A New Day in America (7 page)

Romo then offers Nos another shot, if he wants to pay.

“If I’m clear, why would I need another shot?” asks Nos.

“We find patients grow accustomed to the pleasant feeling of the medicine,” says Romo with a twinkle. “Some experience withdrawals—an unfortunate side effect, but a small price to pay for your life, no? So you can take more with you and cycle down.”

It’s been twelve hours since Nos’ last shot, and the offer is extremely tempting. The cure suddenly seems way more essential than the cash in his pocket.

Then he has a vision of himself mainlining opiates with some dirty, dull needle in a back alley by a drum-can fire with Naomi watching.

“I’m good,” says Nos.

He’s kicked before, he’ll kick again.

Romo seems a bit surprised. “Be safe,” he says. “Though I’m happy to let ya suit up here if you want some work. Could use another strong cop. We can feed ya, and the little ‘un. We got medicine and safety in numbers. It’s dangerous out there.”

“I appreciate the offer,” says Nos, thinking of the clown gang. “But we’ve got to be on our way.”

“’K. You know where to find us.”

Nos leads Nay away from the rubble of the city and toward the highway where they can look out at the water. The skyline is beautiful. Jersey is off to the west like America still exists. A glow brims from above and streaks into blue uncoiling clouds. Nos has never cared much for great views. Just something else to look at. But something about that view just now is, well, inspiring.

“Feel better?” he asks Nay.

“Yeah.”

Cement pillars line the promenade. The pillars had protected the ground from the blast. They make light outlines in the burned asphalt. Nos sits on a railing and takes Nay in his lap.

“I feel better, too.”

“It’s pretty.”

“It’s beautiful,” says Nos, with sudden appreciation for the natural wonder of it all.

“We’re going to be OK” he tells Nay.

She nods with her chin to her chest.

“You believe me?”

“I believe you.”

“I love you, sweetheart,” he says, and then cannot remember the last time he told her that.

“I love you, too, Pa,” she says with a tiny-toothed smile and squeezes her arms around his neck. “I miss Mommy.”

“I miss her, too. But she’s here,” he says and nods to the sunset, now blushing pink. “Do you see her?”

“No.”

“Can you feel her?”

“I don’t know.”

“She’s rooting for us.”

***

As night falls, the city is cold and dark. Street lamps hang unlit, some crushed and bent under the weight of the rubble. Nos burns a drum barrel fire. Nay eats from a can of beans, but Nos is not hungry. He wants a drink. Some Jameson. Some Jamie. Or something.
Bullshit
, he wants a shot of the cure. He’s scared to admit it, but all he really craves is another hit of that cure.

He tries to make a plan, but his brain is fuzzy.
Tommy
, he thinks. His half brother. The drunk. The base hobbit. Nos has a yearning to see his family.
He deserves to know about his parents
.

A shriek blazes through the crackle of their fire. Somebody yells
help me
. Dogs bark back and forth in a long-distance conversation and then suddenly stop.
Please
, he hears again, closer. A girl’s voice—he glances to Nay to make sure it isn’t her.

Small feet tumble from the piled concrete—a brick follows and hits the pavement. A figure emerges in shadow, one leg trailing lame behind. It’s a young girl. The firelight reveals half of her face. She’s pretty and covered in soot.

“Help me,” she says.

Nos keeps his hand on his gun and watches the dark. He hears the
sniff
of dogs.

“Help me.”

As her body drags closer, Nos sees the lame half of her is covered in the rash. It consumes her in a crisscross of pink and white that bubbles to a boil and swirls and froths. White maggots crawl in and out of her pores. Where her leg isn’t covered by the rash, it’s gouged with the teeth marks of a dog.

She moves to the fire, and Nos and Nay stay still and watch. The girl seems blind. Her eyes quiver and focus on nothing. She’s barely there.

“I want to give her some beans,” says Nay.

Nos nods and hands Naomi the can of beans.

Naomi takes the beans and hovers, unsure how to approach. The girl reaches toward the fire and slumps to the ground. Nos gently stops Naomi with his hand. A wheeze comes from the girl.

Her last breath fights its way from her lungs and she deflates. Her face falls forward, hits the scalding hot barrel, and stays there. Naomi jumps behind her father and grabs his leg. The girl’s skin fries and sizzles against the tin.

Nos moves to block Naomi’s view. He peels the girl’s face from the barrel, stretching away remnants of welded flesh. He picks her up in his arms. She is maybe two years older than Nay. Her head falls backward and stretches her mouth. He takes the girl out of their cove of firelight and climbs the rubble.

He doesn’t go too far and doesn’t leave Naomi’s sight. He moves some debris aside, sets her down, and covers her back up.
A shit poor burial
.

They will sleep in the van tonight. Tomorrow they will make a plan to get out of the city.
Indiana. Tommy. Tommy always has a good time. Maybe even now
.

Back at the fire, Nay climbs in his lap, and he holds her for a long while. They hear dogs bark and growl over by where Nos laid the body. They hear frantic tearing and yapping and biting and chewing.

Nos lights a cigarillo. He tastes the leaf and earth and blows away from Nay. She never liked the smell. As it burns he begins to cough. The coughing starts out slow and then turns to harsh hacks. Nay frowns. He hacks away into his fist and his chest convulses with a sharp pain. He looks at his hand and sees blood. He wipes the blood on the backside of his jeans and hopes Naomi doesn’t see.

When the coughing subsides he feels a cold rush of sweat. His clothes are quickly soaked. His vision blurs in the darkness and he tosses his cig into the fire. He senses are dimmed and his hair rises. He feels
blind
.

“Pa, what is it?”

“I don’t know, honey.”

“Are you OK?”

“I’m OK,” he manages, but he knows he is unconvincing. His nose begins to run.

“Pa,” she says, her eyes swirling. “Pa,” she repeats. She mouths the words
I’m scared
, but she won’t say them.

His limbs go limp, and he feels an overwhelming desire to lie down. He’s sick? But he has no rash.
How can I be so sick
?

He drops from his concrete perch to the ground and Naomi screams.

“
Heh heh heh
,” comes a chuckle from the dark.

The wretched man from the tent. The one Naomi called ‘
Gollum’
crawls into the firelight.

“Got cured, did ya? Only one cure for the cure, and that’s the cure.”

Nos tries to pick himself up from the ground, but his abdomen goes loose. Naomi backs up to her father’s side.

“How was that sunset? Saw you watchin’ it like you never seen the sky in your life. Beautiful, wasn’t it?”

We’ve been followed
.
Stalked
.
Since the castle
. How could he have missed it? He realizes he is a novice to the terrain.
Or I was high as fuck
.

“The Chef’s cookin’ up some marvelous candy. Inoculate you, sure, but pump you full of so much junk and poison they’ll own your soul. Get you to scavenge every last gem from the city and bring it to him on a tray. Got you good. Nice bike.”

The creature crawls closer and slides into the back of the police van. Nos reaches with everything he has to the piece holstered beneath his arm.

“Ah, goodies,” says the creature. He opens Nos’ pack and dumps everything out. He sifts through.

Naomi helps her father lift his arm. He takes hold of the gun. His hand is rubber.

“Get…the fuck…out of the van,” he manages.

“Ah, tough guy,” says the creature. “Go easy on me, homie. You got your mouth watering for that cure, and you got enough here to keep you cured for a good month yet. Sell the bike and stay cured. You’ll be OK. Me, I’m day to day. Another hour and I’ll be like you. Tell you what, let’s make this a tandem. Get you a good shot for now and then lets go digging. Big fella like you could move a ton of crap. I know where to dig, dig me?”

The gun feels steadier now, though Nos isn’t sure he could manage to cock it back and pull the trigger.

“Run along,” he says.

“Let me hold that piece there, and I’ll bring you back some of that good junk and get you right.”

“Run along. Before
I
cure you,” says Nos, trying to sound like he isn’t so hurt, like he’s in control.

The creature chuckles. “What you think, you gonna kick? Nah, homie, it’s not like that. Ain’t heroin, this is something different. Evil, devilish. The Chef cooked up some marvelous shit to get your mouth watering. They can get you right. It’s not withdrawals, the cure makes you
sick
.”

“Get on out of here,” says Nos.

“Go away,” says Naomi, surprising both of them.

The creature nods, and his Cheshire smile turns to a frown. He suddenly seems half-sincere.

“You gonna kick?”

Nos stares at him.

“Well good luck, homie. Goin’ to be a long night. Make sure you eat something, no matter how bad you don’t want to. And whatever you do, don’t trust your dreams.”

***

They are inside the van now, her pa lying in her lap beside the motorcycle. She strokes his head the way he would her in her forgotten bedroom. He turns and cries and sweats. His head is soaked and so is her lap. Everything is dark, so she only feels his squirming, shivering body, and she is so scared, so scared, but she cannot be. He needs her now. She has to forget that she’s scared like he told her to, but every time she forgets, she remembers again, so she forgets again and remembers, forgets and remembers, and wishes she were strong like him
.

It’s dark in the van and dark beyond the windows. She hears something rummage outside the van. Heavy breathing. The sound seems to be coming from everywhere. She looks from one window to the next but can’t see anything. Something hard scrapes on the outside of the van, and for a moment all she can hear is her own heartbeat going so fast it shakes her chest
.

A
tap tap
hits a window and heavy breath fogs the glass in the moonlight. Three dark round circles of paw prints suddenly
smack
against the dusty window. A desperate black nose presses hot holes in the fog and sniffs loud like a vacuum. Then the nose and the paws vanish
.

Naomi sits still and holds her pa’s head tighter now as he turns and shakes, his eyes open now but still blind—he doesn’t see her but something horrible that scares him. He isn’t supposed to be scared
.

A thump jumps on the hood of the van and nails flick and scrape against the front windshield. She looks to the back doors—they are open a crack. She knows she should shut them, but she doesn’t want to leave pa. Suddenly the sound of another
sniff
noses into the van through the cracked door, and she screams. She hears noses everywhere. The dog’s carnal face looks inside with yellow hunger
.

Forget that you’re scared. Forget it. Forget it
.

“No!” she barks at the dog. “No! No! No!”

The dog’s brow crinkles in doubt as he glances away from the girl. Naomi slides Nos’ head from her lap and stands, her head to the side and pressed against the roof of the van
.

“No!” she yells again, stomping forward, and the dog slowly, unsurely slinks back away and disappears into the dark, and she pulls the door tight to her with a slam and locks it
.

Nay remembers what the crazy man said—make sure you eat something. Her pa didn’t eat all night. Maybe that’s why he’s so sick
.

Nay takes the can of beans and puts a spoonful up to her pa’s mouth. He is lying still now, and his mouth won’t open, so she pulls his mouth by her lower lip and slides the beans in. Only he won’t chew, and the beans just lay there and some fall down his face. She moves his jaw for him, hoping he will begin to chew, but he can’t. The juice from the beans slides down his throat, but he won’t chew
.

Nay takes a spoonful into her own mouth and chews it, but instead of swallowing she puts her mouth up to her father’s and fills him with the mushy chewed beans. She watches his throat as it dips like he’s swallowing, and he breathes and then so does she
.

I had a bad dream…

Was that Yvette or Naomi? Brooklyn or Afghanistan? Where is he?
Wake up in the middle of the night, still living the nightmare
.

He knows what is happening to him. Nos is powerless to stop it. He’s lost the endorphins that maintain mood and functionality. At least that’s what they told him happens back in rehab. Visions flicker, form, and dissolve: the van, the girl, the wife, and then the Afghan night. He has been here before.

It was in the Afghan Kush. Living on mountain spring water and blackberries and opium.

He had tucked the last pinch of tobacco opium inside his lip. Soon the terror returned, just outside his vision. He would snap his head at harmless mountain noises.

The problem was that the opium was gone.

Then he saw something out of the ordinary on the horizon. He had not seen a trace of a human being for so many days he couldn’t even count. The opium had taken both his pain and his sense of time: he worried more about how much to use and when and how to make it last than he did his own rescue. He had kissed the idea of seeing his family again good-bye. Yvette—the kids—Mikey and Jay—when he thought of them he already pictured their world without him. He pondered what man would fill his place, what type: would Yvette turn to a more stable version of himself? NYPD? A Latino detective with blue eyes? Or a man who didn’t even carry a gun, wouldn’t know what to do with one? A trial lawyer? A tax lawyer? No, never that. But she would have a man, Nos was sure of that. Yvette needed a man, she was built for one, and she still looked good, could flirt as easy as a cat purrs. Nos wondered if he already knew the man who would take his place. For some reason, he thought of his buddy Steve from St. Francis at the sociology department at St. Joe’s. He would be home all the time. He would get summers off. Mikey and Jay would be smarter than they’d ever be with Nos. And they’d have a father.
The safe bet
.