Shoreline Page 12

  The tunnel was getting wetter the farther they progressed, and so it began to dawn on her that they were going north and getting closer to the lake. Goatee’s flashlight finally revealed a low door with a heavy lock. He worked patiently at the lock and then tugged on the door which opened reluctantly, cement grinding across cement. The lapping of water was loud, and Nora’s stomach twisted. They had emerged at a deserted dock just beyond the ornate Erie Water Works, a vast old art deco building. The low door to the tunnel was camouflaged perfectly behind vines and brush.

  Nora looked left and right in desperation. They were fully exposed, in broad daylight, but there was simply no one around. The yacht club and the marina were all several hundred yards away. She weighed the idea of beginning to scream. She eyed the waiting speedboat with abject fear. Her heart began to race even faster. She had never been on a boat, and did not want to begin today, here, with these men.

  “Get in,” Goatee said.

  Pete was already being dragged bodily.

  “His foot is broken,” she said to Goatee.

  “Doctor Federal Agent, is it?” he said.

  “Look at his foot, man. He needs medical attention.”

  “Then maybe his employers will take our demands extra seriously.”

  “And what asshole demands do you have?”

  He eyed her. “Mind your manners, girl.”

  Nora narrowed her eyes, but Pete gave her a warning glance.

  Goatee looked away from her. He began tapping on the screen of his phone then realized she was still refusing to get into the boat. He waved the rifle at her.

  “Oh, now you’re going to shoot me?” she demanded.

  She saw his eyes harden. “You’re right.” And he pulled back his fist and slammed it against her cheek.

  Nora reeled backward, collapsing against her captor. Pete shouted in protest. Her vision exploded with light and darkness at the same time; shooting pain coursed through her entire face. She pulled wildly at her wrists, trying to strike back, but this only resulted in her getting shoved even harder into the boat.

  “Put them both in the berth.” And the men were suddenly shoving them into the cramped forward area of the boat.

  Despite the confined atmosphere, Nora experienced a moment of relief. She could talk to Pete at last. Her relief faded immediately as the engine turned over, making a soft rumble as the boat began to move. She swallowed hard, trying to suppress her fear. “How’s your foot?” she whispered urgently.

  “It’s okay, Nora, it’s not broken, it just hurts like fuck.”

  “Who uses trapdoors?”

  “Fuckin’ Scooby Doo villains, that’s who.”

  “Or someone who is lying in wait to catch some federal officers. I guess we are Act Three.”

  “Yeah, you know, if I didn’t fucking hate the opera before this I sure fucking hate it now.” She could tell he was straining at his wrist binders.

  “What are we going to do, Peter? Where do you think they’re taking us?”

  He was silent for a moment. “Schacht and Anna are going to be looking for us.”

  “Looking where?”

  “I guess we’re going back to their base as hostages. Now I guess it’s lakefront. But what kind of balls do they have taking us out of here when the city is going to be shut down?”

  Nora nodded in the darkness. “Do you think the Unified Command or CIRG will have notified the coast guard?”

  “I hope so,” Pete said. “And border patrol.”

  “Pete. I’ve never been on a boat before.”

  She heard him exhale in disbelief. “Never been to a bar. Never been on a boat. It’s one fucking adventure after another.”

  She smiled, despite herself. “I’m just warning you because I have a feeling I’m gonna puke if we go much faster than this.”

  Pete sighed audibly and seemed to be fighting to produce patient words. “On an open lake, they’ll be going very fast, and it’s going to be very choppy; the front part of the boat here is going to be rising and falling very rapidly.”

  Nora gave a soft groan.

  “So, like, puke the other way.”

  “I’m sorry ahead of time.”

  His accent flared up. “Not as sorry as I am, woman.”

  They moved slowly at first, and Nora held out hope that they wouldn’t really go any faster, nor would the boat do what Pete had predicted. But she was wrong. She tried to press herself hard against the turf-covered floor of the boat in order to keep from bouncing. She and Pete ended up bouncing into each other.

  Pete was becoming angrier with every mile they put between them and Erie. “I want a beer, and a huge sandwich. In fact, you should take me to Commodore Perry’s right now, Miss Nora Khalil.”

  He had to practically shout to say this. She wondered, given the fact that he’d been up all night, how Pete was still functioning.

  “You’re insane,” she called into the darkness.

  “Yes, but I’m dying here. It’s been like a hundred thousand years since anyone gave me food.”

  “I don’t know how you can think of food when all I’m trying to do is not throw up.”

  “You will prevail!” Pete practically yelled. “You are going to receive a commendation, my friend! Now, what I really need is some ice for this ankle.”

  “I’m so sorry about your ankle, Pete. I wish I could help you!”

  “Beer would be good,” he responded. Having to talk so loudly made his request sound rather more desperate. “Three Eisernes Kreuz beers. Four. Four Eisernes Kreuz beers! And two giant cheeseburgers and a truckload of french fries and…”

  “And an outrageously big pretzel, or whatever you call it.”

  “Yesssss!” called Pete. “Now you’re catching on!”

  They fell into silence, each listening to the drone of the boat’s motor.

  Then Pete cried out, “I’m so fucking pissed at these people, though.”

  Nora had been thinking that, too. “They’re just … uneducated, right? That’s what we’re going to tell ourselves about how this could happen?”

  Pete didn’t seem to have an answer. Then he replied, “Or over-Web-educated. Instead of ever meeting an actual person, they just rely on the Web to tell them what’s what.”

  The strain of trying to talk over the sound of the motor was intense.

  She didn’t feel like continuing to try to talk, but suddenly Nora had formulated what she thought was a pressing question. “So, I don’t get it. I thought the government was replaced with government outsiders who would give them what they want. So now they’re against the government?”

  “The country has a lot of angry people in it. Everyday people who were struggling had gasoline poured on their frustration fires during the election. To govern you have to compromise, though. And that means betraying the cause.”

  They were both silent. Finally Pete got as close as he could to Nora’s ear, rather beyond her limits for personal space but she preferred it to the shouting.

  “I grew up with a rifle in my hand, Nora. There are plenty of families where you can do that peaceably. But my family wasn’t one of them.”

  “Are you some kind of militia dropout, Peter?”

  “Very much so. Well, not me. My dad. When the Brady Bill was signed and then assault rifles were banned in the ’90s, people got angry. A lot of militias popped up. They thought normal guns were gonna be next. I was poor, I told you. I maybe didn’t say I was poor white trash. But that was it.”

  Pete went awhile before saying anything else, and Nora thought maybe he was done speaking. But he continued. “When you’re poor, and no one listens, and you’re always on the margins … for people like that, the only real sense of power they have in their lives is in their gun cabinet. Any limitation on the ‘Second Amendment Right to Bear Arms’ is a death sentence.”

  As she processed this, he added, “Three of my daddy’s friends went right off the grid. Took up arms and started hatching plots.”


  Nora had nothing to say, but digested this as the boat thumped over the rough lake waters.

  She adjusted her face so she could aim right for his ear. “What happened to them?”

  “They’d pop up to beat their wives and go back to training.”

  She wished she could see his eyes in the dark. She sensed that they had clouded over.

  “What about your dad?”

  He said nothing.

  “Did he do that? Did he hit you, too?” she pressed.

  “Maybe. He became one of the disappeared, anyway.” He said nothing for a long while, and Nora cast about wildly for something worth saying. She could think of nothing at all.

  Several minutes passed before he placed his mouth close to her ear again. “Like Schacht said, it’s a storm that’s been threatening to burst for years. Public discourse gets amped up, people stop being scared to say all the bullshit they’re thinking, and then … other people end up getting hurt.”

  “I have a bad feeling we’re some of the people that’re gonna get hurt,” said Nora, mustering a laugh.

  “Not if we can help it, Miss Nora,” he called into the darkness. “I saw your shoes today. You wore the super sneakers!”

  Nora smiled ruefully into the darkness. The Mizuno Wave Riders had been Nora’s last purchase from Philadelphia Runner, her favorite store on Walnut Street. “Just because grownup shoes go with your suit, doesn’t make them the right choice.”

  “Sounds like a bumper sticker.”

  She considered this. “Might need tweaking first.…” She listened to the motor for awhile, then turned to her partner. “Pete, your dad missed out on a lot by leaving you.”

  “Hell yeah he did,” Pete answered immediately.

  “I’m sorry.”

  He was quiet, then said, “Me, too, Miss Nora. Me, too.”

  * * *

  She didn’t actually puke. But it was a very hard trip that took well over an hour.

  They climbed out onto a temporary dock that stretched twenty feet into the lake. The dock shuddered and groaned and bounced under the onslaught of waves. A setting sun tinged everything around them deep magenta, such that the aluminum of the dock seemed aflame. Nora stumbled as they led her out of the boat; she fought hard to get her bearings, but her legs couldn’t seem to function. She wobbled, and her captor supported her, grumbling as he did so. Pete still limped painfully.

  There was another long walk ahead of them. They tottered over a stretch of rocky beach and then began making their way up long wooden staircases built into the tall, forested bank. She saw no harbors or other collapsible docks and no signs of anything but rocky, deserted beach for as far as her eye could see.

  At the top of the stairs they were forced to walk again. A path had been trampled and well-worn in the dewy weeds. Nora’s running shoes were instantly soaked through. A ramshackle old farmhouse had come into view as soon as they reached the top of the bank. The cylinder glass in the windows caught the sunset’s fuchsia flush across its wavy panes.

  Their captors gave no indication that the house was their destination, however. They walked well beyond it, heading away from the lake, and soon came upon the first of three large barns. This first one had a huge silo alongside it.

  Pete was trailing far behind her, so she could not share a look with him. Nora was at a loss, and merely walked, exhausted, sweating, and famished through the barn’s towering door. After Pete and his escort finally entered, Goatee slid the door shut with a bone-jarring thud. The barn was spacious, with two levels and innumerable stalls. It was rough-hewn in every aspect, as though it had been hastily constructed. Electric lightbulbs dangled nakedly from the ceiling. A few box fans noisily engaged in churning up the heat, but there was very little ventilation, so the air was heavy, close, and moist.

  The rustic motif was disrupted only by the presence of plasma screen TVs placed equidistant from each other on each of the four walls. These conveyed a constant stream of images, a parade of people in camouflage carrying rifles and shotguns, Gabriel Baker appearing periodically to speak, fist clenched and raised. Both women and men flashed victory signs and proudly displayed their weaponry; Baker’s voice could be heard in the background. Nora could not make out the words, nor could she focus her attention on the images, because Goatee had begun speaking to them as soon as Pete entered.

  “Welcome,” he said, without a hint of actual welcome. “You’ll be having your pictures taken. The rules are simple. If you’re good and quiet we will occasionally feed you. If you make problems we will beat you until you die. Understood?”

  Pete and Nora exchanged glances, then nodded.

  “Good.” He shoved them against the wall of the barn. Then he pulled out his smartphone and began taking their pictures. He posed their captors next to them as well.

  “Make them hold up their badges,” he insisted.

  Both agents had their pockets searched for their badges and then were forced to pose with them. “Smile,” Goatee said.

  “What, you’re posting it on Facebook?” Nora fished.

  He scoffed. “Facebook.” He only shook his head, plucked the badges out of their hands and pocketed them, then turned his back, saying to the other two over his shoulder, “Put them in with the nigger.”

  As he walked away, however, he seemed to be studying the pictures he’d taken. He stopped. Then he turned to regard Nora carefully. “You black, too, girl?”

  “Welsh,” she snapped.

  “You fucking wish,” he said, and stalked away.

  Pete was shaking his head, and Nora could see that he was laughing without sound. Poor Pete had been awake for something like forty hours now, and he looked like he was about to collapse.

  They walked along the length of the barn. The stalls were either open entirely or had curtains strung up for doors. They saw a few people milling about, some wearing blue jeans and T-shirts, some wearing camouflage fatigues. Those who passed them seemed to smirk. Two different women clapped their captors on the back and told them they’d done well. Nora looked at them with open disgust, but they were supremely uninterested in her opinion.

  They could finally hear the messages emanating from the TVs.

  Building walls, my friends, is the only way. We must keep out the filth, the killers, the rapists. They’re hungry for what’s ours. And they’re bad.

  It was a different cadence than Baker’s other speeches, and the words were far less tangled and clunky. It suited him better, Nora decided.

  Our Constitution guarantees our right to defend ourselves, our way of life, our families, our freedom. To keep America pure, to keep America strong. We will build walls to protect our country. I will be the first to stand atop that wall with my gun and keep out the rabble and defend my true Christian, Caucasian, American family.

  When they arrived at the last stall on the ground floor, they saw that it was the only one in the barn with a very solid looking door; it sported a heavy metal bolt. Outside of it, a burly man with raging biceps stood glowering. Upon seeing them he slid the bolt open, opened the door, and they were unceremoniously shoved inside.

  They fell to the floor. Each breathed for a moment, trying to regain bearings.

  “You okay, Peter?” Nora asked. She was grateful that a ribbon of light penetrated from the slim gap in the doorframe. She could just barely see Pete in the dimness, and she began to discern the contents of the room as her eyes adjusted. It looked like there were crudely fashioned bunkbeds with no sheets on the mattresses.

  “I’m okay. How about you?”

  “No, I’m fine, just fine.”

  A voice cut through the silence. “Well, I’m not fine at all.”

  Both turned to see a plump black woman sitting cross-legged on the floor.

  “April Lewis?” Nora breathed.

  She was eyeing them curiously. “If this is the rescue effort, I’m going to have to confess discontent.”

  * * *

  April Lewis looked to be in her mid-fortie
s. A crown of innumerable braids framed a face of wide, open features; laugh lines emanated from her mocha eyes, and her high cheekbones made her look truly regal. She wore a rose-colored tunic that strained slightly to contain her expansive chest. The blouse was stained with sweat and dirt visible even in the dimness.

  Had Nora’s wrists not been cinched behind her, she would almost certainly have hugged her. “I’m so relieved to see you,” she said, trying to keep her voice down.

  “Did you think I was dead already?”

  Pete didn’t hesitate to nod. “It never occurred to us that they would spare you, given the other things they’ve been doing.”

  “Yes, it seems they’re still hoping for the ransom money,” she said. “What other things?”

  “Mass shooting at the refugee center. Bomb at the temple. We defused it, but only barely.”

  April Lewis shook her head. “In Erie.”

  “Yes, in Erie. Seems to be some blueprint for race war,” Nora explained.

  “Are you hurt?” Pete asked her.

  “Nothing being brutally murdered won’t cure,” she remarked.

  “We weren’t sent to rescue you,” Nora admitted.

  April Lewis’s eyes were tired but kind. “I’m so relieved. You’re spectacularly bad at it.”

  Pete and Nora exchanged wry smiles.

  “What are you kids, FBI?”

  They nodded and introduced themselves.

  “We were abducted,” Nora said unnecessarily by way of explaining why they were bound.

  April Lewis nodded, unsurprised. “I think having a councilwoman isn’t enough of a government representative. They’re gunning for the feds. Then again, I think I might just count because I’m ever so slightly black.”

  April Lewis was a very unequivocal shade of black. Nora tilted her head, regarding the woman, carefully taking in her strong features, and finding herself smiling for the first time that day.

  “And rich. Right?” Pete asked.

  “Oh, hell yes. But not rich enough to have my own militia.”

  “Well. We all need a five-year plan,” Pete said.

  “Anyway, they don’t seem to be discriminating between minority populations,” Nora said.