Z2012SITEBTHEREBELS

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Story (Final): //The Boy at the Machine Shop//

The boy didn’t know what to do. Everything had been taken from him: his mother, his father, his home. So he was running.

He packed his bags quickly, throwing in the things he needed. His grandmother’s dominoes. She’s given him six, for his age. But that had been last year, before Grandmother got the Frei Fever and was taken to the Infirmary. The boy hadn’t seen her since. He missed her dearly. Before the Orderlies took over and Tom was sent to the Short Trailers, Grandmother would play dominoes with him and give him cookies. She always had bread to throw to the fish in the river. At the last minute, he threw in the shells she’d given him for his fifth birthday. The rock with his name on it, the name he shared with Old Tom Long Legs. Tom. It was also his father’s name. The letter from Aunt Alice. The envelope had the address he was trying to get to. He was sure that California was not that far from Charleston. He’d taken the money from Mother’s things, the ones she left behind before she was taken That would get him a train ticket to California. The map of the Shipyard. Being only seven, he hadn’t travelled the whole thing, and he needed to get to the gates to get to the train station. And the tape. That mysterious tape that he had never listened to. It had been Father’s. He had warned Tom that if he listened to the tape, bad things would happen to him. Yet he still had to guard it with his life. He only made the mistake of asking about the tape once. “It’s none of your business,” Father had snapped. Tom had felt hurt. Father had never used that voice with him before. Then his face had softened. “It’s nothing for you to be concerned about.” But Tom was still curious. He’d seen, on more nights than he could count, Father hunched over his desk, listening to the tape and scribbling something on paper. He was always writing notes. Tom tried to read them once, but the handwriting was too messy, and it didn’t even look like the English Tom was learning in school. Tom had thought that the Orderlies had taken the tape and notes when Father had left with them and never returned. But Mother had kept them, and she told Tom to keep them under the floorboards in his room. He did as he was told, even after Tom was taken to the Short Trailers. But he only put the tape in his suitcase, tucking the notes into his pocket. The pages felt heavy, like weights. After all the notes he’d seen Father take, there were only four pages of notes. Perhaps Mother had hidden the rest. To that day, Tom was unsure of why Father had walked off with the Orderlies. Father was always talking about how he didn’t like them. But he’s just walked off with them that Saturday, that warm, sticky night of the summer. He’d kissed Mother goodbye and told Tom to be a good boy, whispering when the Orderlies couldn’t see that he had to save the recording and notes with his life. Then he left. And Tom never saw him again.

Tom waited until the Orderly car drove by the Short Trailers. The hum of the car always scared him; it sounded like the mosquitoes that buzzed around his ears in the summertime, sometimes biting him and leaving angry red bumps. He grabbed his coat and suitcase and ran. The suitcase was heavy, and he made it to the Machine Shop before he had to sit and eat something. He had been so nervous about leaving that he couldn’t eat at dinnertime. He set his things down in the small side room of the huge, withering shop. He was suddenly curious: he’d never been in the Machine Shop in the seven years he’d been living in Charleston. He pulled the bread from his pocket, still slightly warm from dinner, and stepped into the cavernous room, careful not to make noise. He shrugged out of his jacket, dropping it by the large chunk of broken roof, which he sat behind. The spring air was warm and full, prickling sweat at the base of his neck. The roof had caved in, letting the stars shine through the gaping hole. It was so beautiful, Tom thought. Grandmother had once told him that he could see words written in the stars if he looked hard enough. Sometimes he’d pretended to see words to make her happy. She had laughed and given him a hug, telling him that she loved him. He would do anything to see her again. Tonight, though, he saw no words. The sky was just a huge black swath of silk, pinpointed with beads of shining silver. There was nothing that would help him tonight. He was half way done with his bread when the Orderlies came in. The clomp of their boots was soft, like children’s footsteps. //Clomp, clomp//. They were laughing and smoking cigarettes, the smoky scent making Tom’s nose wrinkle. They didn’t notice Tom for a while, crouched in the corner behind the piece of fallen roof. His heart was beating so loudly, he thought they would hear it. They stared at him for a second before one came over to him. He crouched in front of Tom. “What’s your name?” His breath came out in a puff of air. “Thomas Hill,” Tom whispered. “What are you doing out of bed, Thomas?” The Orderly had green eyes, like Tom’s father. “I was scared,” Tom said quickly. “I want my mom. She left on Tuesday, and I haven’t seen her.” The Orderly nodded, closing his eyes. “I miss her.” “Well, Thomas, I’m going to need you to come with me.” The Orderly stood up and took Tom by the arm. “Where am I going?” The man’s hand was cold and hard. “I’m going to take you to your mother,” he said. “Her name is Johanna Hill, correct?” Tom nodded, smiling. Now he could see why Father had gone with the Orderlies. They weren’t all bad. Now he was going to see Mother, maybe even Father. Things would be okay again. Just as they were leaving the Machine Shop, Tom paused, considering getting the suitcase. But then he noticed a painting on the wall. It was sharks turning into helicopters. Tom glanced at it, his brow furrowing. He’d seen that painting before. The memory hit him with force, causing him to gasp. It was his father’s painting. He thought that he would never see the painting again. But now he’d seen it. And he knew his Father was dead. Father had gone with the Orderlies, and he was dead. And so he screamed. The Orderlies covered his mouth and dragged him to the back of their car. The doors slammed, and Tom was still screaming as they drove away, the hum like mosquitoes louder from the inside. But, unlike mosquitoes, their remains were angrier, redder, more irritating. More deadly.

Tom could only imagine that he was in the Infirmary. He’d never explored past the Trailers, but he’d been examined for the Fever in the end of the summer there. But there were beeping machines under a harsh white light, and the view out the window looked like the yard of the Infirmary, which Tom remembered he’d falled and scraped his knee by the large oak. He was definitely in the Infirmary. The sheets of the bed were scratchy. His mouth was dry. He was tired. //Beep. Beep//. The rain against the windows was constant, something Tom could focus on past the dull, throbbing pain in his head behind his eyes. //Beep. Beep. Beep//. Then he remembered the suitcase. He’d left it in the Machine Shop. The notes, too, were left in the Machine Shop. Father would be so sad that he lost it forever. He began to cry, little whimpering noises escaping him. A doctor came into the room with a little needle and shiny blue serum. Tom froze, wincing as the doctor injected him with the serum. He was so tired, he couldn’t even scream as the blue liquid hit his blood. The throb behind his eyes worsened, and the room went dark. “Tom, darling, wake up.” Mother. She was calling him. Tom groggily opened his eyes. Mother was standing over him. Tom tried to touch her, but he couldn’t move. He cried out, but Mother placed a finger over his lips. “Quiet, my boy.” Tom nodded, his head feeling like it was full of sand and river water. “Where have you been?” he whispered, his voice hoarse. Mother sighed. “Where I’m taking you now, my sweet child. Close your eyes. I’ll be here the whole time.” She held his hand, her fingers warm and comforting. And he suddenly felt very light, like he was the sun or the wind. He closed his eyes.

The suitcase stayed hidden, the location dying with the owner.

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