The Measure of a Man
John Konstantostos walked up behind his father, who was standing in front of the living room window that faced the street, staring intently at something outside. John peered over Morgan Konstantostos' shoulder, curious as to what would be keeping his father's attention so intently. John blinked in surprise.
Walking slowly down the street was a group of no less than thirty people, all of them looking around with different expressions at the houses and shops that lined the normally bustling street just outside of downtown Kansas City, Kansas. Some, mainly the ones with some sort of rifle strung over their shoulders, were looking about with caution and even suspicion. Most were looking around in wonder. Unabashed looks of happiness lit smiles on many faces. It was almost as though they had not seen other people in a very long time.
John leaned closer to the window and looked down the street. Usually people were out on a warm sunny today like this, tending their yards and doing their best to ignore the fact that life had not been normal for a long time. But as the group of strangers continued their march down the street, there was not a soul to be seen. There were watering cans, hedge trimmers, and other various yard tools scattered across the patchy green and brown lawns belonging to several of their neighbors, all of which looked they were left there in a hurry. John could only shake his head. People are nuts, he thought.
John looked at his father, who seemed to be mesmerized by the sight of the group of outsiders walking down the street.
“Maybe we should break out the lawn chairs if we're going to watch them like they’re a parade,” John said lightly.
“Hmm?” the elder Konstantastos replied.
John blinked at him and waved a hand in front of the older man's eyes.
“Oh,” Morgan said quickly, shaking his head as if he were just caught napping on the job. “Sorry John, I was distracted.”
“Obviously,” John quipped with a smile. “So, are we just going to hide in the house or are we going to go out there and say howdy?”
A worried look crossed Morgan's face. “John, we have no idea what kind of people they are. They could be thieves. Or worse.”
John shrugged. “They don't really look like the thieving type. In fact, they don't really look the type that have seen a whole lot of civilization in awhile.” He backed away from the window and strode towards the front door. “Tell you what? I'll fill you in at dinner.”
“John, no,” Morgan said, finally walking away from the window. “They could--.”
“What, rob me?” John interrupted, somewhat irritated. “They gonna take my lunch money? Let them. It's not like they can run to the bank and make a deposit, right?”
“John,” Morgan said again.
“Dad, they're people. People who might not have a home anymore. Are you going to tell me that we've all changed so much that we can't give them the courtesy of strolling up and saying ‘hey’ to them?”
His father said nothing. He only looked down at his hands.
John turned and swung the brick red front door open. After taking a breath of warm summer air, he walked towards the strangers, most of whom were already well down the street. A few of them were huddled together, talking and throwing glances around, as if getting their bearings or seeing what the town had to offer. A couple of younger members of the group were straggling behind the others, sitting on the curb along the street. John strolled up to them. He started walking slower as he realized that there was no smooth way of entering into a conversation with them. He was curious as to what brought them here, where they came from, if they had seen anybody else, and a million other things. But how could someone possibly begin a conversation that would lead to the answers to these questions?
The only way I can, I guess, he thought.
He crossed the street over to two guys that took up residence on the curb and smiled.
“Hey there. I'm John. How's it going?”
* * *
John opened the front door and turned towards his guest. “I’m sure dinner’s ready by now. I’ll have ‘John, where have you been?’ waiting for me any second now.” Turning back towards the house’s interior, he then shouted. “I’m home.”
“John, where have you been?” his mom said from the kitchen. John shrugged, smiling back at the tall young man behind him. “Dinner has been ready for over–.” Joy Konstantostos stopped as she walked into the living room, and gasped. John raised his eyebrows at the reaction. Certainly he expected them to be a little surprised that he invited someone over, but a gasp hardly seemed necessary.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you brought company,” his mom said, unconsciously straightening out her apron.
“Yeah, I found another John wandering the streets. Thought he looked hungry. John, this is my mom, Joy Konstantostos. Mom, this is John Davie. He’s one of the new people that came through here this morning.”
“It’s nice to meet you, John,” Joy said with a half-hearted smile.
“You can call me J.D. That way there isn’t any confusion about names.” J.D. paused. “Plus, I always wanted to try a nickname.” He smiled. “Two birds, one stone.”
Joy smiled for another second. “I’ll get another plate,” she said. She walked swiftly into the kitchen again and called, “Your father is out back. It’s such a nice day, we thought we’d eat out there.”
“Okay,” John said and turned towards J.D., motioning him through the house. “She isn’t usually that weird. Maybe you were right. Maybe I should have warned them first.”
J.D. shrugged comically. “If you knew me better, you’d find that I’m usually right.”
“Don’t make me get out Trivial Pursuit,” John said with a smile. “Not unless you really want a king-sized ass-kicking.”
“John, who are talking–?” John’s dad began before stopping with a gasp.
“What’s with the gasping?” John asked incredulously. “It’s like I just walked in here with a gorilla or something. Dad, this is J.D. He was part of the parade you were watching earlier.”
John sat down and motioned to J.D. to pull up a lawn chair. As he opened his mouth to pick up where he left off with his conversation with J.D., he glanced at his father. Morgan seemed to be looking at just about everything in their backyard. The sparse garden, the birdbath with two frolicking sparrows, the decking under his feet, the window into the kitchen. The clothesline seemed to be of particular interest. John’s dad was looking at everything, in fact, except J.D., as if ignoring his presence would make him disappear. John wondered what exactly was going through his father’s mind. Was he thinking about the decking and the clothesline or was it something more along the lines of what J.D. and the rest of his group represented? They were a walking symbol of what the world had become, no matter how much people in town wanted to ignore it. There were still two broadcasting television stations, but they did not dare tell about what was happening out west, or in some of towns out east.
Or even Kansas City, Missouri. The thought of the city and what it was now almost sent a shiver of dread running through John, even in the warm summer afternoon. The city seemed to represent such a blackness that even the sunlight above didn’t seem to penetrate it.
Suddenly, John decided that inane conversations of baseball teams and pennant races that would never happen again could be saved for another time. He wanted to talk about J.D. and find out his story. More the better if Morgan and Joy heard the story too and spread it, even if it was hoarse whispers over the neighbors fence. Fearful mutters were better than forgetting.
“So, Dad, J.D. here is a high school drop-out too.”
Morgan sighed. “You are not a high school drop out, though the frequency that you actually sit down with assignments that Mr. Cole prepares almost says otherwise.” He finally looked at J.D. for the first time since they walked out on the deck. “Different neighborhoods have gotten together to make sure kids still get an education. Families don’t like sending their kids...” He trailed off, realizing where the conversation was headed.
Morgan turned and studied the clothesline again. John shook his head bemusedly toward J.D., who smiled wanly.
“I think that’s great,” J.D. said to the back of Morgan’s head. “Shawn Berger, one of the men in our group, has something like that for the kids with us. Not many books to teach from, but Shawn is one of those kind of guys that seem to know a lot of everything. Me and the two or three older kids get in on that too.” J.D. leaned forward and poured a glass of water. “I miss school. Always loved it.”
John’s face screwed up in exaggerated horror. “God, that’s sick.”
Morgan chuckled and looked at J.D. again. “Shame John doesn’t share the same enthusiasm. He’s as smart as a whip, but never seems to want to crack open a textbook.”
“That’s because textbooks are dull,” John stated.
Morgan shook his head and looked at J.D. again. “So, where are you from?”
“Center City, Oregon.”
A crash from the patio door had all three of them on their feet in an instant. John’s mother, who was walking out onto the deck with empty plates, had fainted.
* * *
John and J.D. sat on a picnic table in Liberty Park in the growing dusk, not saying much of anything. After John’s mom came to, J.D. did not seem to want to stick around and make an uncomfortable situation worse. Judging from Morgan’s and Joy’s reaction, it was perfectly obvious that they wanted him to leave as well. After grabbing a few pieces of chicken, John left with J.D. to walk him back to his group’s camp. They stopped in the park to eat the food and then sat on the bench watching the sun slowly sink to the horizon, not saying a word.
“Sorry about back at the house,” John finally said. “I don’t know what happened.”
But he did. It was the same as always. Mention of anything out west, particularly Oregon, had a violent and predictable reaction from nearly everybody in town. Glares and nervous looks over shoulders. Arms grabbed and harsh declarations that such things are not discussed. And apparently fainting.
“Not your fault, man,” J.D. said, still watching the blood red sun sink behind a half dozen cookie-cutter houses.
“Yeah, but it’s not yours either. Jesus, it’s like you have the plague or something.”
J.D. shrugged. “They’re scared, that’s all. If I were in their situation, I would be too. We’re a bunch of strange people with stranger equipment passing through from a direction that something terrifying is happening. I don’t blame them.”
John shook his head. He did. He remembered a few years ago when his parents used to greet new neighbors with a bottle of wine and a plate of chocolate chip cookies. Now people who lived a couple of miles away were looked at with suspicion. Refugees from Kansas City were forced to live on the far east side of the city and barely tolerated if they ventured too far into the rest of the town. He couldn’t help but think that this entire situation was bringing out the worst in people just at the time when they needed to remember what they were like before and when people needed help the most. ‘Whatever happened to helping people in a crisis?’ he found himself thinking.
“Say, J.D.,” John said suddenly. “How did you...?” He paused. He had no idea how to broach the subject without sounding crass. J.D. saved him from figuring out a way to do it.
“Get out of Oregon?” J.D. offered. After John nodded once, he continued. “Long story. Too long to get into details right now. Basically me and another kid from my town stuck close by Shawn Berger, the guy I mentioned earlier. He got us out of the town and some people we met along the way out of the state and down to Utah. We met up with another group there.” He glanced over at John for a moment and smiled. “I can tell you more tomorrow if you want, but I should get back to the others. I told Doc that I’d be back before dark.”
“Yeah, all right,” John said, hopping to the ground. He was about to ask where they were holed up when he saw two of his friends walking toward them from across the park. John had known Michael and Dave since they were in grade school together. He hadn’t seen them as much in the past few months since they lived several miles away and people did not stray too far from their homes. John chuckled as he watched Michael’s shoulder length hair bounce has he strode. In fact, it looked to him that Michael was purposefully striding so that his hair did just that. John and Dave never failed to tell him how ridiculous he looked with his hair like that, but feigned expressions of hurt aside, it never seemed to phase him.
“What’s up, boys?” John called, waving them over. “This here’s J.D. J.D., this here’s the boys, Dave and Conan the Ridiculous. He’s going by Michael these days.”
J.D. smiled and said, “It’s nice to meet you.”
Dave smiled in return but said nothing. Michael looked at J.D. cautiously, as if he were about to pounce at him at any moment. John looked incredulously at his two friends and shook his head, muttering around his breath about the general ludicrousness of their reaction.
After several uncomfortable seconds, J.D. said, “This is a really nice town. All of you have done a nice job of keeping everything together.”
Finally, Michael spoke. “Yeah, until you people showed up.”
John’s jaw dropped at the blunt utterance from his friend. It wasn’t at all like him to say things like that to someone he did not know. When John glanced at Dave his smile was gone, replaced by an uncomfortable, wary expression. But not surprise. Later, John reasoned that Dave probably had to watch and listen to Michael get himself into a lather about J.D.’s group, but was unsure about how he himself felt about it.
For his part, J.D. did not react. “Well, it was nice to meet you.” He turned to John and said, “I should be getting back. Thank your parents for me for the dinner and tell your mom that I hope she’s feeling better.”
“Yeah, no problem, man,” John said. He scowled at Michael after J.D. turned away. John had seen the look of hurt in J.D.’s eyes, a look he tried to conceal but could not quite manage to do. Michael turned and watched J.D. walk away.
Once he was out of earshot, John grabbed Michael’s arm and turned him around to face him.
“What the hell was that about?” he demanded.
“You know exactly what that was about,” was all that Michael said in return before turning around and leaving the way he had come, his absurd locks bouncing with every stride. Dave backed away, apologizing to John before turning and jogging a few steps to catch up with Michael.
John stood in the park for a moment, watching them leave. Dave’s noncommittal reaction didn’t surprise him; he was always like that, trying to be a mediator for everybody and hating to see any arguments of any kind. Michael’s did surprise him though. He was always the one to let the little kids join in their basketball games and let them score a few baskets on him. John turned is head and looked at J.D. Without thinking, he broke into a run and came up quickly on the visitor.
As J.D. looked at him with surprise, John said, “I didn’t say I’d be back by dark. How about I hear that story now?”
* * *
“John, where do you think you’re going?” Morgan asked.
John, his hand resting on the doorknob of the front door, looked over his shoulder. He looked at his dad standing in the living room beside the ugly floral couch John’s grandmother insisted they take when she had moved to Florida seven years ago. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest and there was a hard, set look in his eyes. It was an expression that John had seen often, mostly after times like getting caught TP-ing some jock’s house. John knew that the question was bordering on rhetorical since his dad already knew the answer. John also knew that the correct answer to the question was “Nowhere” followed by his hand falling away from the doorknob and returning to his room. John’s eyes flitted over Morgan’s shoulder at the sight of his mother passing through the archway to the kitchen twice in a span of five seconds, glancing innocently into the living room both times. The watchful patrol solidified that they knew where he intended on going.
John looked back at his father. He hated lying to his parents. He rarely did and always felt guilty for days afterward, almost always going up to his parents and confessing like some damned after-school special. Dave and Michael always laughed at him about his conscience, but John just shrugged it off. He liked that he didn’t need to lie to anybody, let alone to the people he loved the most, and who loved him the most. He was not about to start now.
He stepped away from the door and turned around at looked at his dad. He took a breath. He wasn’t going to lie, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t about to catch hell for telling the truth.
“Did you know that J.D. never had a chance to find and bury his parents after their house was blown up by an Autobot?”
In the kitchen, John heard his mother squeak in surprise and horror at what he had said. He watched his father’s arms drop to his side and his mouth work silently. John continued.
“Did you know that he came upon the body of his girlfriend on the second day of the attack after looking for her all through the night? Or that his older sister found him just in time to get crushed by one of those monsters?”
His mother was sobbing in the kitchen now. His father found his voice.
“John, stop it.”
“Did you know that J.D. saved two guys’ lives on the third day of the attack, but they were so out of their gourd that they ran out into the street to beg the Autobots to kill them rather than live with the memories of what was happening to all of them?”
“John!” his father repeated loudly. John continued, his own voice louder.
“Did you know that the Autobots razed his town of three thousand to the ground, slowly and methodically, for four days, taking their time? Killing most, taking others, and leaving exactly three people that J.D. knows of that lived to see a fifth day?”
“John, I’m warning you!”
“Warning me about what?” John yelled. “About actually giving a damn about what those people might be going through? About trying to be friendly to people that have not seen a friendly face in a very long time? Of trying, heaven forbid, to actually BE NICE?! God damn.”
John leaned back against the front door, still angry but suddenly feeling very tired and very alone. He had gone to “school” at Thom Cole’s two-story house and listened to a very long speech from the mayor, who just happened to be Michael’s father, that could have been summed up in one sentence: stay away from the strangers because they are dangerous. Of course, they weren’t and John had seen it first hand during the sixty minutes he spent at their camp the previous evening. Before he realized it, he was saying as much to the class after Mayor Dietrich had left. For the rest of the class, the others, including Mr. Cole, did not so much as look in John’s direction. They all hurried to leave the house after the class session and Mr. Cole had rushed upstairs, mumbling something about a letter he had to finish. It saddened him that after just one day of this that he was not even surprised by the reaction anymore.
He looked up at his dad again, who was standing in front of him still not saying a word. They stayed like this for two full minutes, no one moving and with the only sound coming from Joy Konstantastos still crying in the kitchen.
Finally, Morgan said, “Watch your language.”
John started laughing, even through his father’s disapproving frown. “Yeah, watch my language. Because that’s the biggest problem we have right now.” Still laughing, he turned back to the door and grabbed the knob again.
“John,” he heard behind him.
Without turning around, he said, “I’m going to find Michael and Dave and shoot some hoops or something.” He threw the door open and stepped out. “Don’t worry about me running into any bad influences out there that might make me wonder if holing away in our Pleasant Valley Sunday is the right thing to be doing with what’s happening in the world.”
* * *
John caught a pass from Michael, turned, and shot the basketball, missing off the front of the rim. He didn’t bother pointing out to Michael that he did not have to throw the quite as hard as he had. John knew it was just his childish way of showing disapproval for befriending one of “those people,” as he had heard them called a few times in hoarse whispers through the afternoon. “Those people” were asking for any provisions that they might be able to give them. “Those people” was camped out at the old KOA at the edge of town. A couple of “those people” had stopped to say hello. How dare “those people!”
Dave, for his part, was doing his best to be diplomatic, talking to both John and Michael, laughing, joking. He either didn’t notice, or didn’t care to notice, that John and Michael had barely said two words to each other since getting to the park over an hour ago, seemingly oblivious to barely restrained hostility.
“So Dwight pulls out that stupid whiteboard he uses when he teaches us,” Dave was saying, “and says ‘I’ll put a mark on the board every time you catch an error and for every mark there is, you can leave five minutes early.’” Dave laughed, firing a shot to the hoop and missing badly. John shook his head, thinking that two years of almost daily practice had not improved his sorry game.
“The class was only going to last an hour today for some reason and after about ten minutes he already had so many marks on the board that he had to let us go.” He tossed the ball to John, who shot and missed another basket. “Why they let that numbnuts teach us is one of life’s little mysteries, I’m telling you.”
John laughed. He knew Dwight Harris from around. He was one of those kinds of people that thought they knew a great deal about many things, but really only did a passable job of making people believe that he did. He spoke so confidently about everything, a part of you wanted to believe him. John had heard a great many stories about the Dwight’s notorious classes. A part of him wished that he could witness it firsthand. It would be worth the three mile hike for the shear comedy.
Michael did not laugh. Instead, he lined up a three-point shot and said, “You know why class was short today. Dad came by and talked to everybody. He thought everybody would be too disturbed to concentrate after discussing those people.” The ball floated out of his hand and through the hoop with barely a sound.
John snorted. “‘Those people,’ eh?” He caught another pass from Michael, this one harder than the last. “Tried talking to ‘those people,’ Mikey? Maybe if you or anybody else did, you’d know that they were leaving tomorrow night. Or that they would like nothing more than a here’s-some-Ramen-noodles-now-get-the-hell-out.” He passed the ball on the Dave, who actually made a running lay-up before errantly throwing the ball in the general direction of Michael.
“Nice toss, Kareem,” John said with a laugh. To his surprise, Michael also laughed before turning to fetch the ball. After taking one step, he stopped suddenly.
John looked over his shoulder, still chuckling, and saw three children walking onto the court. The oldest of them, probably no more than twelve or thirteen years old, stooped over and grabbed the ball. He bounced it once and seemed to smile at some distant memory before throwing it in a small arc to Michael.
“Hi,” the boy said. He then looked over at John. “Hey John, how’s it going?”
“Hey kids,” John said a little sheepishly. He recognized them from J.D.’s camp, but after hearing more than thirty names in a span on twenty minutes, he could not recall theirs. He frowned at Michael, who had backed away two steps since the kids showed up. He hadn’t noticed that Dave had retreated to a tree under the hoop, watching everything that was happening.
“Michael, if you’re just going to stand there, how about tossing me the ball?” John said, breaking the silence.
“Don’t use my name!” he said in a hoarse whisper.
John glanced over at the kids out of the corner of his eye. He saw the smile on the oldest’s face falter a bit and watched as the youngest tugged urgently on his shirt sleeve, making it obvious that she wanted to leave.
“They ain’t children of the corn, Michael. Just toss me the ball.”
Without taking his eyes off the newcomers, he threw the ball over to John. He bounced it several times and made an attempt at spinning in on his finger. It didn’t work. The little girl tugging on boy’s sleeve giggled as John dramatically tried to keep it there another couple of seconds.
“You kids want in,” John said.
“Sure,” the boy said, his smile returning.
“No,” Michael said firmly. “You kids shouldn’t be here.”
He made it sound like he meant the park, when John knew full well that he meant the town. John watched the smile fall away from his face completely. He sighed.
“Kids, you can stay.”
“Thanks, John, but we better go,” the boy said dejectedly, turning and leading the other two away from basketball court.
John shot Michael an icy look and dribbled the ball closer to the hoop. He lined up and shot, watching it fall through the hoop. “Oh yeah,” he said sarcastically, “nothin’ but net.”
The ball bounced over to Michael, who grabbed it and tucked it underneath his arm. John crossed his arms over his chest and stared back at him just as hard.
“What are we, four?” John asked. “You gonna take your ball home because I don’t happen to agree with you about them?”
“It’s not that and you know it,” Dave said, pushing away from the tree that was spreading a longer shadow over the court as day moved slowly to evening.
“Oh, I do, do I? Maybe you should fill me in.”
“Those people,” Michael motioned to the three children walking away from the court, “could be dangerous.”
“The oldest is like twelve years old. I think we could take them.” John looked thoughtfully at the retreating trio. “The girl on the end does look like a hair puller though. You better watch out for that, Conan,” he added as he shot a glare at Michael.
For his part, Michael ignored John’s outburst. “You’ve seen the weapons that they have. The burns on a couple of them. They didn’t get those guns at K-Mart. Or the burns in cooking class. They’re just wandering around out there with who-knows-what chasing after them.”
John growled and stalked over to Michael. Michael dropped the basketball and took a few steps closer as well, refusing to back down despite John’s size difference. Dave gasped and sprinted over to them, wedging himself between the two and pushing them away from each other.
“Guys, come on. It’s not worth it.”
John looked incredulously at Dave before glaring at Michael again. “Not worth it? Are you guys high or something? Christ Almighty, these people are walking around without a god damn home. They’ve been chased away from their lives and seen their loved ones die before their eyes and it’s not worth it? Jesus.” John turned his back on them and paced back toward the basketball hoop.
“You’re damn right, it’s not,” Michael called. “What does any of their baggage have to do with us, John? If they have weapons like that, they’ve had contact with those robots. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want those Buck Rogers rejects anywhere near me. It isn’t about them. It’s about us.”
“Oh, can your goddam sanctimonious bullshit.”
“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” Michael asked.
“No, I kiss yours,” John retorted fiercely.
Dave snorted, unable to hold back his laughter. His smile dropped away as the other two glared at him. “Sorry, man,” he said with a shrug, “that was funny.”
“You don’t think it’s about us?” John continued. “They are fricking human beings, Michael. They are out there risking their lives, refusing to back down from a fight. Everything they have ever had’s been taken away from them and they’re standing up and fighting and trying to take it back. They are out there not backing down and you want to just keep on sticking our heads in the sand.”
“That’s not what it is,” Michael retorted.
“No?” John said viciously. “Then what is it? Hiding behind ‘us or them’ is still hiding. God, sometimes it feels like I’m the only one in this damn town that sees what’s going on.”
John kicked viciously at a rock on the basketball court and stalked away without looking back. He was getting used to hearing whispers or worse about J.D.’s group, but that did not make him except it. The longer he thought about it, the more it seemed the last sentence he had said the Michael was true. If there was anyone else in town that felt as he did, they were silent. John was half expecting people to start giving him the evil eye as he walked by with the looks that he received walking to the park from his home. Now on the return trip, he watched one older couple cross the street and walk on the other side of the road rather than risk walking past him, as if compassion was contagious or something. He shook his head in disbelief, wishing that there was more that he could do.
J.D.’s story had kept him up most of the night. He heard more than just the destruction of Central City, Oregon. He saw tears and nods of commiseration and sudden turns of the head so the look in their eyes could not be seen. He heard about Los Angeles. He heard about Las Vegas. He saw smiles when they recalled living in Colorado for years without worry and the anger and grief when that pleasant time came to a brutal end. They talked about how they travel only at night the chances for being physically seen was at a minimum. They gloated about high-tech gizmos that made it so that they couldn’t be detected by any other means either.
And John heard about the Decepticons. He practically had to beat any information about them out of J.D. They were all reluctant to discuss them at all, even in just the most general terms. Based on what John was able to get out of him, he was intrigued. He had heard vague rumors about thwarted invasions, but he had always just thought that it was wishful thinking from a scared group of people afraid that their town might be next. Now he saw that it might actually be true.
John stopped abruptly on the sidewalk and took two steps backward. A flyer was hanging on a light post stating that there was a town meeting the next morning at the high school gym, with Mayor Dietrich presiding discussing “various topics of great importance.” John knew what that meant. Usually, he shunned the meetings and teased his father about going to them. John smile grimly. Maybe this was one meeting he should be sure to attend.
* * *
John sat at the end of a row towards the front of one of the sets of bleachers and looked around the crowd. Almost everybody had found a place to sit, but several dozen people were seated on the stairs leading up from the gym floor with still others lined up along the back wall. It seemed like the whole town was there and why not? Even a vague term like “various topics” was an obvious code word for the one thing everybody in town was talking about. John had half a mind to doctor a few of the flyers with the phrase “those people.” It seemed appropriate somehow.
Mayor Greg Dietrich walked up to the podium in the front of the gym. A smattering of applause greeted him, to which he acknowledged with a half-hearted wave. John glanced down at Michael, who was seated in the front row near the podium, barely clapping as he watched his father adjust the microphone. He seemed distracted. John wanted to think that it was because of what happened on the basketball court, but he did not think so.
“Hello, everybody,” Mayor Dietrich said. “I guess we all know why we are having this meeting, so we can probably do away with any of the fanfare. We’re here to discuss the group of people camped out at the edge of town, who passed through here the other day. We have all seen them. We all know where they’ve come from. What we do not is their true intentions. They have weapons that no one can possibly make with our technology. I think that it is a real fear for some that mean to stay and draw with them whatever it is that they are running from.”
Several people in the crowd nodded in agreement. John shook his head in disbelief.
“However, we have recently received some new information,” the mayor continued, “that they are planning to leave town tomorrow night.”
John glared in the direction of Michael, but he was staring straight ahead across the gym floor.
“That very well may be true. But I say that we can’t wait to discover if this is true or not. If we wait, it might very well be too late. If they are planning to leave, there is no reason that they cannot leave now. The longer that they remain, the more danger they could be putting us in through their presence here.”
John stood up, unable to take it any longer. Morgan reached up and grasped his hand to stop him.
“What are you doing?” his father whispered.
“Going to get the torches and pitchforks ready,” John replied curtly, and loud enough to be heard across the gym.
A few people in the crowd murmured uncomfortably at the implied accusation.
“This is not a witch hunt, John,” the mayor said. “We are only trying to protect ourselves.”
John laughed and shook off Morgan’s hand, which was still grasping his own as his father stared up at him in disbelief.
“Protect ourselves? From thirty nomads looking for a bite to eat and a little company. Try talking to them, for the love of God! I can’t believe that I’m the only person here who has even considered that a possibility.”
“We have–,” Mayor Dietrich began before being interrupted.
“You haven’t. You’ve let a bunch of hillbillies set up camp at the top of the hill to watch them. Well, I watched the hillbillies. I watched them throw rocks at them. And you, Mr. Mayor, you’ve sent scared messenger boys with vague notes requesting that they leave. They send someone in person to talk to you and end up talking to aides who won’t even look them in the eye.” John pointed at the mayor. “You’ve done what almost everybody here has. You’ve done nothing.”
Mayor Dietrich gripped the side of the podium tightly. “We have no idea what might be looking for them. They could be bringing something into our midst that we have avoided by living our lives and not interfering. Look at them. Really look at them. They have interfered and you can see that they have paid dearly for that through lost lives and injuries. By coming here, they have put us in danger.”
John shook his head. “You really don’t hear what your saying, do you? You’re standing up there making assumptions about people that you don’t know and that you could not possibly understand. Not that you’ve tried either. You think that they’d endanger our lives? If you had talked to any of them for even five minutes, you’d know that there was no chance of that. You say that they interfered. Most of them are from out west. Oregon, California, Nevada.” The crowd seemed to collective take a breath. “Oh stop gasping! They’re states that used to exist that are a war zone now. Those people, as you all like to call them, have lost everything. They didn’t interfere; they were interfered with. Their lives basically ended because they were unlucky enough to get hit first. Do you think that if the robots had landed in St. Louis that we would be so lucky as to be sitting here right now?
“You don’t think that it would be so easy for them to lie down and throw in the towel? The thing is they aren’t the only ones who lost something. I don’t know a single person who was killed because all that has happened in the last couple of years. Not one. I’m lucky; I know that. But I can still look down the street and see the effects. Of course things will change because of that, but to have this happen too? To have all of us treat other people like dirt because of a product of geography and will? They aren’t a band of roving mercenaries, you know. They fight when they have to in order to get back what was taken away from all us. You don’t want to fight? Great, fine, it’s not high on my list either. But the least we can do is give them someplace warm to sleep instead of shunting them to some old campground and throw rocks at them. Or give them some food instead of paranoid looks.”
John was greeted by silence. There was not so much as a scuffing of a shoe to be heard in the gym. Some people looked at him defiantly, as if to tell him he could talk until midnight and not convince them. Most could not look at him at all, his father included. They felt guilty. ‘Good,’ he thought. ‘It’s a start.’ John looked back at the mayor.
“Guess that’s all I have to say. I cede the floor back to the esteemed mayor of Kansas City.”
The mayor seemed at a lost for words however. As John turned to walk up the bleachers, he watched the mayor’s head turn to the left and right, looking for someone to call on. As John reached the top of the bleachers and was about to make his way to the exit, he heard the mayor speak.
“The chair recognizes. . .” But then he trailed off. The crowd started to chatter again, whispering to themselves. Curious, John turned around and saw an old man standing toward the back of the bleachers opposite him. He recognized him instantly as one of the leaders of J.D.’s group, though his gray hair was a lot tamer now than it had been last night, if John recalled correctly.
“My name is Dr. Grayson Archeville, a spokesperson for the group camped at the edge of town.” He motioned to his right. “This is my colleague, Dr. Whitney Golden. We apologize for coming to this town meeting unannounced, but we felt the need to clear the air a bit as to our intentions.”
“You don’t belong here!” someone shouted, followed by a smattering of nods and more guilty looks.
Whitney stood for a moment, a flyer in hand. “Was I the only one who saw the ‘open to the public’ in big, red letters here at the bottom of the flyer?” This time nobody said anything. He beamed a smile to the crowd. “‘Kay, just checking.”
“What Mr. Konstantostos has said is true. Five years ago, Oregon was deemed Autobot territory, followed quickly by California. As a group, we left and took up residence the mountains of Colorado, where we lived peacefully, and as best we could for nearly four years. Recently, we were attacked and forced to move on. Where we end up, only God knows. We have not brought you into the war. We have means of avoiding detection: traveling at night for instance. We have other, more advanced methods of further remain out of sight from anyone that might stumble across us. We would not have come here if we believed we were placing you in danger.”
“Mr. Archeville,” Mayor Dietrich said, “it’s these more advanced methods you speak of and the weapons you have in your possession that worry us. Human beings simply could not have made them. It brings into question all you have said. You could be spies for those robots for all we know. And even if you aren’t, there could be some of them coming this way right now that would not be if you had not come.”
“There aren’t any coming, that I can guarantee,” Dr. Archeville said. “I’m sure, though, that means nothing to most of you. We did not mean for our presence here to cause any undue stress or harm. We withdraw any requests for provisions and ask only that we be allowed to continue our journey at nightfall.” With a brief head movement, he motioned Whitney to stand. “The weapons you mentioned. It is true that they are based on an alien technology. But they were built by me and Dr. Golden, and our technicians. As a gesture of goodwill, we are more than willing to leave four of these weapons with your border guards to the east when we pass by their location. Good day to you all, and again, our deepest apologies.”
They turned to leave, with the crowd again in complete silence. John watched the two of them for a moment and began to walk out as well. He knew what he had to do.
* * *
John threw open his closet door and grabbed the small tent leaning against the back wall. Holding it out the maroon canvas tube it was rolled into, he studied for a moment.
“Haven’t used this since I was twelve,” he muttered. “Wonder if I’ll still fit.”
With a shrug, he tossed it on the bed beside the backpack he used to lug his school books to Mr. Cole’s house three times a week. Instead of books though, it was stuff with whatever clothes he thought he might need. He honestly had no idea what would be best. He hoped J.D. would be able to give him some insight on the matter.
A timid knock sounded against his closed door. John took a deep breath, knowing what was coming. He heard the doorknob twist and his father’s voice ask, “John, are you in here?”
“Yeah,” he answered and heard the door slide against the shag carpet as it opened completely. “Have you seen my sleeping bag?”
“What?” Morgan asked, confused. “Why do you–? What’s going on?”
John turned. Both of his parents were standing just inside the doorway, staring at the tent on the bed. “I’m leaving, Dad. I can’t live here like this.”
“John, those people are leaving,” Morgan said, misunderstanding his son’s intentions. “I know we’ve had some disagreements about them, but they are moving on and we can try to find a way to figure this out.”
“Dad, I know they’re leaving. I’m going with them.”
Morgan flinched. Joy looked like she was about to faint again. “Going with them?” his father said breathlessly.
“Yeah, if they’ll have me,” John said, zipping up his backpack and placing it on his shoulders.
“No,” Morgan replied. “No, you are not going anywhere. We are going to sit down and we are going to talk about this.”
“I’m all talked out after this morning.”
“Is that what this is about? Even that Archeville fellow seemed to understand our reaction. People are scared because they don’t want those robots coming here next.”
“I know,” John said evenly.
“You can’t leave just because of that reaction, John. You’re sixteen years old. You can’t go. Period.” Morgan crossed his arms as if to say that the conversation was over.
“My decision doesn’t have anything to do with our disagreements or some jerks in town who’ve decided not to help people anymore.” He took a breath before continuing. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while now. It even bugged me before J.D. and the others showed up, but I guess I just didn’t realize until I talked to them. I don’t feel like I’m doing enough here. Don’t you ever get that feeling? What is weeding the garden going to do to help the people who will be next to die because so few of us are willing to do something? It’ll continue some semblance of our society for a little awhile, at least until some bored, crazy robot decides to have a little fun with our town.”
“The robots said that if we–,” Morgan said.
“I know what they said,” John interrupted. “They’re invaders who killed millions of innocent people to make an example out them. Not because they did anything to stop them or because they were making noise about how they should leave. They just up and decided that Portland would be the one to go and made it disappear. Then they decided that California would make a good target too. Maybe they like sun, I don’t know, but more people died because of it. We all know that isn’t going to be the end of it. They have never done anything that would tell us that they’re thinking of coexisting with us. Someday, we’ll be next, I can’t stand here ten years from now and think about the chance I had, however slim, to do something about it.
“Think about someone like J.D. He’s lost everybody he ever cared about in his life. I’ve lost nothing really. Nothing but the ability to get a driver’s license because we don’t use cars anymore. He’s out there trying to make a difference anyway he can and I’m sitting here twiddling my thumbs and playing basketball and generally ignoring the fact that nothing is normal anymore.
“I have to do more. I have to go with them and, if it comes to it, fight with them. Sitting here on my ass isn’t going to make those robots go away, that much is absolutely certain. But maybe going with them, maybe then there will be something that I can do.”
He reached out and pulled his parents into a hug. They both seemed too shocked to do anything other than fall into it. After a moment, John walked out of the room and started down the stairs.
“John, no, please, we need to talk about this,” Joy said, running down the hallway to the stairs.
“I’m sorry, Mom.” He reached the door and turned around again.
“You are not going anywhere, young man,” she said suddenly. “You are going to march back upstairs and wait there until your father and I decide how we are going to deal with this.”
“I love you, Mom,” John said, with a sad smile. “I love you, Dad.”
Then he opened the door and let it and his old life shut behind him. Truth be told, he was scared witless. He had lived in this town for all his life. There were vacations at Yellowstone and baseball games in St. Louis, but this place was his home. He hoped that his parents would understand one day why he was doing this, that he was trying to keep it that way.
When he reached the curb, he turned right and kept on walking.
The End.
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