the gun and watches the dark skies. He takes Nay and sits her between his legs, one hand holding her small stomach, one hand on the handle of the swiveling gun.

Dawn comes and they do not stop or sleep. The boat makes a clean slice through the busy current. Naomi holds onto the gun, gazing at the waters ahead as she always does, until there’s a problem. Nos keeps her in view, waiting for her head to turn toward him, wolf-cub eyes contacting his like a silent alarm. Nos can go for days with scant food, scant water, scant rest—it is easy to lose track of Naomi’s needs, so he depends on her like he might a commanding officer, but rather than telling him when to push, she tells him when to rest.

Her eyes flash at him and beg to rest. The Revelation corpses are maybe five miles downriver.
Safety or comfort. Easier choice when you don’t have a six-year-old weighing in. Though not sure which way it’s easier
.

The rain makes his decision for him. As it falls heavier, Naomi staggers down the boat toward Nos, huddling at the crook of the seat between his legs. She does not ask him to stop, she just shivers.
A wet pup. Pathetic. And far more effective
. Nos eyes the embankment for a place to shore up for the night.

Naomi blankets herself in his trench. She is the first off the RIB as Nos pulls the boat ashore, deep into the trees. He’d found a tent in the RIB’s storage, along with some food, water, a fishing line, wetsuits, a sling harpoon, ammo, and beer.

He sets up the tent as Naomi shivers and looks on. The tent is made for a man of ordinary size, and Nos has to fold in his elongated frame. There is no room. Rain pounds on their roof.

“I hate the water,” says Nay.

“Seems like it’s just everywhere these days.”

“But sometimes I love it, too.”

***

It’s barely dawn when the rain lets up. Orange light fills the wet bed of leaves and grass. They have slept for a restless three hours. Nos had hoped they could make a fire by keeping some wood inside the tent through the night, but it is still too wet. Naomi is excited by the dry sky. She makes her way toward the river while Nos is packing up the tent. She strips down and jumps into the water like she and the element just had a fight and it is time to make up.

Nos dives in after and watches the girl swim, practicing her various strokes: crawl, breast, frog, seal. When she reaches the other bank, Nos splashes her in the face. She giggles and her hands erupt in return fire, though she can’t quite reach, so she swims closer until she’s able to spatter water in his face. They go back and forth, and her squeals top the trees and remind Nos to fear what ears might be listening.

Nos holds his hands straight up in the air, kicking himself afloat until Nay recognizes what he’s doing and imitates him. She holds her hands up out of the water and kicks herself afloat as well as Nos counts the seconds she is able to float and hold her hands in the air.

“Three, four…OK again. One, two, three, four, five…good. One, two, three…again. One, two, three, four, five…”

Nos then ducks under and holds his breath, waiting for Naomi to descend and look into his eyes. He counts with his fingers as Nay’s squirming body suspends itself in the water, her breath filling her body and expanding in her cheeks, lips sealed shut. Her father’s fingers reach ten and go back to one thumb, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen…

The narrow river opens up. An embankment circles up ahead. Nos feels like he’s been walking an avenue with skyscrapers on both sides before coming to rows of one-story homes, the sky suddenly visible. The green and twisting undergrowth and the shallow gray rocks are now welcoming. Trees disappear into the gray-brown shore. They drift along the current toward the shore. The sun skims the surface of the water in a dance of flashing white and deep green. A smile brims across Naomi’s face as she looks back to her father. Her look says it all—the hope that though it is daytime they have found their campsite for the night.

A man stands barefoot in the shallows with his pants rolled up, holding a submerged net. The waters about him froth with the activity of a myriad of busy fish. The man waves to the pair in the boat. He wears a thick salt-and-pepper beard and no shirtsleeves in the sun. His face and shoulders are red and a chalk of white sunblock covers his nose. Oddly, he wears no hat, and his rim of receded hair is also trimmed with red.

Nos drops a fishing line in the water. The man glances to them.

“Hey there,” he calls out, waving them toward him. “Quite a weapon you got there.”

“Can’t be too careful these days,” calls Nos.

“I got another net here for ya.”

Nos obliges. He steers toward the shore and catfish dart away from the breaking waves. The man offers a green woven net, smaller than the one he holds.

“Won’t find fishing like this anytime soon.”

“Our thanks.”

Nos checks Nay’s hoody and makes sure it completely covers her rash. He lays his rucksack in the boat, covering it with his coat. He removes his boots and rolls his pants up to his knees, wading into the shallows. Naomi takes off her pants and follows. She giggles as the fish effortlessly swim into the bottom of the green netting. She places the flats of her hands atop the water’s surface, as if to touch the scaly, squirming creatures.

“Never seen catfish in such shallow water before,” says Nos.

“River dropped below that there rock shelf,” says the man. “Water level drops in a matter of hours as they adjust the locks.”

“The dam works?” asks Nos.

“Revelation got it manned and up and running, they do.”

The man is intent on the water, looking at the rush of fish with something in mind, his large net hovering above. Nos sits in the rocky sand gutting his catch when the man stabs his net down and wrestles the handle. He pulls the net out and lets out a holler. A catfish squirms inside.

“Would you look at that sucker! Gotta be near a forty to fifty pounder!”

Naomi’s eyes
ooh
at the silvery fish as big as her.

“Abe,” says the man, offering his hand. Nos shakes it. Abe’s hands are wide and calloused, clamping down on his. He makes eye contact as he shakes like there’s no other way to shake hands, friendly though searching, like how he searched the shallows for his catch.

“Kevin,” says Nos, returning eye contact and the shake in equal measure. The name is ordinary, forgettable.

“You sure are a big specimen of a man, ain’t ya? Power forward? Linebacker?”

“A little of both, in another life,” says Nos.

“And what’s your name, little ‘un?”

“Sarah,” says Nos.

Naomi’s expression goes blank.

“What brings you round these parts?”

“A little camping, sightseeing.”

Abe nods.
The man knows a lie when he hears one
. He smiles it off, as Nos guesses he often does, and turns his attention to Naomi.

“Isn’t she a doll?”

“You got plans for that catfish of yours?”

Abe shrugs. “Not too sure. Could feed the wife. Could smoke it. Could stuff the sucker, put ‘er up in the shop.”

“Fishmonger?”

“Indeed.”

“Cat—cat,” repeats Naomi.

Abe gazes downriver, then to the horizon.

“Planning on moving along before sunset?”

Nos glances at Naomi. “Might just hole up here for the night.”

“You a Christian man?” asks Abe.

Nos tenses and nods.
Hope I don’t have to kill him
.

“Within reason,” Nos answers.

“Within reason, eh? Heh heh.” Abe thinks about it some more and then has a good belly laugh. “Well, my cabin’s just about half a mile inland, and a reasonable man is always welcome at our table,” says Abe.
Very welcoming. Too welcoming
. He remembers how deft Baker was when he lied to him back in Salt Lake City.

“Thanks very much for the offer. Think we’ll just go ahead and brave the elements for the night.”

“Looks like a bit more rain’s coming. Gonna bring the water level back up. Wouldn’t want to be in the river or riverside myself. Brave as may be, elements have a way of having their way with you.”

“Thanks very much, Abe, for the net and the offer. Been good company.”

“Suit yourselves.” Abe checks the horizon once more. The sun is on the verge of setting. “Better be getting on back myself. You know. Wives.”

They shake, remnants of catfish sealed in their grip.

“Best to you, sweetheart,” Abe says to Naomi.

She stares at her father, a little ball of fury.

She misses Leila. She wants a friend. Can’t blame her. Wouldn’t mind one myself
.

***

The night is sudden, the dark complete, and the rains come and come. Heavy drops pelt the skin of the tent. It holds, though the tent is small and father and daughter are huddled together beside the pack, supplies and guns, huddled in misery. For Nos, the conditions are not the issue, rather baring Naomi’s silent hatred of him. She is starving, as the rain made fire impossible and their meal has to wait. Water soaks from the ground up, threatening to make them move inland a third time.

Rumbling tires approach. Lights from the outside make the tent glow.

“Naomi, wait here.”

Nos shoves the Sig into his belt at the small of his back and puts on his coat, crouching out into the rain.

“Kevin?”

Abe sits behind the wheel of a four-runner. He cuts the lights, and Nos blinks to see his bearded face.

“This is no place for you two to spend the night,” Abe calls above the storm. “Out in this…fanatical rain.”

Naomi is shivering in the tent.

Nos guesses that Abe is somewhat newly exiled as he doesn’t have the look of a lifelong fisherman, and his down-home accent seemed rough and forced during their conversation.
Are you a Christian man? He’d asked
.

Hope I don’t have to kill him
.

Naomi sits in Nos’ lap in the passenger seat, feeling twenty pounds lighter. Her former silent hatred is now silent gratitude. Nos makes sure her hoody stays on and her rash is hidden. Abe pops open an umbrella, and Nos takes his pack in one arm and Naomi in the other, climbing up the porch of a log cabin. A large wooden cross centers the door.

Abe’s home is well kept, and its modern feel betrays the rustic look of the cabin from the outside. Abe’s wife sits at the table, set with a white tablecloth, fine silver, and long, white burning candles. Their meal is quiet and uncomfortable, exactly like strangers forced to dine. Yet the discomfort puts Nos at ease. He is not being worked or solicited. The woman’s polite smiles and neutral comments suggest there was some debate over whether to offer the strangers hospitality, and she lost. Nos’ presence is a burden. When he moves to speak, he feels the wife shudder, as if he were about to do something terrible, or say something profound. Any topic of a personal nature is avoided, and Nos is thankful that he doesn’t have to make up lies. Nos is still suspicious.
Seems on the up and up. But why the risk?

A knock raps on the door. And again, impatient and loud.

“Yes?” Calls Abe.

“Revelation Guard,” a voice barks from outside.

Matter of time
. Nos grabs his pack.

Nos stands still in the dark, surrounded on all sides by walls, tucked in the very back of the closet. He can hear the officer outside in the dining room. His drawl is arrogant.

“Several of the Revelation Guard were killed in an attack a few miles downriver,” he says, heavy, wet boot falls pacing the floor. “Seen any men through here?”

“Nothing but a gang of young folks breezing downriver on a speedboat. Probably made it several miles before the rains hit. Maybe down to Pittsfield or even Barrington.”

“And there’s no one here?” asks another voice, older, more authoritative.

“No man but me here, no sir.”

No one talks, and the floorboards creak with the strut and lean of large, suspicious officers. Nos can feel the weight of one as he shifts by the closet door from one foot to the next. They must notice the set table and whatever else might have been knocked out of place in their haste to slip into the closet. The officer’s breath is labored with a menacing whistle from his nose.

Ah-choo
. Naomi sneezes within the walls. And another. Nos shuts his eyes, swallows a curse.

“And if we do find someone in here?” The senior officer announces. “You know the penalty for aiding and abetting in a crime like this would mean your head.”

The utter darkness of the closet frustrates Nos. He approximates the locations of the two officers by sound. One was around three yards away at nine o’clock, the other at seven yards, five o’clock. But his sense is no substitute for visual confirmation. He sweats.

“I surely do, sir,” Abe says, undaunted. “Just as you must know that any Christian man’s home is his temple, and I find God in these here walls just as you find him in church. I suggest you be careful before you go poking around a man’s place of worship.”

The young officer snickers and takes steps toward the closet. Half a yard. Six o’clock. Nos cocks back the slide of the Sig with a gentle click.