said.
Mazy rolled her lower lip under her teeth and bit down.“They don’t want us,” she said quietly. Lavina walked up, stood over her daughter, and “Yes, ma’am,” Jennifer heard Mazy say. “No, ma’am, I don’t have any more sass.”
“The desert’s here,” the driver shouted from up front. “You heard the patroller. They’re keeping us locked up
here
so we can’t go north or anywhere else.” He didn’t look back when he said it, just flung his arms at the sky like Gail had done, then let them drop and his whole body seemed to drop again. So loud. Would the noise bring people from behind the walls? Jennifer squeezed the clear glass in her hand until the edges started to cut.
Of course, it was the desert. It had made its way to Birmingham like it had always threatened to do. No one said anything after that. Those lights she had seen in the dark, those lights that were stars and would be maps—they had vanished. Nothing to guide them except a car smoldering, or a home in the distance still in flames. Jennifer wondered, was everyone crazy now? Setting fires? Cloistered behind walls until the sky and smoke settled back? Not everyone could be dead and vanished. Any second they might appear and come after her.
Three mille-copters dove in and they had to duck. She had seen mille-copters on TV—rescue vehicles that hovered just above roads, but could also sail higher. Tiny. They held four people—two in the cab, two facing the other way in the backseat, the rumble seat, open to the air with legs dangling out. The engine was sandwiched between the box-cab and the short blades. Sometimes the copters were hooked together into trains, the lead mille-copter cutting a path for the others to dip into and follow like water channeled into a sluice. And so here they were, flying, blue lights flashing, speeding over the dead bodies and smoke and traffic jam, so close to the ground that Jennifer and the others had to duck out of the way.
They’re heading to the consulate
, she decided, her heart cutting out and back in as if the blades might reverse herexhaustion, its speed might lift and make her better—so close—if she reached up, she’d touch a dangling foot. It seemed possible. Everyone in the group, they looked up, too—the wind from the blades rushing, cooling, something of the dust and the sky in this. The mille-copters shot ahead, the faces of the patrollers in the rumble seats—they continued to look out, fixed and tired and dirty. The wind eddied, then a crosswind turned the other way.
The mille-copters became like the other noises in Birmingham, the gunshots and explosions, buildings collapsing—something was being destroyed in the white haze, but always at a distance. The whir fell to a hum, then vanished, and only their steps echoed through the wreck of bodies.
At one point they came upon a man, his left arm missing, sawed down at the shoulder, his right hand cradling a gun. Darl pulled it free and pulled the chamber. He squeezed the trigger. Nothing. Squeezed it again, with the same result, and grasped the stock more firmly, kept it in view.
“I used to drive this street all the time,” the driver told them. “Drove up 11 last week, through all the checkpoints, all the way to the downtown, and then the airport on East Lake Boulevard.” He shook his head, kept walking though it was hard for him. No one stopped walking. Jennifer’s heart stayed with the girl with the purple and blue face. Someone destroyed like that—she couldn’t force that girl from her mind.
June 27
Dear Mama
,
This is what Birmingham is now: people walking around moaning, or just staring, falling. The sun’s gotten to them, the white haze and the smoke—everyone
coughs, is turning crazy. I wish I could tell you I was flying to Chicago and would be there soon, so soon. But I’ve already been to the consulate. The official said all visas have been suspended. Maybe tomorrow they’ll be reinstated. She said, Check
Mazy rolled her lower lip under her teeth and bit down.“They don’t want us,” she said quietly. Lavina walked up, stood over her daughter, and “Yes, ma’am,” Jennifer heard Mazy say. “No, ma’am, I don’t have any more sass.”
“The desert’s here,” the driver shouted from up front. “You heard the patroller. They’re keeping us locked up
here
so we can’t go north or anywhere else.” He didn’t look back when he said it, just flung his arms at the sky like Gail had done, then let them drop and his whole body seemed to drop again. So loud. Would the noise bring people from behind the walls? Jennifer squeezed the clear glass in her hand until the edges started to cut.
Of course, it was the desert. It had made its way to Birmingham like it had always threatened to do. No one said anything after that. Those lights she had seen in the dark, those lights that were stars and would be maps—they had vanished. Nothing to guide them except a car smoldering, or a home in the distance still in flames. Jennifer wondered, was everyone crazy now? Setting fires? Cloistered behind walls until the sky and smoke settled back? Not everyone could be dead and vanished. Any second they might appear and come after her.
Three mille-copters dove in and they had to duck. She had seen mille-copters on TV—rescue vehicles that hovered just above roads, but could also sail higher. Tiny. They held four people—two in the cab, two facing the other way in the backseat, the rumble seat, open to the air with legs dangling out. The engine was sandwiched between the box-cab and the short blades. Sometimes the copters were hooked together into trains, the lead mille-copter cutting a path for the others to dip into and follow like water channeled into a sluice. And so here they were, flying, blue lights flashing, speeding over the dead bodies and smoke and traffic jam, so close to the ground that Jennifer and the others had to duck out of the way.
They’re heading to the consulate
, she decided, her heart cutting out and back in as if the blades might reverse herexhaustion, its speed might lift and make her better—so close—if she reached up, she’d touch a dangling foot. It seemed possible. Everyone in the group, they looked up, too—the wind from the blades rushing, cooling, something of the dust and the sky in this. The mille-copters shot ahead, the faces of the patrollers in the rumble seats—they continued to look out, fixed and tired and dirty. The wind eddied, then a crosswind turned the other way.
The mille-copters became like the other noises in Birmingham, the gunshots and explosions, buildings collapsing—something was being destroyed in the white haze, but always at a distance. The whir fell to a hum, then vanished, and only their steps echoed through the wreck of bodies.
At one point they came upon a man, his left arm missing, sawed down at the shoulder, his right hand cradling a gun. Darl pulled it free and pulled the chamber. He squeezed the trigger. Nothing. Squeezed it again, with the same result, and grasped the stock more firmly, kept it in view.
“I used to drive this street all the time,” the driver told them. “Drove up 11 last week, through all the checkpoints, all the way to the downtown, and then the airport on East Lake Boulevard.” He shook his head, kept walking though it was hard for him. No one stopped walking. Jennifer’s heart stayed with the girl with the purple and blue face. Someone destroyed like that—she couldn’t force that girl from her mind.
June 27
Dear Mama
,
This is what Birmingham is now: people walking around moaning, or just staring, falling. The sun’s gotten to them, the white haze and the smoke—everyone
coughs, is turning crazy. I wish I could tell you I was flying to Chicago and would be there soon, so soon. But I’ve already been to the consulate. The official said all visas have been suspended. Maybe tomorrow they’ll be reinstated. She said, Check
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