Red Flood Page 3

  Alwan was right about the next day’s march. There were no clouds in the sky to filter the sun’s brutality. Moses felt as if he were drying up. He stopped and reached into his backpack. He felt the small, iron box his grandmother made him fetch right before she died. The boy had forgotten about the box. He would ask is father about it, but hydration was the concern now. Moses fumbled around and pulled out his last bottle of water. There were only four ounces left. He twisted off the cap and lifted the bottle to his mouth.

  “No,” his father said, “Not yet.” Alwan had stopped and was watching Moses. The boy lowered the bottle, screwed the cap back on, and placed the container into his backpack. The father turned and started walking. Moses followed. Hours passed and the boy began to feel light-headed, his shoulders and feet hurt. Moses threw off his backpack.

  “Hey!” Moses yelled. Alwan ignored him the first time, so Moses yelled again, “hey!” The father turned around.

  “What are you doing?” Alwan asked.

  “I need a break,” the boy said.

  “No,” the father replied, “we’ve got to keep moving.” The boy shook his head.

  “I’m not moving,” Moses said. The father’s expression became angry. He dropped his backpack and began moving toward Moses. The boy took a step back. Soon, the father was less than a foot away, looking down at the frightened boy.

  “You want water?” Alwan asked, “drink some water.” Moses looked down. “What is it you want, Moses?” The boy raised his head.

  “We’ve been out here forever,” Moses said, holding out his arms in frustration, “every time I ask where we’re going you just say south.” The boy paused for a moment to gather his courage. “If you want me to keep following you, you should tell me where we’re going, otherwise, I’m gonna sit right here.”

  “We’re going to Rebel territory.” the father replied. Moses couldn’t believe what he heard.

  “I don’t understand,” Moses said, “I thought you fought against the rebels, in the war.”

  “I did,” Alwan replied.

  “Then why are we going there?” Moses asked.

  “Because you’ll be safe there,” the father replied. The boy took a sip of water and put on his backpack. He and his father started walking again. Instead of straggling behind, Moses kept pace with Alwan.

  “What about you?” Moses asked. His father looked puzzled by the question. “Will you be safe there?” Moses asked.

  “I don’t know,” Alwan replied.

  The next day’s trek was hard, but not near as bad as the day prior. The sky had a grey overcast which provided a much needed reprieve the sun. That morning Moses and his father finished off the last of their water, but by noon they found a creek.

  “How do you know it’s safe to drink?” Moses asked as the man filled the empty bottles. Where Moses was from, residents were discouraged from drinking anything other than government issued water. They said that was the only clean water.

  “See those tracks,” Alwan said, pointing to ground near the water. Moses squinted. “Come here, don’t be scared,” the father said. Moses walked over and knelt down. “There,” Alwan said, “Can you see them now?” This time Moses could see them. The ground was covered with animal prints varying in size and shape. A broad grin shot across the boy’s face.

  “I can see them!” Moses said, unable to hide his excitement at the discovery.

  “Good,” Alwan replied. He smiled and rubbed the boy’s head. It was the first time Moses’ had seen his father’s smile. The boy thought he looked like a different man, someone warm and comforting like his grandmother. “Those are fresh prints, not just one or two, but tons of prints. Now look over here, do you see those?” the father asked pointing to a different spot on the ground.

  “What are those?”

  “Those are older prints,” Alwan said, “if this water was bad, the animals wouldn’t be coming back for more.”

  “Wow!” Moses said, “Where’d you learn that?”

  “Just something I picked up in the military.”

  “Will you teach me that stuff, you know that military stuff?” Moses asked. The father looked at the water slowly flowing through the creek. He stroked his beard which had grown much longer since Moses first saw him.

  “Yeah,” Alwan replied, “I can teach you some of that military stuff.”

  Moses gave his father a chance for redemption. In turn, the father gave his son one lesson each day; he taught the boy survival. The first class was on identifying tracks; the next was how to cover them. Moses learned to hunt, how to make a fire, how to blend in with the world around him, and so on. This was their time.

  Chapter 4

  One morning, Moses and Alwan came across a building. It was the first man-made structure the boy had seen since entering The Badlands. The building was crude. The outer walls were made of thin, sheet metal, different pieces somehow connected to one another. Each segment had rust, some more than others. The roof was a faded tarp, tied down with twine. Moses thought the tarp might have been green at one time, when it was new. The harsh climate had nearly turned it white. When Moses and his father got closer to the building, the boy’s nostrils were hit by the most putrid, god-awful smell he had ever smelled. Moses crinkled his nose and looked at Alwan, who was no longer walking. He looked at Moses and brought his index finger up to his mouth, a signal for silence. Moses shook his head in confusion. The father lowered his hand and pointed toward the ground in front of the door to the building. He slowly moved his hand from left to right, repeating the movement until Moses realized what his father wanted him to see. There were tracks in the dirt outside the shack – boot prints, and more than just a few. Moses’ father waved his son over, gesturing again for the boy to remain silent. Moses carefully walked through the dirt, making sure not to step on any branches or trip over any rocks. Soon he was at Alwan’s side.

  “I’m going to have a look,” the father whispered.

  “Why?” Moses asked. Alwan reached behind his back, grabbing the pistol that was tucked into his pants. Using his free hand, the father pulled out a knife from the leather sheath strapped to his leg.

  “It’s better to act than to react,” the father said, “wait here.”

  “Okay,” Moses replied.

  “One more thing,” the father said, “if anyone other than me comes outside that door…run.” Moses nodded. He watched Alwan, blade in one hand, pistol in the other, creep toward the door. Moses could hear his own heart beating, it was pounding so hard. The boy held his breath. Alwan had his back to the wall near the entrance to the crude building. He leaned toward the door. Alwan looked at Moses and nodded. Moses bit his lip. The father pivoted off of the wall and kicked in the door. The foul smell hit Moses again, even harder this time, causing the boy to turn away. When he looked back, Alwan was gone. He was inside.

  Moses waited. No sound came from the building. The boy wanted to see what was going on. He moved closer to the structure, against his father’s wishes. As he approached the door, he began to hear what sounded like footsteps coming from inside. The door hung, half-closed from whatever it was that held it up. Moses couldn’t see anything, so he moved closer. The stench had grown so foul, almost nearly unbearable by the time the boy reached the door. He couldn’t see anything through the cracked door. Moses raised his hand, placing it on the rusty door. It swung open from the inside just as Moses was about to push.

  “No!” Alwan shouted. The anger in his voice scared Moses.

  “I…I’m sorry,” the boy stammered.

  “I told you to wait outside!” the father growled, gritting his teeth, “don’t you ever disobey me again, you understand!” Moses’ eyes filled with tears. He tried to remain stoic, but one slipped out, rolling down his cheek.

  “I understand,” the boy replied in a shaky voice.

  “Good,” Alwan said, “let’
s go.”

  Moses was still upset by the time they made camp that night. He was upset with himself, and he was upset that he angered his father. The father and son sat silently by the fire. It was Alwan who broke the silence.

  “I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said, “I won’t do that again.”

  “It’s okay,” Moses replied, “I was just worried about you, I guess, I was afraid something bad happened inside that building. I wanted to help you.”

  “Come here,” the father said, patting the rock he was seated on. Moses sat next to him. Alwan put an arm around his son. He pointed toward the night sky with his other arm. “Can you tell me about that group of stars over there?”

  “Sure,” Moses said, “That’s the Big Dipper.”

  “Cool,” Alwan replied. Moses went on and on, pointing out every constellation he knew until they both lost track of time. Moses was still talking about stars when his stomach grumbled loudly.

  “You hungry?” Alwan asked. Moses hadn’t thought about his hunger until then.

  “I’m starving,” the boy replied.

  “Okay, I’ll go get us something,” the father said, “You want to come with me?”

  “Nah,” Moses replied, as he sat marveling the night sky, “I’d rather chill out here, stay by the fire.”

  “I don’t blame you, cold as it is,” Alwan replied. The man put on his backpack. “Stay warm, sit tight,” the father said, “I’ll be back in a few.”

  “Sounds good,” Moses replied, “see you in a few, dad.” Alwan smiled.

  “Dad,” the father repeated, “dad, I like the sound of that.” Moses watched Alwan disappear into the night.

  “I like the sound of that too,” the boy said quietly to himself.

  Moses was beginning to worry. He went through every star he knew, and then he did it again. His father had been gone much longer than normal. The night was unusually cold, and the fire was starting to die. Moses covered himself with the blanket. “Where is he?” Moses wondered. He looked around, but it was too dark for him to see anything outside the light of the fire. So he sat, and decided to count stars again. “Ugh,” Moses said aloud. The boy heard a noise from behind. He looked over his shoulder. The noise got louder. It was the sound of someone walking.

  “Dad?” Moses asked.

  “Daddy’s home!” a strange voice called back. Moses jumped up and turned around. He tripped, nearly falling into the fire. The footsteps he had heard didn’t belong to one man. It was three men that he had heard walking. The strangers stood next to each other on the edge of the campfire’s light.

  “You mind if we join you for dinner?” the man in the center asked. He was tall and thin, with a ripped leather jacket and stonewash jeans. The clothes he wore seemed too large, like they were meant for someone else. Moses looked at the man’s waist. There was a long, curved knife tucked into his belt. Everything about the stranger was haggard, from his scraggly white beard, to his thinning long hair. Most of his teeth were gone, and the ones that were left looked as brown as mud. The strangers took a seat by the fire before Moses had a chance to reply. “Sit down, sit down,” the haggard man said. Moses did as he asked. The boy looked at the other two men. One was bald and fat with a shaved head. He was scratching himself, and clicking his teeth over and over. He had a brown, burlap sack in one of his hands. The contents of the sack were seeping through. Moses thought the fat man must have tried to stuff too many tomatoes or some other kind of fruit into the sack. The third man was younger than the other two. He looked like he had better hygiene. His hair was slicked back, with thick, blonde sideburns. “So what are we having tonight?” the haggard man asked Moses, rubbing his hands by the flame.

  “I don’t know,” Moses replied, “whatever my dad brings back, I guess.”

  “What if your dad don’t come back?” the haggard man asked causing the fat man to giggle. The younger stranger didn’t say anything. He just sat, with a solemn look on his face, smoking a cigarette.

  “He’ll be back,” Moses said, angered by the implication. The man made a clicking sound with his mouth like the fat man had, and shook his head. Before he knew it, Moses was on his back with the haggard man hunched over, holding a knife to his throat.

  “Come here, Larry,” the haggard man said, “Bring that bag over.” The fat man giggled and carried over the sack. It stunk like the shack Moses’ father went into. “You’re daddy aint coming back,” the haggard man said, “It’s just you and us now.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Moses said. The haggard man stood up.

  “Give me that, Larry,” he said. The fat man handed over the bag. Moses glanced at the young man. He was looking down at the ground. The haggard man flipped the sack over. One by one the contents fell out. They were heads, in different stages of decay. Moses was horrified. He tried to back away from the heads, but the fat man stopped him with his boot. “Is this your daddy?” the haggard man asked, poking one of the heads with his foot. Moses began to cry. The man kicked the head, sending it out into the darkness. “Is this your daddy?” the haggard man asked again. The second head belonged to a child. The man started to kick it. Moses looked over at the young man. He was rocking back and forth. “No, no,” the young man was saying. The fat man was laughing so hard his entire body shook. He had his head cocked all the way back. That was when Moses saw the knife. His father’s dark hand was covering the fat man’s mouth as the knife slid across his throat. There was a gurgle and then the fat man fell, hitting the ground with a thud. The young man jumped up and turned toward the fat man. Moses watched the knife fly through the air, piercing the young man’s skull. He crumpled. Alwan was inside the light. His eyes were wide, bulging out. There was blood on his face. He no longer had a weapon. The haggard man charged at him with his knife. Moses’ father disarmed the man with one quick motion, snapping the stranger’s elbow. The sound made a loud crack. The haggard man clutched his arm in pain. The man started begging as Moses’ father approached him.

  “Please, please,” the haggard man said, “I wasn’t going to hurt the boy.” Alwan grabbed the man by his jacket. He picked the haggard man up and slammed him into the fire. The haggard man was screaming, making sounds that didn’t sound human. Moses’ father picked him up, slamming the man again and again. He didn’t stop, even when it was clear the stranger was dead.

  “Dad!” Moses shouted, tears no longer in his eyes. “Dad!” he called out again. Alwan let go of the haggard man’s charred, lifeless body. The father lowered his head. Moses walked over to him. Alwan was quietly sobbing.

  “I’m sorry,” the father said, his gaze was fixed on the dirt, “I’m so sorry.” Moses placed a hand on his father’s back.

  “It’s alright now,” the boy replied.

  Chapter 5

  The father and son packed up their belongings and headed south. They put as much distance between themselves and their previous camp as they could until fear gave way to exhaustion. They stopped for the night. Moses helped his father set up camp. Alwan kept the boy close that night as they sat by the fire.

  “You see those mountains,” the father said pointing in the distance. Moses saw the dark peaks of the mountain range in the clear night sky.

  “Yeah,” the boy said.

  “Rebel territory is on the other side of those.”

  “Is that where we’ll be safe?” Moses asked, “On the other side?” The man smiled at the boy. He nodded his head in confirmation.

  “That’s right, Moses,” Alwan replied, “that’s where we’ll be safe.” Moses smiled at his father.

  The walk to the mountain range was uneventful. It took two days for Moses and his father to reach them. They spent another day walking around the base searching for a path. On the third night, they found a pass that ran through the mountain range. It was what the father had hoped for. Moses and Alwin were in good spir
its as they made camp in the pass. The plan was to depart for rebel territory at first light. Moses joined his father in the hunt that night. The boy took down a wild boar without any help from Alwan. They roasted the animal on a spit made of sticks over the fire. They both agreed it was the best meal they’d ever had. Moses and his father talked for a while about the boy’s grandmother.

  “Did she ever use the brush on you?” Alwan asked, raising his eyebrows.

  “The brush?” Moses asked looking dumbfounded.

  “Yeah, the brush,” Alwan replied.

  “Like on my hair?” Moses said, still confused.

  “Nah,” his father said, “to whoop you with.”

  “Uh, no,” Moses said. Alwan leaned back, and acted like he had an imaginary object in his hand.

  “Man, she used to whoop my butt all the time,” the father said, swatting the air with his pretend brush, “she’d be like ‘Alwaaaan, watcha doin boi getting dem deeezz on ya report caard.’” the father said laughing, exaggerating her Jamaican accent. Moses was laughing too.

  “She never spanked me,” Moses said. His father made a silly face.

  “She never spanked you?” Alwan asked.

  “Nope,” Moses said. They both laughed for a while.

  “We better get some shut-eye,” Alwan said. Moses wore a look of concern on his face. “What’s the matter?” his father asked.

  “Why did you leave?” Moses asked, “Why didn’t you stay and take care of me?”

  “I don’t know,” his father replied in a somber tone, “I just lost it, I guess. I didn’t want to believe your mother was dead. I wasted all those years away from you looking for her.” The father looked down, ashamed, “I was a fool,” he said. Moses reached over and placed a hand on Alwan’s shoulder.