Never Too Far (2 page)

This was his chance to help his family, Joe thought. This was his time, just like Frank had helped when he went to Chikowa to work in the steel mill. If Joe could figure out a way to sell that diesel, he could change his family’s future. They wouldn’t have to give up like all the rest. They wouldn’t have to admit defeat and live as dregs in the city’s slums, where their lives would be no better than rats, according to Frank, where they’d have to work backbreaking jobs every day just to feed themselves, where they’d be under threat of abuse or imprisonment at any time, where poor dregs like them would have to sell their organs or limbs or unborn babies just to survive. Is that what Frank wanted? Is that what his family wanted? To slowly shrivel up out here and then crawl into the city and waste away there?

Besides, Dad didn’t know what he was talking about when he said money couldn’t buy anything out here. That wasn’t the point. He was just getting bitter. Although it was dangerous, they could travel north again and buy wooly goats and spotted hogs from the Hickaba tribes. They could even go to the city for that matter and get supplies there. The money would give them options. That was the point. And Joe didn’t care about disobeying the Word of Virid. He didn’t care if he was stealing. Maybe that diesel was a gift from Virid, and it would be wrong to refuse it.

After a while, Frank appeared at the barn door. His figure looked like a shadow against the bright column of light streaming in.

“I can do it,” Joe said.

“It’s not happening. Get it through your thick head.”

“You went.”

“I went there to work. And you’d be going there to sell diesel on the black market. Something that will get you killed if you get caught. That’s a big difference.”

“I don’t care what you say.”

“How are you going to do it, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s not worth it, Joe. It’s not worth the risk. We’ll make it.”

“Be honest. You really think we’ll make it, especially with the orphan girl and her baby? Be honest.”

Frank didn’t say anything.

“See.”

“See, nothing. Face the facts. It’s like Dad said. You’ve seen the size of the dusters that have been blowing through here now. We’re not dirt-eaters for nothing. This is going to be dead land. Whether we get rich off that diesel or not, you can’t live off dead land.”

“You know where we’ll end up.”

“And that’s worth your life?”

“I won’t get caught.”

“Don’t count on it.”

“So you’re saying we’re supposed to wait until we’re skin and bones and have to drag ourselves into the city just to survive
?”

“At least we’ll all be together.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s the truth.”

“You said you would never go back there.”

“If it’s the only choice we have, I’ll go
,” Frank said.

“But it’s not the only choice. Let me take the diesel.”

“No.”

“I’ll do it anyway. You and Dad can’t stop me.”

“Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m doing it. It’s my turn.”

“Your turn? This isn’t a game. You don’t have any idea what’s out there.”

“Try and stop me.”

Frank shook his head. “How? You can’t just walk in there with it. There are guards and police everywhere. Chances are you wouldn’t even make it that far. And even if you did, you’re only a worthless dirt-eater. They’ll do you like they did me.”

“I can do it.”

“Listen to me. You want to know what happens to you out there? You get massacred. Sometimes for no reason. In the forest I saw busted-up trailer wagons and pickup wagons strewn along the side of the road with the dead bodies of morons just like you. They weren’t just dead either. They were chopped up and scattered on the road. Severed arms, legs, heads, hacked-up bodies. Guts spilled out. That’s what it means out there.”

Chapter 3

Frank led the way through the dark woods. The alcohol lantern swayed from the only finger on his maimed hand. The light cast a yellow glow that brushed against the tree trunks and splashed on the ground. It made the darkness seem blacker beyond the lantern’s shaking light. A possum’s pink eyes gleamed like something alien before it scuttled away. Joe clutched the five-gallon bucket with the rubber hose inside.

“Did you talk to the girl?” Frank said.

“I talked to her. She nodded her head like she understood. But I don’t know if she did or not.”

“This is crazy,” Frank said.

The day before, Joe finally got Frank to consent to his plan of taking the diesel into the city.
During the night a small duster had blown through and showered everything with a layer of gritty dust. They’d been in the vegetable garden brushing the dust off the meager plants. Frank carefully cleaned off all the limp leaves with a damp rag and picked off the dead withered ones, while Joe hurried from plant to plant and from row to row. It wasn’t like it mattered anymore. He no longer felt his family’s life depended on the survival of these barely living plants. The diesel would be their savior. He knew it. He felt it. He had to convince Frank.

“That just goes to show how dumb you are,” Frank said. “The black market isn’t a real place.”

“What is it, then?”

“It’s a secret.”

“Then how do you know?”

“Everybody knows. It’s not that kind of secret. It’s a secret because it’s a crime.”

“Think of the money. Think of it. We could buy enough food to keep us here even if everything does dry up and go dead. Maybe we could go northwest to the ‘promised lands’ like other people. You know what they say. Water flows from the mountains and all kinds of food hangs from the trees for the taking.”

“That’s all a load of crap. How many times do I have to tell you not to believe that stuff? There is only one paradise—Welkenglebe, the home of Virid—and all the rest are lies.”

“That money will give us a chance, and you know it.”

“It will also get you killed. These black market people aren’t like regular peddlers, Joe. These are dangerous men.”

“Either help me, or I’m doing this alone,” Joe said. “I’ve made up my mind.”

“Don’t be a fool.”

“You’re a fool for not wanting to do anything to save us. Do you want to live like cowards? Do you want to be a coward?”

Frank slapped Joe across the face.
Joe’s head snapped to the side. His cheek stung. What he’d said about Frank wasn’t fair, and he knew it. He deserved the slap. But he was so frustrated that nobody wanted to do anything about their family’s survival (when a huge chance had landed right in their lap!) that he’d said something he didn’t mean. 

“I don’t want to hear another word,” Frank said. 

“I’ll find a way. It’ll be harder without you, but I’ll find a way. I’m doing it. With or without you.”

“I’m telling you, you won’t make it.”

“The blood will be on your hands.”

Frank didn’t say anything. He spit on the ground and then rubbed it with the heel of his shoe before he walked away.

At the edge of the river, which shone silver in the moonlight, Frank put out the alcohol lantern. They would make the rest of their way by moonlight. Before they crossed, Frank wanted to check the transistor. He’d made a deal with Joe. He told him if they heard anyone looking for the Arbyter, they would turn back and go home. Frank twisted the dial, but all they heard were crackles and fuzz. That was all they ever heard.

“The coast is clear,” Joe said. “I told you. Nobody’s looking for it.”

“Doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t have to make any sense. Come on.”

“Okay, okay, settle down.”

They stepped into the river’s sluggish current. The sound of the water seemed amplified in the dark stillness and seemed to echo as if in a canyon. They waded slowly along until they got to a sandbar where they rested a minute. Joe looked up river. The dark water snaked through the bluffs and into the night sky as if it were flowing into the stars.   

When they reached the embankment, they crawled up to the road. Frank slowly approached the wrecked Arbyter like he still didn’t trust it. They walked around to the other side and then climbed up on top. Frank fished a small box of matches out of his shirt pocket. He struck one against the base of the lantern and lit the mantle. Light quivered against the Arbyter’s metal and against the symbol of the seven-pointed red star with the bull’s-eye in the middle. Joe flipped open the fuel plate and unscrewed the cap. He shoved one end of the hose down into the tank.

“Let me get it started,” Frank said.

He wrapped his mouth around the hose and sucked, but he must not have pulled away quick enough because he made an awful gagging sound.

“Frank?” Joe said. “You okay?”

Frank turned his head and hacked, but in the process he knocked the lantern off and it hit the ground and rolled away. Joe grabbed the tip of the hose, bubbling with diesel, and jammed it into the five-gallon bucket. He looked at Frank again, who was on his hands and knees now, coughing and retching. 

“Frank?” Joe said.

He scooted beside his brother as Frank rammed a finger down his throat. His body convulsed. He choked and retched again until a gush of vomit spewed out. Some of it splashed on Joe’s pants, but he didn’t care. He touched his brother’s hunched back. It trembled. Frank turned to sit upright again and plunked right down in his own puke. His eyes watered, wetting his cheeks. Drool hung from his lips.

“Frank
,” Joe said, “say something.”

“I’m okay,” Frank said, his voice hoarse. “Check the diesel.”

“There’s only a little bit coming out now,” Joe said.

He looked closer and examined the liquid inside. It was about half full.

“Put the lid on,” Frank said, “and let’s get out of here.”

Once they climbed down, Frank found the cracked lantern. Then they scurried down the rough embankment to the river. Frank stopped and slurped up a mouthful of water, swished it around in his mouth, and spit it out.

On the other side of the river, they hurried over the bluff and through the woods until they hit the flat valley. Joe looked up at the soaring night sky. For a few seconds he stared at the bright stars swooping and shining above their farm. He loved to do that. Gazing at the stars was one of his favorite things to do, but there was no time for any of that now.

Chapter 4

At the farm, Joe lugged the bucket of diesel inside the barn, where they poured it into a smaller red container. Frank located some deerskins and they wrapped them around the container and tied it up with twine to keep it secure. Frank said he wanted to make the bundle look like a bunch of skins that were being taken into the city to be sold. It wouldn’t draw suspicion, especially with the story they came up with about why Joe and the pregnant orphan girl needed to go into the city in the first place.

Then they packed the wagon with supplies. Food and water, a foot trap, a bow and six arrows, blankets, firewood, a flint sparker, an extra knife, and a rusty fishing pole. Frank found the box of rifle shells hidden in a trap door near the back of the barn. He pulled it out and opened the rusty metal box. There were two leather pouches of bullets inside—one for the old bolt-action rifle and one for the Calvin lever-action rifle.

When Frank picked up the Calvin pouch, Joe was surprised, and a little excited.
             

“How many of them you need?” Frank said. There were only thirty shells left.

Joe thought for a moment. “All of them.”

“You can’t take all of them.” Frank counted out ten. “Now that’s all you get, so be smart with them. Don’t go wasting them.”

“I won’t. Food and protection only.”

“Protection only.
If you get low on food, forage and trap. As a last resort, use the arrows.”

Frank held out the shells in his good hand. The cuff on his green shirt rode up his wrist and revealed a thick purplish scar. It was from where he had scraped the city’s identification number off his skin and from where he had cut down a quarter inch to make sure he dug out the translucent veritag. After Joe stuffed the shells in his pocket, Frank put out the lantern and they left the barn.

They walked over to the well to get a drink. Above the dark bluff along the river was a sweeping sky of stars.

Frank pumped the handle and Joe leaned his head into the stream of musty water dribbling from the spout.

“You remember who to go to?” Frank said.

“The fat man,” Joe said. He wiped his wet mouth.

“Templeton. Remember that name. He saved me.”

“I know.”

“You sure you can do it?” Frank said.

“I can do it.”

They switched places and Joe pumped as Frank drank. Frank rested his damaged hand on the top of the spout while he cupped his good hand and splashed water on his face.