The Summer the World Ended (17 page)

nease gathered in Riley’s gut, twisting it up like a wad of rubber bands. From the moment she started the truck, fear she’d look up and see flashing lights in her mirror whitened her knuckles on the wheel and sucked all the moisture out of her mouth. She barely drove forty-five miles per hour and kept her gaze on the ground to the left, worried to death she’d miss the little dirt road back to Dad’s house.

A horn blared, startling a shriek out of her. She kept screaming as she shied away from the headlights in her rearview mirror. Some guy in an unmarked white van crept right up on her back bumper, flicking his high beams so fast she thought him a cop for a few seconds. She froze, unsure what to do, letting her foot off the gas and clutching the wheel to stay in the lane.

The van weaved side to side, beeping and flashing.

He’s gonna hit me.
She looked at the dashboard. The needle hovered at thirty-five now, sinking toward thirty. Indistinct warbles of a man’s shouting came from behind.
Why doesn’t he go around me? There’s no one else on the road.

She swallowed hard.
Two cars in the desert, and he has to be on my ass.
Go around me.

Terror he was going to hit her added a little weight to her foot and she got the truck up to forty again.
Okay, I don’t care if I get pulled over. Now would be a great time for a cop to show up.

“Stupid bitch,” and something about beating some sense into her made it through the diatribe. He seemed to be repetitively air-drawing the number fifty.

Bile crept up in her mouth as she tried to keep it together. Past a small hill up ahead, the ever-so-welcome sight of the dirt path appeared. She let the breath out of her lungs in a slow exhale.
Blinker.
She signaled for a left turn way early, just so the asshole behind her didn’t pick
that
moment to get pissed off enough to try to pass her.

I’ll turn and he’ll keep going, don’t panic.

She took the left, but the van followed. He ceased flicking his high beams and no longer leaned on his horn, but he still rode her bumper.

“Oh, shit.”

There was nothing up that road but desert, and Dad’s house. He was following
her.
Attempting to steer while half-blind from tears, shaking like a leaf in the wind, and trying not to throw up caused her to drift out of the wheel ruts and bounce over some bushes. The man backed off a little, but revved his engine and charged.

She stomped on the gas, flinging dirt into his grill and her body against the seat. A trip that took twenty minutes before passed in ten as she rambled up the unpaved path at close to seventy miles per hour. As soon as she saw the house, she ignored the pitiful ‘road’ and steered straight at it, slamming on the brakes in hopes Dad would hear and come running. Her groceries shot off the passenger seat and hit the floor.

The van skidded to a halt right behind her. A red-faced, potbellied guy in a flannel shirt, cowboy hat, and jeans almost stumbled and fell in his haste to get out, tangled in his seatbelt. She jabbed her finger at the door locks and cowered down in her seat.

He came stomping up along the side of the truck, and pounded on the door. “What the fuck is wrong with you, stupid bitch! Can’t you read a damned speed limit sign? Who the hell taught you how to drive! Five-fucking-five means fifty five miles per hour!”

She reached up and pushed on the horn.

The man grabbed the door handle, tugging on it hard enough to rock the Silverado. “You did that on purpose just to piss me off, didn’t you? Stupid little bitch! Who the hell do you think you are? The speed limit society? Open up.”

He pounded again on the window. The sharp
click
of a heavy ring striking the glass made her cringe with each blow as he bellowed on about her awful driving. Her father stepped out of the house. Riley sat up, about to grin with relief until she noticed the assault rifle in his hands. All the blood drained out of her face.

Dad fired a shot into the air, bringing an immediate end to the screaming two inches from her window.

“That’s a nice van,” said Dad. “Be a shame if anything happened to it… like a bunch of holes.”

“Shit.” The man whirled on Dad, glaring.

“Nothing out here but weeds.” Dad aimed at the guy’s head. “No one will find you. You have three seconds to get the hell away from my daughter.”

Riley shivered, whispering, “D-Dad, what the fuck?”

The man backed up, hands held out to the side. Dad lifted his finger off the trigger, but kept the rifle aimed. Riley looked back and forth from her father to the retreating cowboy as he slinked to the van. He got in without another word, backed through a K turn and thundered off to the south. Riley rattled the handle for a few seconds before she remembered how to work the unlock button, and ran to her father.

“Dad!”

He clamped one arm around her, holding the weapon in the other. “What happened?”

“I was driving a little slow ‘cause I was afraid of the cops, and that asshole was all over me.” She blinked. “That’s a gun.”

“Yes. AR15.”

“You have a gun?” She swallowed again.

“About fourteen of them. There’s one in the glove box.”

“What?” She shivered, twisting to peer at the truck.
I had a gun with me in there? I sat in front of a gun for three days?
“Y-you have a gun in the glove box?”

“Yeah, but it’s only a revolver. Open carry is legal in New Mexico.” He walked over to the passenger door.

“Dad! If the Jersey cops found that, you would’ve gotten arrested, and I’d be in a home now.” What began as a yell ended with a whimper.

He pulled the door open and stared an apology into the ground at her feet. “Uh, sorry. I wasn’t thinking. They said Lily was dead and you needed me. I ran out the door in the clothes I was wearing. Had to buy a new shirt the morning of the funeral.”

She crept over to him, eyeing the rifle warily, and hugged him. Her harrowing ride got the better of her, and she lost a few minutes crying and shaking. Having Dad’s arms around her felt awesome.

He slung the rifle over his shoulder on a strap and grabbed the plastic bags, repacking the contents. “It’s a damn miracle the eggs survived. That son of a bitch didn’t bumper tap you, did he?”

“No.” She looked at the dust cloud fading in the distance. “Is he gonna call the cops on you?”

“Let him. This is my property, and he was assaulting my kid.” Dad nudged the door closed with his hip. “He won’t. Not like he was driving courteously. A well-balanced mind doesn’t chase someone ten miles out of their way just to bitch about going too slow.”

She laughed and followed him inside. Dad left the rifle by the arch between kitchen and living room and carried the plastic bags to the kitchen counter while Riley diverted to his room and dropped the keys on the desk by his computer, where a notepad file displayed on the screen.

Ukraine unstable. Forces massing at the border. POTUS may authorize military intervention. Moving assets from Prague to assist. Russia saber rattling, threatening to respond 3x over. Delta-Two-Two confirm N. Korea courting Russian alliance.

She regretted reading it and fast-walked to her room, ditched her sneakers, and padded back to the kitchen with her hands on her face, trying to rub some calm into her sinuses.

“Dad, is that guy gonna come back?”

He put the chicken in the fridge. “He’ll be one sorry bastard if he does, but I doubt it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She pulled open the bags, and made some room among the SpaghettiOs for the dry goods.

“If he comes back, he’s up to no good. I’m not going to bother asking him questions.”

“You’d shoot him?”

“Yep.” He looked over the items she bought. “I’m impressed. No cookies or junk.”

Wow.
She stared at him for a moment. “Uhm, you only gave me sixty bucks.”

“Receipt says sixty four.”

“Sergeant Rodriguez covered me.”

“What?” Dad looked at her, alarmed. “Damn.”

Uneasy tightness gripped her throat. “D-Dad? Why are you afraid of the cops? He seemed nice. You’re not like a serial killer or something?”

His worry evaporated. “No. Oh, God. I… yeah I can see where that came from. C’mere.” He held out his arm.

She hesitated for three seconds, but decided to trust him.

“The people who want to compromise my mission would target LEOs first. Get them to ingratiate themselves so they can get information. You’re a kid. You’d say things to be friendly and nice, trusting a figure of authority without knowing you’re giving away valuable information.”

“I don’t think he was compromised. He seemed like a sweet man.”

“Maybe. Be careful what you say. They’re always looking for something to get you on. Don’t give them any more than you have to. In fact, you can just tell them you don’t want to answer any questions. Invoke your fifth amendment.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Do that and they’ll
know
I did something wrong.”

Dad shook his head. “That’s the way they control everyone. They erode the rights of the common citizen my making them feel guilty… anyway, want some SpaghettiOs?” He grinned.

“Um. No.” She searched the cabinets under the sink for a decent-sized pot. “I’m going to make a stew.”

“Okay.” He kissed her on top of the head and wandered back to his bedroom.

Riley arranged the potatoes, onions, carrots, and a box of fresh mushrooms on the counter, and ran water into the pot. Dad’s voice mumbled in the distance.

The occasional “Yes, sir” or, “That’s not good, sir,” was all she could make out whenever his voice got louder.

She peeled and cut the carrots, peeled and cut the potatoes, and diced the onion. The stew beef went in a pan next to the large pot, helped along with a little salt and garlic powder. Cooking made her think of Mom, but she didn’t feel like bursting into tears again.
Guess I’m making progress.
She glanced at Dad’s silhouette lit by his monitors.
He basically needs a mom. Barely taking care of himself.

Every so often, she’d look up at the window over the sink, fearful there’d be a white van outside. About half an hour later, Dad wandered in and came up behind her with a hand on her shoulder.

“Hey Squirrel, that smells pretty good.”

She clenched her jaw.
I hate that name. He saved me from a raging jackass, so I’ll let it go.
“Thanks.”

Dad looked at the ceiling as the sound of jets going overhead seeped out of the sky.

“Again?” she asked.

“Hmm. Eight B1s.” He leaned over the sink to the window, staring up at a sharp angle. “What do you mean again?”

“They were flying around this morning too. Big green suckers with adjustable wings?”

He got nervous and quiet.

“What? This is the middle of the country, they’re probably training.”

“Not with eight planes. Things are getting tense. I bet they’re getting ready to send them to Europe. Probably drilling a specific mission.”

“It’s that bad?” She lifted the lid to check on the stew. Thick, brown liquid bubbled like something out of Yosemite Park.

“Not yet, but it’s getting close. It could tip either way.”

“You think it will?”

Dad leaned over and kissed the side of her head. “I don’t think even the Koreans are that foolish. They know what they’re doing.”

“Oh.” She pointed a wooden spoon at one of the cabinets. “Grab the bread, this is almost ready.”

Ten minutes later, they sat at the kitchen table having dinner like a family―at least, two thirds of one. Riley glanced at the empty seat to her right, daydreaming Mom sitting in it. Memories of having a meal with two parents at the table lurked too far back in her mind to grasp.

“This is really good, Squirrel.”

She tensed.

He hurried to swallow. “Sorry. I keep forgetting you’re not a little girl anymore.”

Riley lifted a piece of carrot out of her bowl on a spoon, and smirked at it. “That’s not really why I get mad when you call me that.”

“Oh?” Dad put his spoon down. “Do enlighten me.”

She glanced at him and back at the carrot. “That was your nickname for me before you left. When I was eight, Mom called me Squirrel and it was like reminding me I wasn’t ever going to see you again. That was
your
name for me, and hearing it hit some kinda nerve or something. I yelled at Mom, went all super-micro-bitch on her. Threw a screaming tantrum. I might’ve even blamed her for you leaving.” The spoon (and carrot) plopped into the bowl. “I went downstairs later and found her crying. I never saw Mom cry before, and it was my fault. Now, when you call me that name, it reminds me of making Mom cry. How could I know how much it would hurt her? I was only a little kid.”