Read Online Black Helicopters by Blythe Woolston - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Blythe Woolston
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him, and they want everybody to think he’s dead. Sorry, kids. That’s the way it is.”
After a couple of minutes, Captain Nichols says, “He was a level dealer, your daddy. He coulda used a tinfoil hat maybe, but he was fighting the good fight. And I promised him I’d help you out if you needed it, so that’s going to happen. We can talk about that in the morning. We can talk about all of it.”
“You ever read books?” I twist sideways so I can see the little boy in the back seat.
“I read books,” says Corbin. “That’s how I learned about Helicoprion. That’s how I learned how all this used to be under the sea. All the way to Wyoming. All the way to Kansas.”
“Was that back in the dinosaur times?”
“
Before
the dinosaurs. There were lots of things before dinosaurs.”
“And lots of things after.”
“Maybe not.”
“Well, we’re here. And that’s after the dinosaurs.”
“Not after. Dinosaurs are still around. They’re just being birds now.”
“Birds?”
Two ravens cross our path, their shadows are a moment on the hood of the car, and then they are gliding into the past behind us. And we are in their past, too, from their perspective. “Turn left at the next road,” I tell Eric. I don’t say, Turn because of the ravens, the gliding, guiding ravens.
I turn back to Corbin in the back seat and say, “I don’t think I’d want to meet any dinosaur bird big as a tree so it could just peck me up like a bug. But you don’t believe that, do you? You don’t believe in dinosaur birds.”
“Not like that. That’s stupid. They turned
into
birds. They laid eggs. That’s a thing they’re alike. And there’s other things. Things about their bones and feet.”
“Did they caw like ravens? Did they sing? Like meadowlarks?”
“We don’t know that. Songs don’t leave fossils. There’s no bones in noise. Why don’t you know that? What kind of books do you read? Did you read any
useful
books?”
“I didn’t have any books about dinosaurs. I like books with stories in them. Like
Tarzan.
I read
Tarzan
lots of times.”
“I saw a cartoon movie about Tarzan. It wasn’t very scientific.”
“Hey, Bro, stop bugging her. Check in the pocket of my sweatshirt back there. My game’s in there — and some headphones. Why don’t you plug in and play? You can even play on my files — I’m totally cool with it. You can see levels you never saw before.”
“Sweet!” Corbin starts pawing around in the pile of clothes on the seat. “Got it.”
“You can do me a solid sometime,” says Eric, but Corbin is already connected to the machine, already gone; his body is already a husk in the backseat; all that’s left behind are his twitching thumbs and eyes.
“So, what’s your plan now you come down from the mountains? Where you gonna live?” Captain Nichols asks the questions while he pours us coffee. He feeds us eggs too, real eggs, but they are burnt crisp and crinkly around the edges and don’t taste so good as I remember.
“We need a place to park the bus where we aren’t snowed in all winter. That’s what we need.”
“How you heat that thing?”
“There’s a little barrel stove. We put the pipe out the window. And the kerosene lamp throws a lot of heat. We use that nights.”
“Even a little stove needs a lot of wood to make it through the winter.”
That’s a fact. It’s inarguable. It’s also true that we, right now, don’t have a lot of wood. There’s plenty of wood stacked by the root cellar where the cabin used to be, but it might as well be on the moon. We can’t go there. We can’t go back home.
“What about your momma’s people? Would they take you?” Captain Nichols looks at Bo all the time, like Bo is the one to talk to, like Bo is the one with the com.
“We are our momma’s people,” I say.
“Well, then, your options are pretty limited. You got no decent place to sleep. You got no decent vehicle — you can’t drive that bus around,
After a couple of minutes, Captain Nichols says, “He was a level dealer, your daddy. He coulda used a tinfoil hat maybe, but he was fighting the good fight. And I promised him I’d help you out if you needed it, so that’s going to happen. We can talk about that in the morning. We can talk about all of it.”
“You ever read books?” I twist sideways so I can see the little boy in the back seat.
“I read books,” says Corbin. “That’s how I learned about Helicoprion. That’s how I learned how all this used to be under the sea. All the way to Wyoming. All the way to Kansas.”
“Was that back in the dinosaur times?”
“
Before
the dinosaurs. There were lots of things before dinosaurs.”
“And lots of things after.”
“Maybe not.”
“Well, we’re here. And that’s after the dinosaurs.”
“Not after. Dinosaurs are still around. They’re just being birds now.”
“Birds?”
Two ravens cross our path, their shadows are a moment on the hood of the car, and then they are gliding into the past behind us. And we are in their past, too, from their perspective. “Turn left at the next road,” I tell Eric. I don’t say, Turn because of the ravens, the gliding, guiding ravens.
I turn back to Corbin in the back seat and say, “I don’t think I’d want to meet any dinosaur bird big as a tree so it could just peck me up like a bug. But you don’t believe that, do you? You don’t believe in dinosaur birds.”
“Not like that. That’s stupid. They turned
into
birds. They laid eggs. That’s a thing they’re alike. And there’s other things. Things about their bones and feet.”
“Did they caw like ravens? Did they sing? Like meadowlarks?”
“We don’t know that. Songs don’t leave fossils. There’s no bones in noise. Why don’t you know that? What kind of books do you read? Did you read any
useful
books?”
“I didn’t have any books about dinosaurs. I like books with stories in them. Like
Tarzan.
I read
Tarzan
lots of times.”
“I saw a cartoon movie about Tarzan. It wasn’t very scientific.”
“Hey, Bro, stop bugging her. Check in the pocket of my sweatshirt back there. My game’s in there — and some headphones. Why don’t you plug in and play? You can even play on my files — I’m totally cool with it. You can see levels you never saw before.”
“Sweet!” Corbin starts pawing around in the pile of clothes on the seat. “Got it.”
“You can do me a solid sometime,” says Eric, but Corbin is already connected to the machine, already gone; his body is already a husk in the backseat; all that’s left behind are his twitching thumbs and eyes.
“So, what’s your plan now you come down from the mountains? Where you gonna live?” Captain Nichols asks the questions while he pours us coffee. He feeds us eggs too, real eggs, but they are burnt crisp and crinkly around the edges and don’t taste so good as I remember.
“We need a place to park the bus where we aren’t snowed in all winter. That’s what we need.”
“How you heat that thing?”
“There’s a little barrel stove. We put the pipe out the window. And the kerosene lamp throws a lot of heat. We use that nights.”
“Even a little stove needs a lot of wood to make it through the winter.”
That’s a fact. It’s inarguable. It’s also true that we, right now, don’t have a lot of wood. There’s plenty of wood stacked by the root cellar where the cabin used to be, but it might as well be on the moon. We can’t go there. We can’t go back home.
“What about your momma’s people? Would they take you?” Captain Nichols looks at Bo all the time, like Bo is the one to talk to, like Bo is the one with the com.
“We are our momma’s people,” I say.
“Well, then, your options are pretty limited. You got no decent place to sleep. You got no decent vehicle — you can’t drive that bus around,
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