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Chapter Thirty-one

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We strode through the tall grass. Where there are snakes and stuff. Ick. Why couldn’t the pilot land on the blacktop? There sure were a lot of stern, borin’ human faces poised over the hoods of a lot of little human vehicles, long guns shoved against their shoulders.

Not real welcomin’.

“Not real welcomin’,” Bliar mumbled. Everyone reads my mind.

As we reached the little armada a gent in a wrinkled dark suit stood tall and walked forward to meet us. He introduced himself. Maybe Bliar introduced us. I wasn’t listenin’. For some reason I was beginnin’ to get really angry. Unlike me. I often lean toward what I think they call irritation, impatience, but this other emotion is somewhat new to me. Maybe folks call it outrage.

Bliar shot me a look. Could’ve been a concerned one. Oh. Maybe I was growlin’. That might encourage one of ’em human fools to put a bullet in my forehead. That would hurt.

Hmm.

Would that fix my—thin’?

I tried to settle my growl, a little, but I couldn’t quell it. Maybe got louder.

The human was goin’ bla bla bla. I scanned all the other human faces, the anger and fear there, some hate—blatant enough I could read it. My eyes latched on to the emblems on the vehicles, that had no right to be on my side of the continent.

Bliar was repeatin’ my name. I turned back to him and the black-suited guy, who looked very concerned, maybe. If Bliar was lookin’ for me to say somethin’ I had no clue what that was. All I had was that outrage roilin’ in my gut.

Bliar took a step away from me, and the human took his lead.

I heard my own growlin’ deepen. When we went to free the hens, that had been a strategy. This was just occurrin’ on its own.

“Ya had anythin’ to eat?” Odd thin’ to come out of my mouth.

Bliar translated for me. The human’s face, around the eyes, squished together.

“Would like that ya got to enjoy a last meal,” I explained.

Bliar translated; his face blanched as much as the human’s.

I pointed at the helicopter. “In five minutes that’s gonna rip all of ya to pieces such we’ll need a rake and scoop shovel to pick all yall up.”

I waited for Bliar to translate.

I’m not good readin’ emotions. But I know when my words make an impression of some sort. It’s simple causation, A causes B. Garbage in, garbage out. Somethin’ we live by in IT. And I had made an impression upon this man. And if I had to guess, he took me seriously.

“Best ya make good decisions,” I said.

I don’t think he needed Bliar to translate, because the man’s legs were foldin’ up on him a little. He finally pulled himself together and followed me toward his compatriots.

He shouted at ’em to put down their guns. I don’t think ’em folk were too averse to that, because they were droppin’ ’em hard on top of the hoods of their vehicles. Maybe they were hungry and just wanted an excuse to get out of there. They’d been stuck in no man’s land for a week.

In the middle of the South Plain. Guarding sawgrass and tumbleweeds.

I shouted that they needed to pull their vehicles off the highway. Was hard for me to wait for Bliar’s translation. I so wanted to grab a fool or three and shake ’em. Within ten seconds, engines powered up and all those little SUVs pulled into the deep sand off the shoulder.

“Start walkin’ south,” I shouted, pointin’ that way.

Evidently they didn’t need Bliar to translate, because they got on the asphalt and headed out as though their lives depended upon it.

~

Nuel

~

“What’s goin’ on?” I hissed at Ike.

He asked what I was talkin’ about. I asked him if he had the news on. He mumbled he had better thin’s to do than watch the fake Northern News Network. I told him to turn on ON.

“Why don’t we stop playin’ games and ya tell me what ya’re talkin’ about.”

“There’s a news helicopter recordin’ what’s goin’ on with Kriz and yar pa.”

“They shoot ’em?” he asked.

That had been his expectation? Why’d he send ’em? “Nope,” I said. “What’d ya tell yar pa to say to ’em?”

“I didn’t,” Ike said.

“What do ya mean ya didn’t tell ’em to tell ’em anythin’?”

“That’s what I said,” Ike said.

“Well, it took the Northerners about fifteen seconds to put down their guns and start hikin’ south.”

Ike was silent a long moment. No, a long minute. I finally asked him what he was thinkin’.

“We’d been negotiatin’ with ’em for a week to stand down and go home.”