Saturday, August 29, 2009

Scenes 44 & 45

The darkness of the November sky is dotted with stars. Myron is staring straight up from a bed of salt. He’s unable to see beyond the boxy frame of the truck. It’s like a giant TV, except it’s vertical.

When they first clamber in and collapse, Blinky cries out frantically. Salt in his wounds. Myron turns him around on his back, where he’s more or less intact. Myron cradles him.

Helicopters scan the darkness, criss-crossing like angry birds. Blinky is yammering. Nonsense, mostly. Plainly, the guy is distressed. Which he’s got a right to be. Myron tries to shush him. No luck. Then Blinky starts making actual sentences.

“I was standing in that lot,” Blinky says. “Watching.”

“Watching what,” says Myron.

“Cars,” says Blinky. “Watching the cars . . . drive.”

“What about--”

“And I figured it out.”

“Uh-huh,” adds Myron.

“The stuff . . . they carry.”

Blinky pulls himself up and looks at Myron intensely. “Everybody,” he says, “is carrying something around.” He falls back a bit. “I mean, like a burden.

“This guy has cancer. That guy owes money. Some woman hates herself.”

“Yeah,” says Myron.

“Man, it hurts,” Blinky says.

“It’s okay, Blink,” soothes Myron.

“All those people,” says Blinky, “all that junk they carry around.” Myron cradles him tighter and pats his arm. “Ow,” says Blinky. Myron apologizes right away.

“It freaked me out,” says Blink. He’s getting a head of steam up. “And then I had, like, a vision. You know the spirit animals, they were all around. A beaver. A pheasant. Your buck was there. Then.” He stops talking for a minute. “Then we all got cold.”

Blinky licks his lips with effort. “The station was locked.”

“And then what,” says Myron.

“We built a fire.”



The green light of the dash functions barely illumines the two figures in the cab. “What do you mean we’re not done!” demands Wayne. “We struck our blow.” The Indian is silent. “You stoic son of a bitch, answer me! You said we needed an action, and we executed one. That was a first class diversion!”

Little Turtle says, “But not adequate to the purpose.”

“And that would be? A total defeat?”

“That’s unrealistic,” avers the Chief.

“Well, what then?” demands Wayne. “What!?”

Little Turtle looks over at him and says, “Anthony. Can I just drive?”

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