Women with baby strollers moved up and down the sidewalks, the ice cream man was dishing scoops from his cart for a nickel.
What year was it? Was Joe dreaming? The old playground center of town, the one that had rusted out years before and was always overgrown, was now painted brightly. The grass was cut while six children swung happily. Did they even have six kids in town?
He pulled up to the post office, figuring they’d know where the distribution center was. But they were closed. A Chinese solider was posted out front.
“Hey, Joe!” someone called out to him.
Joe turned around. It was Sam, he worked at the post office.
“We’re closed.”
“I see that.”
“We’ll be open soon. Don’t you worry.” Sam winked.
“I’m not. Right now, I need to know where this distribution center is.”
“Oh, do you have to get your rations?”
“No, I’m fine.”
“You should take your rations,” Sam said. “Everyone does. Sign up and take them, Joe. It’s at the old Ren Theater. Just ask for sign up.”
“Okay, well, yeah, maybe I will.” Joe glanced at him suspiciously cross-eyed. “I’ll head on over, I have to drop off.”
“Thank you, Joe.”
“Hey, Sam, what the heck is going on around here? I mean, everyone is walking around happy-go-lucky.”
“It’s good to be alive, Joe.”
“Yeah. So why dress up?”
“It’s the rules. If you are out and about in town and not working you must be dressed in suitable clothing.”
“Oh, who the hell made that rule?” Joe asked.
“It’s a good rule, Joe. Gives people a sense of worth.” He nodded at the Chinese solider. “It’s a good rule.”
Joe looked over his shoulder at the soldier. “It sucks you know, that rule. Just saying. Okay, I’m headed over.” Joe headed toward his truck.
“Say, Joe?” Sam called out. “We started a pierogi club at the church. We’re making them tonight. Would you like to join us?”
“A pierogi club?”
“Yeah, you know the pockets of dough with filling.”
“I know what a pierogi is.”
“Funny thing… everyone thought the Chinese invented them.”
Joe grumbled to himself.
“But that’s simply not true, no disrespect to our foreign guests here, they were just trying to take credit. The Polish people were like… nope, we got this. Got to love a pierogi, it’s like a surprise every time you open one.”
“Not really, Sam, if they’re potato and cheese then you get potato and cheese.”
“You should come, Joe.”
“No, I’ll pass but thanks.” He headed toward his truck.
“You’ll like these pierogi.”
“I’m sure, but I’ll pass. Thanks.” Joe opened his door and climbed in his truck and whistled. Sam must have been stressed, he was really unlike himself.
It wasn’t far to the theater and had Joe just driven around town he would have realized it was the place. People lined up before a table, while armed soldiers stood on guard.
Joe really wasn’t in the mood to stand in line, then he noticed the ‘deliveries’ table and he loaded up the dolly with the first four cartons, took them over and headed back to the truck. When he returned with the last two Mary Lou Martin was seated at the table. She wore a wide smile and blue floral dress. Her husband ran one of the best fruit farms in the county.
“Hey, Joe, I have you dropping off,” she said brightly, handing him a clipboard. “Just need you to sign. How are you doing?”
“Good. Thank you. You?”
“Wonderful. Just wonderful.”
“That’s good to hear.” He handed back to the clipboard. “How does the payment work?”
“Not real sure, I know that it is monthly.”
“Were you and Greg given a quota too?” Joe asked.
Mary Lou shifted her eyes to the soldier to the left. “No, we don’t have a quota. I’m not… we’re not doing the farming thing. These wonderful people took it over after Greg’s passing.”
“Say what? Passing? My God, Mary Lou. I am so sorry to hear that. I thought he was healthy as a horse?”
“He was. It was an accident. A skirmish and he was caught up in it.”
Joe was truly shocked to hear the news. “When did he pass?”
“Four days ago.”
“Four days.”
“I’m good though, Joe. Life is good. I don’t have the farm to worry about, I have this job and I have pierogi club at the church. You should join us, Joe. You really need to join us.”
“Maybe another day,” Joe said. “I have to head back. Got the zoning committee at my place.”
“Zoning committee?” she asked.
“That’s what I call my new workers, because they’re all zoned out. See you around and I am really sorry about Greg.”
“No problem! Oh, hey, Joe, how’s Tobias?”
Joe stopped cold and a lump formed in his chest. “I don’t know. He was doing that road trip thing and I… I haven’t heard from him since everything happened.”
“You know there’s a database. It’s made up of health camps, refugee centers, displaced survivors. It’s updated constantly. Every morning you can check to see if a loved one is on there. It’s only open until ten, you just missed it.”
“Really? Where at?”
“The library.”
“Thank you, Mary Lou. I will come back. Thank you for that.”
“Sure thing, and Joe, you’ll find him.”
Joe stopped walking and nodded his gratitude. “I’m sure wherever my nephew is, he’s standing on his feet.”
Cleveland, OH
The butt of the rifle landed square on Toby’s face and he knew before he even hit the ground that his nose was broken.
He fell back in what felt like slow motion. He could hear Harris yelling, but Toby was in so much pain, it was muffled.
He landed hard to the ground with a crack to his back. However, he was resilient. As if he weren’t even hurt, he rolled to his side to get back up. Only making it to his knees, Toby was tromped by a soldier and smashed face first to the concrete.
All because Toby, innocently enough, protested when he saw one of the soldiers grab Marissa inappropriately and then put her in the back where the women were gathered.
“Hey, dude, what the hell?” Toby said reaching for the soldier’s hand. At that point he was shoved back, and when they did that, he fell from the truck.
“Toby, run,” Harris told him.
But before he could do anything, just as he got to his feet, the soldier pummeled him with that rifle. How he kept consciousness, Toby didn’t know. Even though it was fuzzy to him.
When they lifted him from the ground, they did so holding under his arms and dragged him face down. He watched his own blood pour from him.
They tossed him less than gently back into the rear of the truck. He rolled when the vehicle jolted and started to move.
Harris reached down and helped him up to the bench. “You alright?”
Toby didn’t know how to answer that. Of course, he wasn’t alright. A man across from him, took off his over shirt and handed it to Toby for his bleeding.
He was grateful and held it to his nose. It was all new to Toby, he had never been in a physical confrontation his life, yet there he was with a bleeding nose and a bruised ego. Worse than that he was confused, he just didn’t understand what was going on. He didn’t know where they were taking them or why. But he didn’t need to have the answers to those questions to know that wherever he was heading… it wasn’t good.