Kate Wilhelm - Let the Fire Fall

The ground effect cars were next. Blake didn’t like this act as much as the others, and he hurried away from his position to fetch Alison a cup of coffee. She already had discarded the dress worn for her first act, and was now in tight pants and boots and a turtleneck pullover. Her crash helmet was at her elbow as she tied her brass-blond hair back with a ribbon.

“How’d it go over, honey?” she asked.

“Great, like always.” Blake waited for her to sip the coffee, and for the drum roll to announce that it was time for her to make her second appearance. He carried her helmet for her to the car that she drove for this act, saw that her door was latched, then moved back and waved.

Alison’s car rose. On the other side of the ring Mindy’s car was doing the same. The music was a waltz, The two cars glided toward one another, away, dipped and swayed rhythmically. The music changed to a jazz beat and the cars began to speed; their motions became jerkier and swifter. With each increase in tempo the two crazily dancing cars increased speed, and again timing was what made the act. Suddenly they hit in midair head on. There was a moment of stunned silence in the audience, then laughter. Part of the act. Mindy started to get out of his car, as did Alison. Each held to the door and leaned out swaying over the air. Mindy swung his leg over the hood and pulled himself to the front of the nearly circular vehicle and stood there, hands on hips, scolding Alison, blaming her for the collision. She climbed to the top of her car and wagged a finger in his face. The cars were very slowly settling to earth, so slowly that it was hardly noticeable. They carne down, nose to nose, and landed finally so softly that no sound was heard from it. Mindy and Alison stepped off their cars, and arm in. arm left them. The audience went mad.

While helpers were clearing the ring Blake was busy helping Mindy into a cerise satin costume. He saw Sam the barker watching him and he waved as he hurried past with Mindy’s dirty clothes. Sam was still there when the next act got under way.

“Hey, kid. Hold it a sec. You in trouble or anything?”

Blake froze. He shook his head.

“Yeah. I didn’t think so. Look, kid, I don’t know from nothing about you, but I don’t figure you’re in trouble. So why’re there three guys beating the bushes for a kid whose description fits you like a glove?”

Blake turned toward the trailer that he shared with Mindy and Alison, but Sam’s hand on his arm stopped him. “How much dough you got?”

“Five, six hundred dollars.”

“Yeah. Take this. It’s a grand. You were due a raise. Buy some gear with the extra. And beat it now. Don’t go back to the trailer.” Sam pushed Blake from him and turned away.

Blake stood for another minute watching the departing figure. “Sam,” he called. “Sam, I’ll Come back some day and pay you back. I promise.”

Sam turned and yelled furiously at him, “Get lost, you punk kid! Just get lost!”

Blake nodded and waved once, then left, walking among the empty cars to the shadows of the trailers. It was eleven-thirty. He couldn’t stay out and be caught in the streets. There was the curfew. He’d end up in the clink and they’d find him there. For four months he had lived with Mindy and Alison, and they had been the happiest four months of his life since Wanda had stopped her car and asked how to get to a doctor. He walked slowly, a dark figure in jeans and black jersey, and he didn’t know where to go. There was the drum roll for the ring of fire act, a chorus of ahs, screams, a crash of cymbals…. The show was playing three miles from downtown Cleveland. There was a zoo smell nearby, and the stench of industrial gases being blown in from the lakefront. The trouble was that they had brains, the searchers had brains. They always knew the sorts of places where he might turn up: circuses, carnivals, traveling shows where few questions would be asked as long as he worked, the zoo. They knew he could handle animals. They had found him in the small poorly kept menagerie at Scranton, and when he had approached the keeper of the lions in the Dayton zoo, the man had gone off to make a telephone call and Blake had left hurriedly. There had to be someplace where he could stay and not draw their attention for a couple of years, until he was not so conspicuously a kid.

That was his biggest handicap, being a kid. He looked older than eleven, a couple of years older, but still he was a kid. The last to get waited on in a diner, the first to be questioned if there was a rumble anywhere, the first to draw stares if he turned up in a bus terminal, or, worse, in an airline terminal. No prospect of getting an International Travel ID Card, no jobs, always the chance of being jumped by a gang of older kids who’d rough him up and take his money and everything else he had on him. And that would land him in a juvenile jail answering questions, having the authorities hold him for his rightful guardians…. He walked on through the dark side streets, where there was little traffic, stopping when he heard the sound of a car slowing down nearby, hearing pursuers in every set of footsteps. He had to get off the streets.

He heard a car coming very slowly, too slowly. He melted back against a doorway and watched for a moment. It was at the far end of the block, shining spotlights along the sidewalks as it came, searching doorways, around parked cars. Other drivers passed it and vanished down the street. Blake ran to the comer and turned, ran another half block and ducked into an alley. They would comb the area. They must know that he was on foot, that he couldn’t have gone far yet. He listened while he waited for his breath to come easily again. There were apartments all about him, some with open doors and lights on still, others darkened. Radios and televisions played and some kids were singing somewhere to his right. The alley was flanked by high board fences at this end, a couple of garages down farther, then it was lost in shadows. No good. No place there for him to hide. He studied the fences, but decided against that. Just yards and people. People who would yell cop if a strange kid dropped down inside their yards. He started to leave the alley when he heard something else. Voices whispering almost in stage whispers. He could sense excitement in the voices and fear maybe.

He edged along the fence, and at the same moment the car with the searchlights stopped at the alley entrance, sending the beams of light in both directions. The driver decided to turn left, across the street away from Blake. Blake moved again, following the whispers. Now that he had fastened on them the other louder noises dimmed in his ears and became background. He pulled himself up a board fence and looked over into the yard beyond. A dirt yard with a three-car garage. There was a ’79 General parked there. The apartment was completely dark. Three boys stood about the General peering into the engine while one of them held a flash, shielding its light, and another poked about trying to get the motor running.

“You _______ liar. You can start one with a hairpin. You _______”

“_______ you. If you can do better, _______ it yourself.”

Blake heard an approaching car and looking over his shoulder saw the searchlights coming his way again. He pulled himself over the fence and dropped down into the yard. One of the boys there straightened and there was the glint of a knife in his hand.

“Come here, cutie pie,” he said softly. “Come to Papa, you _______ _______”

“I can start the car,” Blake said softly. “If I start it, will you let me leave here with you. On the back seat, out of sight.”

“Come to Papa, _______ _______ ” The boy with the knife sidled toward him.

“Listen!” one of the other two hissed.