A New Day in America (18 page)

Exhaustion sets in around Salt Lake City. They had driven through the night, switching on the wheel despite Nos’ protests. They take a break from the highway and roll though sparsely populated suburban areas until they stumble upon a strip that’s clustered with people. They pass bars that are lit up inside. Everything is dirty. People, cars, homes, shops. Men walk around with pistols in their waistlines, shotguns in one hand dangling to the ground, and sidearms hooked in belt holsters.
Wild West
. Preachers are everywhere with the same symbol of the flaming chalice, some of them flanked by Revelation Guard. They stand around the preachers, and sometimes they just walk around in pairs and watch. The preacher back at the garage could have used the muscle. Some are in their sixties. Some are pushing sixteen. They speak of Revelations and the Revelation with glassy-eyed opiate fever.

The Salt Lake City Hilton’s doors are open, and they get a room for sixty dollars, negotiated down from eighty. The room has no electricity and is about as clean as a campsite in the woods, but they make do. They close the dusty blinds and shut out the morning sun.

“We’ll take the floor,” says Leila, preparing a blanket.

“No, take the bed. I insist.”

“But—”

“Don’t bother.”

Naomi, Leila, and all three dogs pile on the bed.

“God, I’m
so
…” Leila drifts off before she can finish her sentence.

Tired
. Nos follows her lead.

***

Nos bursts awake.
He’s in the room
.

A hand is on his shoulder. Nos whirls around and stops.

It’s Leila.

“What was that?” she whispers.

Nos sighs, rolling his eyes.
This again
.

“Sorry. Nothing. Just typical PTSD bullshit.”

She smirks. That smirk. That jab. “Is that all?”

“What’s up?” he asks.

“Crowded up there,” she says, snuggling under his blanket.

“Now it’s crowded down here,” he utters.

“Good.”

They are nose to nose, and they softly open their mouths in the cold. Her breath is perfume.

He shuts his eyes.
Good
. He keeps his eyes shut.
Leave it at that
.

She turns. His eyes open. Her back is to him. Her hair brushes his nose.
How could she possible smell good?

Her hips press against his. She reaches her arm back and cups his chin.

“The world could end tomorrow,” she purrs.

“The world already ended.”

“So what do we have to lose?” She is tender in his ear.
And sexy as all damnation
.

“I know.”

“I’ll murder for you.”

“I know. I will, too.”

“I know.”

Their whispers shuffle back and fourth like drum brushes.

“I’ll murder for her.”

“So murder for her.”

“I’ll protect her.”

“So protect her.”

“The world’s already over.”

“I know.”

“We deserve it.”

“I know.”

“This is all there is.”

“Is it?”

“The world is over.”

“This is all there is.”

“I know.”

“We deserve it.”

“I know.”

“
Shhhh
.” She presses her lips to his. Her pants slide down as though she didn’t have to touch them. His open without a thought. He glides inside.

“
Shhhhh,”
she repeats, her full lips puckered.

He’s filled with a rush of warmth.

“
Shhhh
.”

But he hasn’t made a sound.

It’s night by the time they leave. The Hilton dining room has some customers. They pay the strongmen inside the doors ten dollars a person. Folks are helping themselves to a buffet, and Nos, Leila, and Nay hungrily follow.
Feels civilized
.

Almost
. The former glamour of the dining room makes an odd host for the cowboys inside. The men are all armed. Suspicious eyes dart from person to person. Working girls are at the bar, blatantly soliciting.
Not the place for a six-year-old girl. Though I’m not sure where is anymore
. They keep their heads down and eat gamey plates of shredded pork.
Least I hope it’s pork
.

Leila behaves exactly like she always has. Not a trace of discomfort or even an extra sly glance.
Like it didn’t happen. And so what if it did?
He hopes Naomi didn’t wake up.
We didn’t make a sound
.

Tempers flare by the bar. A hooded man in stained clothes curses out one of the girls. He spits disgusting words like
bitch
and
cunt
at her. Nos wants to cover Naomi’s ears, but the gesture seems dainty and foolish.
Too late for that. She’s heard worse. Seen worse
.

The hooker stands her ground and shoves her chin up at the hooded man and gets cracked across the jaw for her trouble. She stumbles onto the bar, and the hooded man grabs her by the arm and draws his piece. All around the room, eyes settle back down to diner plates. The big men at the doors barely glance at the hooded man as he drags the screaming girl out at gunpoint.
They must know she’s his
.

The thought doesn’t make Nos like it any better. He can hear her screams in the street outside the Hilton, and he can imagine what’s going on. Nay has stopped eating. He looks at his own food and can’t imagine taking another bite. He doesn’t know which sickens him more—the hooded man or the indifferent diners.

Through the dining room window, he sees the hooded man throw the girl to the ground. He holds the gun at her and unbuckles his belt and drops to his knees, out of sight.

“Leila, take Naomi to the van.”

“You sure?”

Noo! Nooo!
The girl wails from outside. If he can hear, Nay can hear.

“I’m sure.”

The three of them slide out past the doormen. Leila and Naomi peel off to the van, where the muscular pit bulls are fogging the windows with heavy breaths. He hopes the hooded man doesn’t have backup at the Hilton. Maybe he’s
running
the Hilton.
Leila and the dogs will keep Nay safe
.

The hooded man is wrestling the girl’s panties down her legs. They snag around her ankle. Nos presses the nozzle of his Sig into the man’s hood.

“Don’t move,” he says. The girl stops screaming.

Nos steps sideways to keep an eye on the Hilton. The doormen step outside. Nos pulls his other sidepiece and holds them to point.

He backs up, both the hooded man and the doormen in each sight, spreading his arms in a V. The doormen are itching to reach for their guns.

“Drop to the ground. The three of you.”

“He can’t shoot us all,” says the hooded man, pants awkwardly around his ankles. “Burn him!”

The doormen don’t seem so sure.

“You,” Nos barks at the hooded man. “Drop the gun.”

“I said
burn him
.”

“You have a gun. But you won’t try me. Why would they?”

The hooded man glances to his gun.

“Don’t look at your gun. Look at me. You can’t shoot me unless you see me.”

The hooded man looks up and makes eye contact.

“Good. But don’t look at my eyes. My eyes can trick you. My body can’t lie. You see my shoulder about to tense, you know I’m about to shoot you. So look at my whole body at once. You see it now?”

The hooded man’s mouth hangs open. The girl scurries back away from him on her elbows. Nos’ eyes dart to the doormen and then back to the hooded man.

“That’s right. I look exactly like I’m about to kill you. That’s cause I am. Unless you drop your piece. You put the gun down, or I put you down.”

Sirens wail from down the street. Nos hears the roaring engine of an oncoming car. He tenses even more.
Will I have to shoot these fools and then their backup?

The hooded man throws his gun to the ground. Tires screech up the street and bang up onto the curb. The doors pop open and soldiers rush out.
Revelation Guard
.

Three men in uniform grab the hooded man and slam him up against the Hilton, beating him. The doormen slink back inside.
Always good to know the local food chain
.

An older man wearing the flaming chalice on his sleeve and breast hops out of the driver’s seat. He chews on one side of his mouth, giving the impression that tonight is another lazy evening patrol. He glances at his men’s work and extends a hand to Nos.

“Lieutenant Baker.”

“Nos Greene.”

“Thank you for the help. Can use all we can get with these savages.”

Baker’s men drive their boots into the attempted rapist. They pick the girl up off the ground and shove her off, telling her to get lost.

“No problem.”

“Well, Mr. Greene, you’re a rare sort. Risking your life for a hooker like that. Glad to see it.”

“I’m glad to see that there’s some authority at work around here.”

“We’re trying.”

The soldiers drag the bloody hooded man off the ground and shove him into the back of the police truck.

Nos’ NYPD van opens up, and Leila steps out holding three dogs by the leash and Naomi’s hand. Leila smiles as the dogs eagerly grunt forward. Baker tips his hat to both of them.

“Coming from New York?” Baker asks, looking at the giant blue NYPD logo on the side of the van.

“How’d you guess?” says Nos with a grin.

“Used to be a detective,” says the man, going along with it. “Dade County Sheriff’s Office. Nice couple ladies you got here. Strong pooches, too—an embarrassment of riches these days.”

“Safety in numbers,” says Nos.

“Where you headed?”

“Out West.”

“Cisco?”

Nos nods. “Heard it was something like a real city.”

“Heard that, too. It’s living—if you like that kinda life.”

“I am a city boy at heart,” says Nos.

“You know another reason why folks is heading to Frisco. Rumored that they got a cure out West.”

“Is that right?”
So it’s a rumor now. Still hope
.

“I can tell you right now by Jesus it ain’t true,” he says, sounding a touch country. “They got no more cure than we do right here, anyways. Revelation territory got the best doctors left living in America.”

“Revelation
territory
?”

“Yes,” Baker says with a nod of pride. “Up as far as the Dakotas, west as far as Nevada, south as far as Texas, and East over to around Illinois. Might be able to help your little girl there.”

Nos’s eyes snap to meet Baker’s.
The rash is that obvious
.

“Don’t mean to pry, but I spied that there rash she got. I do know, my friend, how that is the very heaviest of burdens. Lost my own son to eternity.”

“Sorry to hear that,” says Nos.

Leila’s expression mirrors Nos’ own feeling—apprehensive, but listening, as one does when flirting with hope.
Why
, he wonders,
are we just hearing of this?

“The Revelation has a territory of a good fifteen states and has a presence in many more. Been running medical clinics, public works, getting electricity, and power together, saving souls, helping all God’s children. Now we don’t have a cure—not sure there is such a thing. But we do know how to treat it.”

Nos hates clinics. After Central Park, he hates the
word
‘clinic’.
Two weeks, though
. Just two weeks supply of treatment—those clear fluid vials for Nay will run out.

“They have treatment?”

“We’re making our best effort to institute a rule of law, distribution of food, resources, and taking care of the sick, especially those afflicted with this disease. You’ve been driving through revelation territory for some time now—have you seen anyone with that rash?”

Nos and Leila look at each other.

“Can’t say I noticed, one way or another.”

“I can tell you that you haven’t. Our citizens are being well tended to.”

“We would be grateful,” says Nos.

“But for the mercy of God,” says Baker. “I’m headed that way anyways to lock this sucker up, so feel free to follow me.”

Nos trails after Baker’s police truck on and then off of the highway.

“Awful accommodating, isn’t he?” starts Leila.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“They’re going to try to convert us.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

“They’re going to try really hard this time. Try to dangle her medicine out in front of you like a carrot on a stick.”

“I’d convert to Scientology if it would save Nay. The Revelation came through back at base. And for you at that garage.”

“I know.”

“Somebody has to at least try and put the country back together.”

“What country?”

Several yellow school buses line the front of the hospital. There are two Humvees with mounted turrets in front of the ER doors, a line of Salt Lake City Police bikes, two four wheelers that could carry five soldiers each, and each is armed with a twenty-millimeter gun.

Nos, Naomi, and Leila wait nervously in the ER, with generators running pale blue lights. The flaming chalice is everywhere, as though teenagers tagged up the walls. Armed guards are at every door.
Lots of resources to protect
. They examine everyone. They only smile at others who wear the symbol of the chalice. Baker is in the triage station chatting up two nurses.

“I hate hospitals,” mutters Leila.

A preacher sits on a stool in the waiting room. He sips from a plastic cup of water and begins to preach with the vibrato of an old bluesman.

“The Wrath of God is like great waters that are damned for the present. ‘Tis true, that judgment against your evil works has not been executed hitherto; the floods of God’s vengeance have been withheld; but your guilt in the meantime is constantly increasing, and you are every day treasuring up more Wrath.”

Leila’s eyes go wide and look into Nos’ like
what the…?

“The waters are continually rising, waxing more and more mighty; and there is nothing more than the pleasure of God that holds the waters back that are unwilling to be stopped, and press hard to go forward; if God should only withdraw his hand from the flood-gate, it would immediately fly open, and the fiery floods of the fierceness of the Wrath of God will rush forth with inconceivable fury, and would come upon you with omnipotent power.”