Trent Reedy - Divided We Fall

Cal folded his big muscled arms over his chest. “You kidding? I’m the son of a long-haul trucker. Driving’s in my blood.”

“The problem is gas,” I said. “I finally got one of those ration cards, but I don’t have enough money, really, to fill up the tank.”

Schmidty blew smoke in my face. “See? While everyone else was playing grab-ass and wondering, Oh, is the governor going to play nice? Will the president let this go? I was getting ready. Buying ammo, buying a dozen cartons of cigarettes.”

“Twelve cartons?” Sweeney said. “That had to cost you…” He poked around in the air like he was doing calculations.

“Cost way too much! What’s it to you?” Schmidty growled. “They cost about twice as much now, and you can’t find any.”

“Yeah. Smart,” Sweeney said.

“Anyway, my point is I also have two hundred gallons of gas in four barrels down in the basement.”

“Geez, Schmidty,” I said. “You’ve been smoking down there.”

He shrugged and flicked ash on the floor. “You guys will have to use the hand-crank pump to fill the gas cans and then make a million trips to carry it all up.”

He was right, but about an hour later we were packed up and fueled. We even changed out the plates on the Beast to make it harder to identify.

“Thanks for all your help,” I said to Schmidty.

“Just bring my rifle back.” He coughed. “Oh, and buy me some cigarettes while you’re over there in the land of plenty.”

I nodded and climbed into the back of the Beast, cradling the AR and keeping my nine mil handy. With Cal behind the wheel, JoBell rode shotgun. Sweeney and Becca sat in the back. Becca leaned over the seat and winked at me, then covered me with a blanket. It was time to go.

“I don’t care what Schmidty says,” said Becca after we’d been on the road for a while. “It is great with all of us together again.”

“Yeah, buddy. It hasn’t been the same without you,” said Cal.

They filled me in on everything as I rode along under the blanket in the dim light and the heat from my own breath. It felt weird hearing my friends’ voices when I couldn’t see them.

Football, volleyball, and cross-country were basically all canceled after the blockade. Schools couldn’t afford the gas to travel to other schools for competitions. Instead, Coach divided the football squad into two teams that would play each other.

“It’s not nearly as fun. Took all the suspense and competition out of the games,” Sweeney said.

“I don’t know,” JoBell said. “With everything else that’s happening, sports don’t seem to matter as much as they used to. We’re lucky they’re keeping the school open at all. Some districts have a bunch of the newer buses that run on natural gas, so they’re doing okay, but Freedom Lake only has two.”

“Yeah,” said Becca. “Buses are only running on limited routes and hard-surface roads. Some kids have to travel pretty far to their bus stops.”

“It hasn’t all been bad,” Cal said. “I finally got a date with Samantha Monohan. She agreed to go with me on my motorcycle. Takes less gas. We were going to go Saturday night, but the movie theater closed down on Thursday, so we stayed in and watched movies online. It was a good time.”

“What movie did you watch?” I asked.

“I can’t remember,” said Cal. “Didn’t see much of it.”

“Yeah, dude,” Sweeney said. “That’s the way it’s done. She’s a cool girl. Don’t screw this up.”

“I won’t,” Cal said. “She’s really great. I’ve never had a girlfriend this awesome.”

I smiled under the blanket. Cal had never had any girlfriend. It was great to hear him so happy.

“Hey, Becca,” said Cal, “who was it that said Sam’d never go out with me?”

“I’ve never been so pleased to be wrong,” Becca said.

I was grateful that my friends knew me well enough to know I didn’t want to talk about the Guard or the shoot-out on the border. Instead, we talked like normal — well, normal except that I was hiding under a blanket in the back of a truck — for a long time. Next to what we were about to try to do, maybe that seemed crazy, but it felt right. I needed a dose of school, and sports, and regular life.

Cal flipped on the radio. He tuned it to the country station, and a song I hadn’t heard before came on.

“Hank McGrew put this song out a couple days after the blockade started,” JoBell said. She hated country music, but for once she was cool about it. I listened to the words.

Last night I watched the news

’Bout trouble out in Idaho

We gotta find a stop to this

People are dead, you know

Now a dark fright’nin’ shadow

A divisive creation

Has turned brother against brother

And threatens our whole nation

When the times get tough

Put your faith in God above

You gotta stand for something

Trust the ones you love

No matter where you are

Or what you believe

We’re all still Americans

As long as we’re free

The song went on like that for another couple verses, and I don’t know if it was the song or if it was me, but something had changed.

“You know, I really used to love Hank McGrew’s music,” I said. “But now that ‘we’re all Americans’ line sounds too easy. I want McGrew to be right, and I pray every night that we can all just be Americans again, but nothing can be that simple—”

“Yes!” JoBell said. “Finally he gets it!”

Becca giggled. “Digi-Hank will be sorry to hear that.”

“You need to get Digi-Trixie,” said Sweeney. “She’s so hot.”

“Gross, Eric!” JoBell said.

We talked and laughed most of the way south, but after we reached Interstate 90, things got quiet. We’d be at the border in no time.

“You awake back there, Danny?” Cal said after a while.

“Yeah.” I stretched the best I could in the cramped space. I could feel the Beast slowing down. “Bit of a crimp in my neck. What’s up? We at the border?”

“Last rest stop before Washington. We get any closer to the border, they’ll see you. You better make the switch to that compartment now,” said Cal.

I climbed out the back, dropped the tailgate, and slipped into the tiny dark space under the false bottom. Cal shut the tailgate behind me, closing me into darkness. We drove on.

“We’re getting close now,” JoBell finally said. I was glad I could still hear her. “It looks like a total war zone out there. Coils of razor wire and concrete barriers all over. Traffic’s been funneled into one lane, but there are only two cars ahead of us.”

“I see some tanks out here. And some serious machine guns,” said Sweeney. “All pointed across the border at each other. I wouldn’t want to be around if everybody here decided to start shooting.”

“Okay, everybody shut the hell up,” said Cal. “Act natural.” I could hear the sound of the driver’s-side window going down.

“I need to see your IDs,” said a voice I didn’t recognize. There was a long pause. I hoped Sweeney’s fakes were good. “Okay, here you go. I’m required by federal law to inform you that pursuant to the Unity Act, no one leaving the state of Idaho will be allowed to return under any circumstances until such time as the blockade has been lifted. If you wish to turn around and remain in Idaho, our soldiers will guide you through the turnaround route. If you understand these instructions and still wish to leave the state of Idaho, and if you are at least seventeen years of age and are leaving of your own free will, I need a verbal confirmation from each of you. Do you wish to leave the state of Idaho?”