smokeSCREEN : book6.1

Three days. "Three Goddamned days!"

Anze pauses, looking up from her Novel, as she calls it.

"He'll be back Friday," she reassures me.

"Who?"

She narrows her eyes at me.

"Are you oblivious to even yourself? You spend way too much time in that growhouse."

"The growhouse is wicked – Justin thinks he could find a stereo for it. So then it'd just be me, and you and… y'know, whatever – walk-ins."

"Sophie, what is wrong?

"Crow's gone! And she was it for me, she was my friend."

"I was your friend!"

"She was my best friend. Like you an' Diane."

"…poor Diane…"

"God rest'er soul," I mumble, nodding. "You know exactly what I'm feeling, somewhere deep down inside that airhead brain of yours." Her childrens' book's shiny cardboard cover makes a slapping sound as she slams it shut.

"Airhead? Look, you don't get it. You talk? To no one except me, and him. You spend all day in the growhouse, and you come up to sleep."

"I'm working hard."

"Yes, gowing weed – everyone's real proud of you, it's looking like great stuff, but Sophie… when are you gonna' come out into the Sun?"

"I'm tan."

"You're Latino."

I huff and flop down onto the couch beside her.

"Seriously, Sophie. They're not comin' back." She pats my shoulder – got a warm hand for such a skinny chick.

"He got us out."

"And we waited for him, he didn't come," she tells me. I find a cigarette, lighting it and inhaling quick. My eye scans the room. A few table lamps this late at night – two candles on the table in front of us with the hookah. The stereo – Anze and I have been listening to a lot of White Stripes and Tea Party lately, and The Badger's on now. It's comforting, even though she's right. …she must be.

"He sent Douglas," I say more for my benefit than hers.

"Maybe to say goodbye."

"Goodbye for now – we're alive somewhere," I pat the wolf's head when she comes up beside me. Why is this thing so damn affectionate?

"You gotta' start moving on."

"But we're not… whole."

"Hey, no way…" She sits on the coffee table in front of me and looks me straight in the eye, saying, "You, me, every one of us? We're whole on our own. Cool people just compliment what's already there."

Huh.

How should one respond?

"Who told you that?"

"Cypress," she grins, shrugging ever-so-cutely.

"Didn't know you were that close."

"Oh, we weren't – we only really talked five or six times, but he was nice to me."

"Cypress was nice to everyone."

"Like Justin," she nods. I narrow my eye at her.

"Aren't we the sharp one lately?"

"Well think about this, Sophie – remember way back when? That night Cypress ran off, and Crow went after him? What if you'd been the one running after him? Who would he have picked? Did you want to?"

"Well, I-"

She shakes her pretty silver hair and says, "Doesn't matter. Question is this; Justin's camping a four hour's bike south – it's marked on the map in the main hall. Do you wanna' be in the grow house, or out there with him?"

Well shut me up.

"You still got your bike?"

"Skateboard," she shrugs.

"Better," I nod.

* * *

Klackity-klackity-klackity-klackity-klackity-klackity-klackity-klackity-klackity-

I whip along the old cracked Osbourne sidewalk. I like the sidewalks, sorta – it's like counting.

But now I drop onto the generally more uniform pavement and speed up. I want to get there before two AM, so I decide to pass the time with music. I press play on Cypress's old discman and nod my head – Zeppelin had been a good choice.

I pass confusion corner and continue south – it's pretty beat-up, but I manage.

A lot of being a stoner is trusting yourself to make the right choice the first time you're presented with a problem, so you won't have to be worrying about it later. You learn to trust your instincts. Yes, Zeppelin had been a good choice.

I wonder if I remembered to bring my bowl?

I did remember smokes.

Looking to my right, Douglas trots along with me, asking if I brought her food.

"Well I didn't know you were comin'," I shrug. She snorts and trots off to investigate something.

And I sigh, trying to speed up.

I'll be talking to myself for a while.

* * *

I see a light far up ahead down the highway. Checking the stars, I figure it's just after three in the morning. My legs are killing me but Douglas trots briskly ahead, happy with the exercise. She turns to me and cocks her head to the side;

'Come on, come on – it's not much further,' she's telling me. 'Don't slow down now.'

I'm real tired, but the thought of a soft bed and Douglas's support push me for another two whole miles. I can't really feel my lower half when I roll towards the parking lot the scouts are camping in.

"Who's there!" a boy shouts.

"Friendly! Sophie!" I call back.

"…I don't know a Sophie…" he mumbles.

"Sophie?" someone stands up from behind a pup tent and looks for me. He's wearing the toque.

"Yeahyeahyeah – the Pot Girl," someone tells them.

"Well keep it down!" a girl shouts from inside her dark tent. Justin puts a finger to his lips and creeps over to me, wide-eyed.

"What the fuck are you doin' out here?" he whispers.

"The dog wanted to go for a walk."

Douglas is already curled up by the fire, quite content.

"What about the pack up there?"

"Pack of what?"

"Dogs – psycho dogs."

"Never saw one."

"Jesus, Sophie, they coulda' killed you."

"Hey – I'm here, I'm fine. I brought you a present…"

"…smokes?"

I hold up a pack of Reds.

"And weed," I grin.

He smiles and cocks his head to the side, adding, "You think of everything."

So far so good.

* * *

We go for a walk – him and I, alone together. It's August so it's still real warm, and the stars are so clear and the sky so broad and twinkly, we're ants walking along a trail in some unimaginably big yard.
Justin and I go for a walk, and I don't mention that I feel I'm about to collapse – I'm too happy. I don't tell him how bad my legs ache – this is fine. We're all alone, in the middle of nowhere. I want to think more about the stars, but I'm thinking about his face. Sharp features. At first the sharpness of his nose bothered me, but…

I wasn't going to say what he looks like.

But his nose works. The hazel eyes and brown hair and broad grin and four-day stubble and heavy black toque and military sweater and boad shoulders work.

"So I wanted to say I appreciate how much you've been coming down to the growhouse," I tell him. "It's really cool, you helping out and all."

And he flashes that gorgeous grin of his.

"No problem."

I didn't want to tell you what he looked like.

Damnit.

"That's why you came all the way out here?"

I nod.

"Pretty much." Rooting around in my backpack, I pull out my pipe. "That, and I figured you might wanna' get stoned."

"Can't," he says. "I'm on duty right now."

"Oh, and is this a guard patrol circuit we're on?" I joke.

"Well, yeah."

"…oh."

I thought we were having a walk – just him and I. I put the pipe away, and decide we still are – sort of.

"So when does your shift end?"

"Five," he sighs. "I get another three hours sleep before we set out for the border."

"We're going all the way to the border?"

"And from there to Grand Forks, if we think there's a need."

"How come you just didn't take a few cars?"

"…we did – two sedans."

"My legs are killing me…" I sigh, stopping. He turns around and stares at me – he's shocked.

"I… I gotta' finish my circuit," he tells me. I never see him carrying a gun, anymore – he looks good with a big rifle. He even looks good when he's shooting me down.

"We're not that far from camp – I'll just go back," I say, but he shakes his head.

"You don't have a weapon – what if a dog comes? Or a pack?"

"I didn't see a single one," I remind him.

"They chased us ten miles," he snaps back. "We were in the cars – they're starving."

"How far away did you leave them?" I ask.

"Not far enough, for my liking."

I tap my boot and look back at the glimmering light of camp – a glow around a distant corner.

"How far is your circuit?" I ask.

He points west and says, "One hundred yards, another three hundred back north after I hit the old school."

I sigh. What's another half a click?

I pull down the cap and take a step forward, but he stops me.

"Hey – Energy-Girl – how are your legs? Really?"

"They hurt."

"How much?"

"A lot – whatever, let's go."

He slings the rifle from his shoulders and takes a knee.

"C'mon," he tells me.

"What?"

"Piggyback."

"You are not carrying me."

"Look, you could like, damage yourself or something if you put your body through too much."

"I'm fine to walk. They hurt, but I'm fine." He stands up.

"You came out here 'cause you missed me?"

"Not really," I shake my head. "I came 'cause I wanted you to know I did."

He's grinning again – he won't stop. "I'll totally carry you if you want," he says. I kiss his cheek and push ahead.

"I know you would," I tell him.

He follows a few paces behind me, so I allow myself a grin of my own.

* * *

I smoke a bowl – assuring Justin it will wake me up. He doesn't partake, but I know he will once we're back at the camp. He's decided Billy is going to cover his shift – the guy wants more action anyway.

I mix it twice as he shields me from the wind with his hoodie on both sides, patiently waiting as I take perhaps too long, so close to his warmth. When I finally tap the bowl out he's looking around nervously.

"What's wrong?" I decide to ask – doesn't look like he's just going to tell me.

"You don't hear that?"

"I don't hear shit," I tell him.

"You're stoned – close your eye and focus on what you hear."

I do.

The wind. The grasses everywhere. We're close to the camp again – the distant fire.

"It's coming from the camp," I tell him.

"No it's not – something's following us."

I listen.

Nothing. Nothing. Something.

The clickity-clack of claws on concrete.

"It's probably Douglas," I tell him.

"Douglas is sleeping by the fire – I saw her."

"Douglas?" I call.

Silence.

Then the clickity-clackity – faster. Running.

"Flashlight – flashlight!" he whispers. I get my fingers around it and click the big white button – the beam flashes out sharp and clear, and we can see for two blocks.

I pull my butcher knife anyway. I've found so long as you keep it sharp, it's a great multi-purpose blade.

"See? It's Douglas."

She's poking her head around a building wall about fifty yards away.

"That's not Douglas, it's brown," he tells me, loading a shell into the chamber.

"It's black – it's Douglas."

"You're just sayin' that 'cause it's dark." He squints through the scope. "Keep the light on it."

"Forget it – it's Douglas."

"Sophie, trust me –"

"It's Douglas!"

"You're stoned!"

"Doesn't mean I'm wrong, you are so-" The boom of the rifle shuts me up, and I scream before I turn and see the corpse of that huge, bone-skinny wolf not three yards from us. I scream again, of course; "Oh, God!" and cover my mouth, turning to him. "I am so sorry – I trust you," looking at the body again, "Jesus Christ, good thing you didn't get stoned."

"Good thing – look at this wolf," he says, reaching for the flashlight and leaning down to the body.

"…what?"

"Right here – it's been written on. Like, on the skin."

He points at the wolf's inside hind-leg. It's a series of numbers and we both look again before looking up at each other.

"What the-"

"-fuck?" he finishes.

"What does this mean?"

"Well, nothing unless it's on more of them." He borrows my butcher knife and cuts off the writing in one clean rectangle, rolling it neatly and placing it in his pack.

"You're very professional," I tell him. He shrugs, so I ask, "What does it mean if it is on the other dogs?"

"I dunno," he shakes his head. "If it's not nothin', I can't imagine what kind of somethin' it would be. …can you?"

…huh.

* * *

Billy's more than happy to be prodded awake for an extra shift – he wants to prove himself, so Justin and I quietly retire to his tent – a big round one he's set up with military precision.

"I thought you were a… a Third?" I ask. He nods, so I add, "Why aren't you sleeping in the store?"

"I'm running this mission," he whispers to me. "You have to be beside your men if you want them to respect you."

"Where'd you hear that…lemmie guess…"

"Hey, he mighta' been a psycho, but that guy knew his shit," Justin wags a finger at me as he sets down on his sleeping bag. I sit beside him and stretch my aching legs out in front. That's not comfy so I try to sit on them. That's worse, so I lay on my stomach as I go through my pack.

"You brought a half an ounce?"

"There's a lot of people out here," I tell him.

"Got the budbuster?"

"Locked and loaded…" I'm already turning the little wooden grinder. "Put a fresh screen in the bowl – the way I showed you."

We prep the pot in silence, and not until we're halfway through the bowl does he finally break the silence and say, "What did Anze say to you?"

I cock my head to the side.

"How did you…? What did she say to you?"

"She told me that if I thought I might miss you on the trip to bring a double-sized sleeping bag."

I look down.

"You don't usually?"

"What do I need a double for? And she told you…?"

"She just asked me if I wanted to be down in the growhouse, or out here with you." I give my prettiest smile, "And here I am!"

He's really blushing – he's so Goddamn cute, and he chuckles,

"You're fairly confident alluva sudden."

"Well what the Hell – you brought a double-sized bed." He goes redder. "What? You think I'm all about sleeping with you?" He pulls the toque down to the tip of his sharp nose and smokes the bowl blindfolded – silently holding it back.

Damn.

"I just did what Anze suggested," he shrugs.

"Anze's a child," I tell him. "But she's pretty smart, eh?"

I set the bowl down and light two cigarettes, handing him one.

"So you're not all pissed?" asks Justin finally.

"Don't think so – move over."

"What?"

I push at his crossed legs, and he shoves over onto what will henceforth be known as His Side of the bed. Now I can stretch out on my back and God it feels good.

"Thaaat's the shit," I sigh, staring up at the blue celing of the tent, lit by our tiny kerosene lamp. This is the shit.

"Your legs still hurt?" he asks.
More a Throbbing Hind-Limb Hell than a hurt.

"A little."

His hand's on my thigh. His other one's on my knee. It's not a sexual touch, more… medicinal.

"What're you doing?"

"I'm tryin' to make you feel better."

I skateboarded for five hours – this is taking too long. Maybe when he tells me he's not trying to be sweet and he's not all about sleeping with me – maybe he means that.
This is taking way too long.

"I got a question for you – c'mere," I tell him. He looks over at me, so I say, "c'mere" again and he leans up to my shoulder. I grab his hoodie and pull him closer. This close, so I can feel his breath on my face, and he says – I love this;

"You… had a question?"

"What wouldja' like to do? Right now?" I ask. And he finally lowers his eyes to my lips, finally leans in on his own, and snaps his head up, gazing into the wall of the tent.

"Tell me you heard that," he says.

"Heard what?"

"We got action!" someone calls in the distance.

"What does that mean?" I ask. He springs to his feet and snatches up the rifle as he goes to the door of the tent.

"We're under attack," he tells me as he steps out.

"From who?"

"Does it matter?" He jumps out of my line of sight before poking his head back in. "Bring some weapons," he says.

And he's gone again.

Damnit.

I go quickly through his big pack and discover a decent-sized handgun – it's not as big as I'd like – not enough stopping power, perhaps – but I also find three extra clips. It'll do.

Damnit damnit! It's always something! Well that damn dog is gonna' suffer with me.

"Douglas!" I snap as I step out of the tent. She sleepily opens an eye in my general direction. "Let's go!"

She gives a deep, dissatisfied 'rrruf' as she hops to her long, spindly legs and trots in a perfect heel as I board east, in the direction of the gunfire. As we go, she's not looking at me or straight ahead. She looks up, at the skies. I see nothing but the twinkle of the milky way. More gunfire.

"Get it off me!"

More gunfire. I kick the board until Douglas has to break into a full-out run to keep up and zoom into the parking lot where we've been ambushed. It's snowing thick, heavy chunks, and the soldiers are coming in my direction – they're fleeing. All but one.

"What the fuck is it?" I call. The three women and two men flee back to the safety of their tents. Justin stays, scanning the area. "Justin?"

The board glides up to him across the still-smoothe pavement and I hop off, noticing it's not snow that falls around us – it's feathers.

"Birds," he whispers. "Why would… birds attack us?"

"Did we kill any?"

Something hits me light a freight train in the back. I'm smashed into the concrete, and I look up to the talons of a huge brown eagle. It's trying to get at my face, but is happy to slash up my arms as it pecks at my head through the hat.

Then – nothing. It draws back, hovering with its wings spread and frozen. Justin's got it by the shoulders – he's holding it steady, and it can't quite reach his fingers to peck at them.

I leap to my feet and hold out the gun. One in the head.

It goes into spasms and he drops it. "Jesus Christ," he says. "How many more of them do you think there are?"

"Look at the sky," I tell him.

"It's night."

"So? You're a scout – you know the stars – where are they?"

My arms are bleeding pretty bad, but he looks up.

"I only see… two big ones… maybe," he tells me.

"Back to camp – back," I tell him, folding my arms into my chest and relying on the skateboard to propell me back to the bed, the smokes.

We get twenty yards away before he stops.

"I gotta' go back," he tells me.

"Fuckoff."

"I have to check something!"

"Check it in the morning! Come on!"

"Go! I'll be right there – get everyone inside the garage, it's only got two windows."

I leap onto the board and keep going. I can hear a bird of prey screetching behind me. Maybe getting closer. But soon I'm back in the camp – it's empty, and I see a cigarette cherry burning in the garage door so I just keep going – right through until I skid to a stop inside the garage bay.

"Birds? Fuckin' birds?" Wendy is shrieking. Someone's trying to calm her – speaking with that low, put-you-to-sleep voice.

I'm staring back east, into the darkness.

"…where is he?" I say.

"Get serious – we didn't lose Justin to a buncha' birds!" a guy snaps. I hold out an arm.

"They're pretty big," I tell him, and tap my foot. He was only going back twenty yards, where is he? "Douglas?" I look at the dog, expecting an answer. And I get one, as she rises to her feet and starts out ahead of me. "…fuck."

"What?"

"Someone has to go get him."

"I'm sure as fuck not goin' out there," the snappy guy beside me says. "Look at your arms."

"Sophie, let me see them," a guy with a medical kit is saying.