Flanked Read online

  The soft snap-snap coming from Maribou’s side of the table stopped. “I was a geneticist. For the New American government.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “I helped program human and animal DNA, engineer organisms to withstand The Change better, for example.”

  That all sounded like a bunch of nonsense to Devin, but he was curious. Flix had told him the woman was black. And, well, a woman. “Aren’t you a black lady? How did you get to be a scientist?”

  Maribou started snapping beans again. “You’re blunt, aren’t you?”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  “No, just...different. Are you asking because you don’t think black women are capable or because —”

  “Oh, Jesus, no.” Devin knew he had to be blushing. “I meant, Joe said only white people got to be citizens and women don’t get the chip anymore, and I guess you can still get an education if you aren’t a white male — Joe hopes to — but I thought it was weird.” God, the pill was wearing off and his headache was roaring back. Soon the nausea would start. He laid his clammy hand against the back of his neck and tried to keep it together enough not to sound so stupid. “I’m sure you’re very smart.”

  Maribou burst out laughing. The sound was rich and hearty, and even though it hurt Devin’s head, he was thrilled to hear it after he’d been such an ass.

  “I am very smart,” Maribou agreed. “Top of my class in the science school at college. And you’re right about New America. You can’t generally be anything but a white male — a heterosexual white male — if you want to get perks like college and living in a dome.”

  “Did you live in a dome? It seems like they’d want to hog all the scientists in one of their bubbles.”

  Maribou’s laughter died out. “I did. Clinton and I.”

  “Why did you leave? Did you get kicked out?”

  “Did you ever want something very much? More than cake on your birthday or flowers in the winter?”

  Devin had never had cake. He’d never seen flowers in real life. But he wanted Joe. He nodded.

  “That thing that you wanted, what if when you got it, it wasn’t all you hoped it would be?”

  Maybe wanting Joe wasn’t such a good example. “I don’t know.”

  “I grew up out here, in Iowa, before the domes went up, when women still had rights, and even if black people were discriminated against, we still got to go to school. But we were poor. And there was about as much out here then as there is now.”

  “Nothing but cows to fuck, Flix says.”

  Maribou snorted. “True then, true now. I dreamed of leaving, of going off to school and proving just how smart and worthy I was, of fitting into the white man’s world.”

  “And then you did. That’s amazing, right?”

  “I thought so at first. College was wonderful. Iowa State, up in Ames. Still a good school with lots of folks in the city, even if it’s not a dome. Anyway, Clinton and I had been dating for a few years, and he stayed back here but said he’d move to the dome with me just as soon as I graduated and got a job.”

  “How long did that take?”

  “We moved into the prototype Minneapolis dome within five years. I got a job with the government. Money. Food. Conditioned air in the dome. Trips to the other domes.” Maribou’s voice came closer, like she’d leaned in. “I’ve seen oceans, son. Mountains. Volcanoes.”

  “Sounds like a fairy tale.”

  “It was, in a way. But fairy tales don’t have happy endings.”

  The sourness was building in Devin’s stomach. He’d have to track down Aria soon and get another pill. Maybe he should go before he heard the end to Maribou’s story. His fingers were scraping the bottom of the bowl of beans anyway. He made a motion to stand, but Maribou’s voice stopped him.

  “I got all the things I thought I wanted as long as I didn’t get the things that made me happy. Clinton and I were unable to marry. No miscegenation. And no one looked at me like I belonged. I got stopped by the police, harassed by random men, disrespected and marginalized by my colleagues.”

  “So you left?” What she’d gone through sounded awful, no doubt, but after all the shit he and Joe had been through in Texas Territory and then on the journey this far north, he couldn’t imagine bailing just because times were hard.

  “Clinton and I decided that no job was worth my dignity. We saved up our money, came back here.”

  The first wave of spit flooded into Devin’s mouth. He broke out in a cold sweat and knocked over his chair in his haste to flee the kitchen. He barely made it to the bathroom before vomiting.

  Stomach empty, mouth rinsed, he ran cold water over his fingers and slicked them across his heated skin and through his hair. Then he sat against the bathtub and laid his head on the cold tub edge.

  The headaches were getting worse. He was getting worse. The shitty, half-ass pain pills were almost gone, and he’d had to kiss the good stuff goodbye a few days ago. They couldn’t get to the dome quick enough. But what if Joe was as unwelcome there as Maribou had been? Joe would be stronger than her, wouldn’t he? But Joe was already acting weird, pulling away, pawning Devin off on Flix more than he needed to. Having to spend the night with Aria probably wasn’t helping. Not that the barn had been a laugh a minute, either — stuck between Flix and Peter, cold and lonely even as squished as he was. Lonely for Joe.

  Joe had to snap out of it. They needed him to lead them north.

  Devin just needed him.

  ***

  Another day spent with Clinton and Maribou was a mistake, Joe was sure of it. Staying here didn’t get them closer to their goal. And it was still a goal, even without his father being a part of it. Their hosts insisted they spend another night, though, and Joe loved the electricity and the warm shower and the midday nap enough that he couldn’t say no.

  Staying here was easier, too.

  Everyone fighting the chill in the air by cuddling together on the floor of Clinton and Maribou’s tiny living room, they watched mindless images on the EC — four men engaged in hand-to-hand combat. Burly and tattooed, the fighters punched and kicked and clawed and bit. The fighters howled at the stadium lights while a crowd cheered for more and more violence.

  Dulled by the furor erupting onscreen, Joe’s brain was silent. No thinking. No father, no choices, no losing Devin. The dog, Hopper, curled up at Joe’s feet. Aria’s hand in his; Devin’s big body pressed against his other side. Joe tried his best to ignore the occasional stuttering of Devin’s breath, pretended Devin wasn’t being hit with more wracking pain.

  Joe just wanted to be someone else, someone not in charge, not responsible, for a little while. Watch dumb entertainment and let the mourning for his father sink in as gentle and quiet as sand resettling when you run your hands through it. He wanted it to be easy, to be safe.

  Minutes went by, and he melted more into Devin’s space, until he could hear Devin’s breathing, feel his heartbeat. A little movement, so small, and he’d be able to rest his head on Devin’s heavy shoulder. It’d look like he’d fallen asleep — nothing suspicious, nothing odd. Just a bit more...

  The tenor of the voices on the EC changed.

  Devin stiffened, and Aria’s hand clutched Joe’s fingers too tightly.

  Joe pried open his eyes and flinched away from the image on the EC.

  Him. He stood there next to Bea. Her in her fancy mesh bra and panties. Him in a t-shirt stretched tight across his chest, abdomen bare, tiny Northern-style running shorts only barely covering his penis and testicles. A disembodied voice welcomed tourists to the nation’s finest wish fulfillment service, Flights of Fantasy. Stunning models, the voice promised as the scene showed Joe and Bea, uncertain, a little afraid, running mostly-naked through the streets of Austin. Another shot. Them naked, kissing. The voice talked about their beauty, their willingness to do anything. Cut to a new scene. Bea’s legs wrapped around Joe’s hips, her body splayed. Joe’s kisses and thrusts, his a
ss in sharp detail. A man’s shadow closing in on him from behind.

  “Can you turn the channel?”

  Flix’s question, almost bored-sounding, snapped Joe back to the present.

  Maribou changed the channel to a game show. “Sorry, honey. Clinton and I get desensitized to the ads, almost like they aren’t even there.”

  Advertisements? That’s what he’d just seen? His body, his friendship, his sexuality on display for anyone to see. Boggs was using him, even now. Almost a thousand miles away, and Joe was still a prostitute, still Boggs’s whore.

  Had his father seen that ad? Known it was him?

  Clinton and Maribou. Oh, God. Joe pulled his knees to his chest and peered behind him toward their hosts. They both watched the EC like nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

  Flix caught Joe’s eye. He mouthed, “You look different.”

  Joe nodded, though he couldn’t understand why Flix’s assertion put a lump in his throat. The room felt stifling, all those warm, comforting bodies too close, too intimate. Joe jumped up, startling poor Hopper. “I’m getting water.”

  In the kitchen, he pulled a glass from the drying rack on the counter. His hand shook as he held the cup under the tap. A quick gulp, then he tried to set the cup carefully on the counter, but the glass clinked against the hard surface all the same.

  Joe leaned his forehead against the cabinet and squeezed his arms around himself. He hadn’t thought Boggs could touch him again. How many people had seen that ad? How many more people would look at him and only see a whore?

  Someone came in, but Joe didn’t check to see who it was. Body heat. A hand in the small of his back. He expected Devin. Maybe Aria.

  “Your hair’s longer now.” Flix. His voice steady, quiet. He bent around Joe, caught his eye, before continuing. “Your skin’s a little darker. You weren’t too damned skinny then. They didn’t recognize you.”

  “Thank you. For getting them to turn the channel.”

  Flix shrugged. “I don’t want to be reminded of being there, either. Shittiest part is, I think we might have been better off with Flights of Fantasy. Did you know you were a movie star?”

  Joe barked a little laugh and wiped at his eyes. “Boggs had Bea and me fuck in a room behind his office. I thought he was just wanting to watch. Guess not.”

  “How long ago?”

  “It was my eighteenth birthday. The guy at the end, reaching for me...” Joe shook his head. He didn’t want to think about where the footage of that encounter may be.

  “Bad?” Flix studied Joe for a moment. “It’ll be buried deep on the dark web. No one will say anything, even if they think it’s you, because they won’t want to admit where their eyes have been.” He took the glass and put it in Joe’s hand. “Drink up. You need to get back before Peter or Aria tells Devin what they saw.”

  “He didn’t see?” Alarm and relief warred inside Joe. He had to find help for Devin soon, but he didn’t want Devin seeing that ad. It was one thing for Devin to spend a month as a prostitute, to know vaguely how Joe had lived before he came along, but it would be something else to see it, see Joe whoring himself out with someone else, see him enjoying it. Devin was going to be a respectable New American; Joe would always be someone who’d fucked for money.

  Flix headed for the other room. “If he saw, do you think I’d be the one in here with you?”

  Joe could control this one thing. “Don’t tell him.”

  Flix wheeled around. “Are you planning to order Aria and Peter not to tell? How are you going to keep Clinton and Maribou from mentioning how much that nice young married man in our group looks a little like a boy they saw having sex on their EC?”

  “I’m worried about him.”

  “So am I, but I think maybe you and I are worried about him for different reasons right now. You need to tell him before someone else does. He can handle it.”

  Flix left before Joe could even begin to explain that it wasn’t Devin he was worried couldn’t handle it.

  ***

  Two days later, Joe got Devin and the others fed, then made his way out to the rickety old barn where Clinton and Maribou had gone to feed their animals — a goat, two horses, and a mournful cow. Joe wanted to try his hand at milking. A few of the barn’s boards rattled in the wind, and he wondered if he could find some nails to fix them.

  Inside the barn, he detoured to a stall he’d helped out in yesterday, one that River, the oldest horse Joe had ever seen, called home. The horse had a blanket draped over its back and watched him with bleary eyes. Joe reached out and stroked the horse’s nose. “Hey, bud. Staying warm?”

  The horse snuffled at his hand and, finding it empty, swished away.

  Joe wandered deeper into the barn, back toward the low-ceilinged machine shop where Devin and the boys had spent the previous several nights. As he drew near, he heard Clinton and Maribou’s slow, easy voices.

  “A little more time, Mar.”

  “We can’t let being good people cause us to starve.”

  “That don’t mean we can’t give them a bed.”

  “And eat in front of them? That’d break my heart even worse. It’s kinder to send them on their way, let them see what food they can find farther north, if they’re determined to go to the dome.”

  “You know ’s well as I do those boys got no business up there.”

  “They’re young, honey. How much did we listen when we were teenagers? Besides, you saw Devin’s granny. That woman drips opportunity.”

  “But the Mexican kids. What’s gonna happen to them?”

  When Maribou spoke again, she sounded strained. Tired. “I don’t know. But they’re smart. All three of them.”

  Clinton grunted. “They’re just a bunch of scared kids.”

  “Scared is dangerous, and you know it. Look, baby” — Maribou paused, and Joe could picture her going to Clinton, sliding a comforting arm over his shoulders — “I want to help them, too, but I’m worried they’ll run us into trouble.”

  “Not if they fend for themselves.”

  “It’s not just the food. It’s... Those two boys hang on each other.”

  Joe sucked in a sharp breath, then covered his mouth and flexed to run if he was discovered. The sounds of the animals in the barn must have hidden the noise, though, because the conversation continued.

  “The scarred kid,” Clinton said, “he’s just looking out for his friend. That poor big white boy seems in an awfully bad way.”

  “And you saw that commercial.”

  “Resemblance don’t mean it was him.”

  “It adds up. Kids running around the middle of nowhere, no adult, scared. Two of ’em seem like more than friends. The leader, Joe, he’s too skinny, looking an awful lot like a hooker from the TV. And there’s something hurting and desperate in his eyes that was there even before he couldn’t find his daddy, something dark. They need to go.”

  Joe heard the finality in Maribou’s words. He’d been foolish to hope for more. They never should have stayed beyond the first night. He retreated to the horse’s stall, where he petted the stiff brown hairs on the horse’s muzzle.

  How easy it would be to go back to the house, clean out Clinton and Maribou, take all their food, and leave. Hell, he could use his gun right now, force them out, take over the house, make it his. That was what they expected him to do, wasn’t it? A desperate gay prostitute? Though the kicker was that it wasn’t even him they suspected of sleeping with Devin; it was Flix. A desperate prostitute, then. How close was that to the truth?

  He wrapped his arms around the horse’s neck and scraped his cheek against its mane. Warm and solid, the horse stood still and allowed him to hold on. Joe let himself have one hug, then pushed away and headed back toward Clinton and Maribou.

  He found them much as he’d expected to, holding hands and standing close. They both looked up as he came through the door, and Maribou’s widened eyes curdled Joe’s stomach.

  Clinton stepped i
n front of his wife and stretched a hand toward him. “Son —”

  “We’re heading out now.” Joe’s voice came out sore and rusty. “Thanks for your hospitality.”

  Clinton exhaled, and Joe turned around and left.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Flix was sure he’d heard wrong. “You cannot be serious.”

  Joe remained stone-faced, his hair flecked with water droplets. “I am. Get Devin up and have everyone ready in the next thirty seconds. They want us gone.”

  Flix made a grab for Joe’s arm, but Joe pushed past and disappeared into the kitchen. Flix threw up his hands and swore. He started to follow the dickhead, intending to force the conversation, when Devin levered himself out of Clinton’s cushy recliner and staggered into him.

  Flix tensed under the weight of Devin’s big body but managed to stay upright. He wrapped an arm around Devin’s waist and pressed his free hand against Devin’s shoulder. “Steady.”

  “I’m okay. Help me pack?”

  “You can’t seriously be planning to do what he says?”

  Devin’s unfocused eyes swept in Flix’s direction. “What else are we supposed to do? He says they want us out.”

  Flix rounded on Aria and Peter. “What about you two?”

  “He said it’s not a democracy, remember?” Peter said.

  Flix growled. “Grow a backbone. Aria? He doesn’t get to boss us around without a real explanation.”

  Before Aria could answer, Joe came back, carrying a couple cucumbers, four apples, a jar of peanut butter, and all their backpacks. He set the packs on the ground and began to stuff the food inside. “They won’t miss a few things.”

  “Why are we leaving?” Flix asked. “Your skinny ass needs fattening, and the rest of us like it here. We can stay until spring. They like us.”

  “Flix, you can hold the rifle.”

  That was supposed to make it better? A bribe? Like Flix was a bratty kid who’d give in once he got a shiny prize? “You have lost your fucking mind.”

  “He’s right, Joe,” Aria said. “If we stay, we could get some medicine into Devin in less than a month when the supply drone comes back around.”