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Old Friends, Part One
by jmiland1 Mon Mar 30, 2009 1:17 am
Joshua turned north, heading past the Colfax County courthouse—the tower a long remembered monument from his childhood—and headed out of the tiny town of Springer. He wasn’t expected in Sacramento for at least one more day. A short detour wasn’t going to harm anything.
These people weren’t expecting him to show up. He hoped that wasn’t going to be an issue. But generally speaking, these weren’t the sort of people that you just drop in on.
Another half an hour of driving, taking him nearly to Colorado, and he saw them: three windmills, twirling lazily. Joshua pulled the car to a stop beneath them, and just sit there, for a moment. He took a look around. If you knew what you were looking for, you could see the raised roof of the bunker, everything carefully arranged to make it look like just a slight slope in the land. There were window slits; he couldn’t make them out but he remembered, roughly, where each one was.
Carefully, slowly, he opened the car’s door and got out. The gun was underneath the driver’s seat; if they’d seen it they would have killed him where they stood. He knew there were eyes at those windows, and the barrels of rifles, loaded and ready. He kept his hands at chest level, at his side, turning from side to side for their benefit. Joshua sauntered towards the bunker, then stopped. Waiting. Melting under this goddamn sun.
Two minutes became three, and three became four, and four was a sliver from becoming heat stroke when he he heard the bunker’s heavy steel door slam open, and a voice yelled, “Eddie!” He cringed inwardly but gave a big fake smile at the old name. A portly man came up the stairs and at him, arms as wide as the smile on his face.
They embraced, and for Joshua, at least that much was heartfelt.
“Ramon,” he said when the pulled apart, “It’s been too long. How are you, and June, and the kids?”
“Oh, you know,” Ramon said, clapping Joshua on the back and leading him to the bunker. He started speaking in rapid fire Spanish until Joshua held a hand up. “I still can’t speak Spanish, Ramon.”
Ramon snorted. “Gringo,” he said chidingly, and they laughed together, going down into the cool dark.
These people weren’t expecting him to show up. He hoped that wasn’t going to be an issue. But generally speaking, these weren’t the sort of people that you just drop in on.
Another half an hour of driving, taking him nearly to Colorado, and he saw them: three windmills, twirling lazily. Joshua pulled the car to a stop beneath them, and just sit there, for a moment. He took a look around. If you knew what you were looking for, you could see the raised roof of the bunker, everything carefully arranged to make it look like just a slight slope in the land. There were window slits; he couldn’t make them out but he remembered, roughly, where each one was.
Carefully, slowly, he opened the car’s door and got out. The gun was underneath the driver’s seat; if they’d seen it they would have killed him where they stood. He knew there were eyes at those windows, and the barrels of rifles, loaded and ready. He kept his hands at chest level, at his side, turning from side to side for their benefit. Joshua sauntered towards the bunker, then stopped. Waiting. Melting under this goddamn sun.
Two minutes became three, and three became four, and four was a sliver from becoming heat stroke when he he heard the bunker’s heavy steel door slam open, and a voice yelled, “Eddie!” He cringed inwardly but gave a big fake smile at the old name. A portly man came up the stairs and at him, arms as wide as the smile on his face.
They embraced, and for Joshua, at least that much was heartfelt.
“Ramon,” he said when the pulled apart, “It’s been too long. How are you, and June, and the kids?”
“Oh, you know,” Ramon said, clapping Joshua on the back and leading him to the bunker. He started speaking in rapid fire Spanish until Joshua held a hand up. “I still can’t speak Spanish, Ramon.”
Ramon snorted. “Gringo,” he said chidingly, and they laughed together, going down into the cool dark.
jmiland1
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