Christa Faust: Fringe The Zodiac Paradox

Nina and Bell looked around. A line of policemen stood and blocked off the steps of the city hall, and more were walking through the protest, keeping an eye on the picketers.

Nina slowed her step and took a deep breath.

“It’s okay,” she said. “They’re not looking for us. As long as we don’t stand out, we’re fine. Just take it slow, and try to look like you’re here for the protest.”

A crowd of men and women in bus driver uniforms marched past in the direction they wanted to go, all shouting and raising their fists. Walter, Bell, and Nina followed in their wake, chanting along with the rest.

“More say! Higher pay! More say! Higher pay!”

The marchers turned at the north side of the square, and started south again, but Walter, Bell, and Nina left the train and melted into the crowd that had gathered to watch it all.

They were almost to McAllister Street.

“Kenneth,” Nina called in on the walkie-talkie. “Where are you now?”

“I’m on McAllister, about a block from the plaza,” he replied. “You sure this is where you want me to be? It’s completely jammed.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “Just keep coming.”

Nina squeezed through to the street side of the crowd, then pulled back. There were cops there, trying to move everybody onto the sidewalk, but people were streaming across the street in both directions, weaving through the cars and slowing traffic to a standstill.

“Do you see them?” she asked.

Walter craned his neck and looked east, but all he could see were people’s heads.

Bell, however, nodded.

“He’s moving, but it’s slow.”

Walter looked back into the plaza, scanning for the cops that had chased them there. He couldn’t see anything in that direction either, and the shouting of the protesters drowned out all other sounds. He felt as if he was in a cornfield on a windy night, with wolves prowling somewhere nearby. He’d never know they were on him until he felt their teeth in his leg.

Nina ground her teeth, frustration creasing her brow.

“All we’ve got to do is stay here and stay calm,” she said. “Just stay calm.” But she looked about as calm as a chihuahua in a firecracker factory. All that adrenalin still seemed to be churning through her veins. Walter was feeling anything but calm, himself.

He looked east, going up on his tiptoes.

“Another half block,” he said. “Almost there.”

He looked behind again, and his heart seized up. Through a gap in the crowd he could see the cop with the salt-and-pepper mustache. He and his buddy were striding across the plaza, scanning for them. He grabbed Bell’s arm.

“Duck down!”

“What?” Bell frowned.

“The police are here!” Walter said. “You’re too damn tall!”

Bell crouched down, dropping his head between his shoulders. There was a guy holding a huge sign to their left. Walter pulled Bell and Nina behind it, then snuck a look around it and back toward the plaza.

The two cops were walking along the edge of the crowd, heads moving constantly. Walter pulled back, heart hammering, just as the one with the mustache started to look his way.

Had he seen?

Was he coming?

“There’s Kenneth’s bus. Come on.” Nina took his arm.

Walter turned toward the street and followed Nina and Bell as they stepped off the curb. One of the cops in the cordon stepped up to stop them, but Nina pointed past him.

“Our ride’s here,” she said sweetly. “We’re just trying to get out of this mess.”

The cop waved them by and kept pushing the rest of the crowd back. In the minibus Kenneth, Judy, and Simon were looking for them. Judy saw them first and threw open the side doors.

“What happened?” she asked, her little ferret face looking even more anxious than usual.

“Tell you later,” Nina replied, pushing past her onto the back bench and lying down with her hands over her head. “William. Walter. Lie on the floor.”

Walter squeezed down between the seats under Judy’s feet while Bell did the same under Nina’s.

“Close the doors!” Nina said. “Quick!”

Judy pulled the doors closed again and looked down at Walter.

“Don’t look down!” Nina whispered. “Pretend we’re not here! Act natural! Relax!”

Judy raised her head, quivering, and kept her eyes front.

“Anybody coming?” Walter whispered.

“Not yet. Not...” She pressed a thin spidery hand to her mouth. “Oh, God. They’re right outside. They’re—” She held her breath for a tense moment, then let it out. “They’re crossing the street. They’re looking through the crowd over there.”

Walter closed his eyes and let out his own held breath.

“So what happened?” Kenneth asked over his shoulder, keeping his eyes on the street. “Why did the cops chase you?”

“Why do you think?” Nina asked. “Keep driving.”

Kenneth grunted, annoyed, but did as he was told. It took ten more minutes to get through the crowd and get moving again. Walter thought it was the longest ten minutes of his life.

42

Leslie sat in the idling van. They were in the parking lot of a fast food joint called Butchie Burger, waiting for Payton to come back from the bathroom. The restaurant’s mascot was an anthropomorphic Boston Terrier in checkered pants and a bow-tie, holding a huge hamburger. He seemed to be leering down at Leslie with a maniacal grin.

She looked at her watch, even though it had been less than a minute since the last time she’d looked at it. They were bleeding time at an alarming rate.

She had no idea why she’d wound up being assigned the weakest team members. She liked to think it was because she was the strongest leader, and Doc Rayley figured she could handle shepherding these two lame ducks. But she was afraid it was more likely a kind of subtle punishment for her refusal to dress and behave in a traditionally feminine manner.

“Do you think Payton is going to be okay?” Susan asked.

Speaking of traditional femininity, Susan was the dictionary definition. Cloying floral perfume, perky smile, vapid gaze. But Leslie didn’t want to write a sister off just because she’d been brainwashed by patriarchy. Never one to miss out on an opportunity to encourage free and radical thought among women, she reached into the inner pocket of her coat and pulled out a mimeographed flyer.

“He’ll be fine,” she said, handing the flyer to Susan. “Listen, if you’re not doing anything tomorrow night, why don’t you stop by my place for the weekly meeting of our feminist consciousness-raising group.”

Susan looked dubiously at the flyer.

“What kind of group?” she asked.

“Consciousness raising,” Leslie repeated. “It’s nothing uptight or structured or anything like that, we just meet once a week to share our experiences and feelings and talk about the ways in which we have been oppressed by the male-dominated culture.”

“Oh,” Susan said. “Um... thanks.”

Payton picked that moment to show up, sipping a large strawberry Butchie shake. Leslie frowned at the shake as he slid open the back door and climbed into the van.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” she asked. “If your stomach is upset...”

“It’s better now,” Payton replied.

“If you say so,” Leslie said, shoving the van into drive and pulling out of the parking lot. “But I’m gonna tell you this right now, if you toss your cookies back there, I’m not cleaning it up.”

A huge tan ’68 Chrysler Newport skewed across the driveway of the burger joint, smoke pouring out from under its hood, and blocking the only way out.

“You have got to be kidding,” Leslie said. She laid on the horn and stuck her head out the window. “Hey, move that boat out of the way, will ya? We gotta be somewhere!”