Winter in the Desert

            by Russell Hilken

 

            The wind poured off the distant mountains and came roaring over the prairie like a flood.  The whip of the air bent the sparse plants at strange angles and pushed any new life right back into the dirt.  The breeze sapped the ground of any moisture it might have, leaving the earth cold and dry to the touch of even the best farmer.

            Thin grey clouds sat high above the land, cooling the area below but never quenching the thirst of the land.  The world seemed grey to the people below the clouds; the light was thin and unpleasant.  On the horizons, dark smudges hinted at the mountain ranges, but these mountains only teased the flat-lands and stole the rain. 

            They must have stopped the people as well, for only the very determined or the very stupid stayed in this desolate wasteland.  A few hopeful families tried to keep some type of farm or orchard but only a handful could support themselves, and they usually ended up in the cities, working a desk job paying bills with so many others just like them.  One organization found this land useful though.  The U.S. Military.  Huge tracts of land were fenced off and used for nuclear testing.  The land that even the military did not want was tossed to the native tribes of the area and forgotten.

            Not far from the Hanford Armory sat a crusty old oil rig, hitting its head on the ground like some giant dumb bird.  The “Danger: Flammable” sign sat in the dust just as it had for the last three years.  Clustered around the rig was a group of dilapidated houses.  Most had been abandoned and had fallen into the earth, but some still stood.  These wooden shanties tilted on their ancient foundations and looked as if a strong gust would pick them up and toss them like bits of garbage.

            The town did not even have a name it was so small, it did not have a post office or school.  The people received their mail (if they were sent any) at the armory and the kids went to school in Richland.  Most kids dropped out of high school to work on the ranches nearby or at the armory.  A few lucky men might get a job at the oil rig, but it didn’t need more than three workers at a time.  A small town like this formed a strong community and survived by sharing between neighbors. 

            A main street split the town in two.  As all the roads within two miles of the town, Main Street was not much more than a rutted dirt track.  The street separated the saloon from the collapsing hotel, one house from another, and ran right to the base of the tired oil pump.  A general store sat just down the street, one of the few businesses still active on the commercial strip.

            Jed walked by these structures twice every day without ever seeing them; he stumbled out of bed well before dawn and choked down a cup of coffee before his trek to work.  He worked at the armory almost five miles south east of his home.  Trudging along in the dark, head down, shivering in the cold air, he tried to keep his mind entertained.  The walk along the highway was even more boring than that along the dirt roads, and his boots scattered small bits of rock and ice for the excitement it created.  Occasionally a truck screamed past on the road, startling Jed into reality. 

            Jed was simple.  Some called him stupid, everyone called him big.  He did what he was told like a dog or horse.  At the armory he spent eight hours a day lifting and moving heavy boxes.  He didn’t build anything or drive the trucks.  On the weekends, the men of the town asked for his help on the ranches and forgot to pay.  The people treated him like a kid, but he was too slow to notice.

            He heard the crunch of tires on gravel and the derisive laughter so familiar to him by now.  Jed had arrived at the armory and plodded down the long driveway to the locker room in one of the barracks.  A rusted orange pickup thundered past Jed, nearly hitting him.  Jed didn’t jump into the dirt like he used to, he had become accustomed to the taunts and pranks.  A fat man sat in the truck bed, and he stood up and hollered at Jed.

            “Hey, Einstein!  Want a ride ta the locker room?”  He motioned for Jed to get on.  Jed quickened his pace, surprised at this polite offer.  He put his foot on the tire and started to hoist himself into the bed.  The wheel spun under his foot and the car sped away, leaving Jed sitting in the mud.  He stood, his jeans making a squelching sound as they separated from the mud.  He burned with anger for a second, but he didn’t say anything.

            Jed had only stood up for himself once in his life.  In the third grade Jed was much bigger than most of his peers, but not quite as cunning.  He usually spent his lunch time alone, he could amuse himself.  One day he was sitting with his back against the weathered chain link fence, finishing a sandwich when a small movement in the grass caught his eye.  He peered down to see a little toad hopping through the weeds.

            “Hey little friend,” Jed greeted.  He reached over and gently plucked the little creature out of the grass.  The frightened toad wetted all over Jed’s hand, but he hardly noticed.  Jed raised the toad to his eye level and looked deep into its face.

            “Want something to eat, fella?”  Jed offered.  Suddenly a crash sounded above Jed and a rubber ball fell into his lap.  Jed looked up to see a group of boys watching him and laughing.

            “Whyn’cha play some ball, Jerk?” demanded one of them, using Jed’s least favorite nickname.  “You too busy playin’ with the creepies?  What’cha got there?  Izat your brother?”  The boys erupted in laughter.

            “Mm-mm,” Jed mumbled.  “’S just a toad.  And he ain’t creepy neither, he ain’t hurting nobody!”

            “I hear they give you warts.  You don’t want to be even uglier, do ya, Jerk?”

            “Lookit him with his brother!” chimed in one of the other boys, just now grasping the earlier joke.

            “Whyn’t you leave me alone, I ain’t hurting nobody,” Jed defended quietly.

            The boy walked up to Jed, looming over him.  “Give ‘im here.  You shouldn’t be playin’ with them things anyway!  Why can’t you just play with other boys?”

            “I said I ain’t hurting nobody.”

            The boy grabbed the toad out of Jed’s hand and hurled it against the wall.  “You too damn good to play with me?” the boy hollered.

            Jed looked at the mark on the wall and moisture filled his eyes.  He leapt to his feet and grabbed the boy’s collar, swinging him around so his back was against the fence.  “He wasn’t hurting nobody!” Jed cried.  His fists started to whip themselves into the boy’s face and chest.  His eyes closed, unable to handle what was happening in front of them.  Jed was much bigger than his opponent and his fury was blinding.  The boy crumpled, but his shirt was caught on the fence and it pulled at the front of his throat, choking him.  When Jed opened his eyes, he saw the boy hanging from the fence, struggling to free himself with his bloodied hands.  Jed ripped the shirt from the fence and fled.  He wasn’t scared of the principal or his parents, he wasn’t worried about revenge.  He just ran.

            But that was long ago.  Now Jed just wanted to get to the locker room and start working.  The buildings all looked the same, long narrow rectangles built in a grid pattern and covered in chipped white paint.  Jed clumped up the three wooden steps and opened the door.  He stripped out of his damp clothes and put on the overalls stored in his locker.  Down the muddy track was a larger building, the place the men stopped each morning to punch in their time-cards and have a cup of coffee.  As he opened the door a rush of voices streamed out.  The room was warm and friendly, but Jed never had coffee or joked with the other men.  The time-cards were on the other side of the room, a long trek for Jed. 

He hurried outside as soon as his time was recorded.  An old wolf-dog trotted up to Jed, looking for treats.  It was the foreman’s dog.  Jed grinned and reached in his pockets.  He found a couple of treats and tossed them to the dog who barked happily.

            Pretty soon the other men started coming out of the break room, heading off to their various projects.  Some men were building a road to the north of the armory, some were emptying and demolishing unused buildings and some were digging trenches, preparing for the coming winter.  Jed worked in an airy warehouse seated partly under ground.  Trucks from various corners of the camp would drop off debris and supplies while others would ask for tools or building materials. 

            Jed jumped in the bed of a pickup with five others and the truck sped down the dirt road.  At the warehouse Jed climbed out and the vehicle sped off to its final destination.  He unlocked the heavy metal door and pushed it open.  It was dim inside the building, lighted only by a few dirty windows sending shafts of light through the dust.  There was not much for Jed to do until the trucks started arriving so he sat down in a tilted chair and stared across the room.

            Before long Jed heard the rumble of trucks outside and began carrying the heavy boxes that were requested.  He did not have a lunch break; he just ate when the work slowed down.  By the time he had unwrapped his sandwich his upper body was feeling the first hints of fatigue.  When the last truck of the day stopped to pick him up, his muscles burned and even climbing into the bed of the truck was hard work.

            The other men in the truck chatted about their plans for the night.  Today was a Friday, and payday to boot.  Many of them would spend their night on the oil rig, not far from the saloon.  No one asked Jed what his plans were, no one invited him to join them.  He didn’t mind; he would have refused if they had asked.  At the common room, Jed scrambled out, ready to leave this place.  He pulled his card from the wall and went to punch out. 

            He hurried to the locker room and changed back into his muddy overalls.  As he walked down the drive way, the sky grew darker with the coming of night and the approaching storm.  The walk along the highway was frigid and Jed took more than one pull from the flask in his pocket.  He walked in the ditch on the side of the road, knowing that the trucks screaming by could not see him in the dark.

            The wind thrashed along the ground, picking up streams of dust and carrying them over the earth like a thousand little snakes in the moonlight.  The sky had cleared a bit since morning and a few stars showed themselves between the wispy clouds.  Jed passed under a pole, one of the ones used to carry wires all over this part of the country.  A dim light hung high on the pole, barely lighting the ground.  Jed stopped and looked up at the moths flitting around the orange bulb.  When the breeze picked up again, he pulled his jacket closer and walked on.

            Jed knew he was getting close to town only because he had walked this road so many times before, there were no signs announcing its presence.  He heard a vehicle whining down the road towards him and he moved away from the asphalt by instinct.  A pick-up howled past, the noise of the men inside hanging in the air in its wake.  Jed recognized the crusty orange truck, and he hoped he had gone unnoticed. 

            But his hopes were dashed.  He heard the squeal of tires and the sound of the engine approaching again.  He hurried his pace, hands in pockets.  The truck skidded off the highway in front of Jed.

            “Hey Einstein!” taunted the fat man nestled between the gasoline canisters in the back.  Another man stuck his head out of the passenger window. 

            “Want a ride?  Have a beer,” he said as he tossed an empty bottle in Jed’s direction.

            “No thank you,” Jed declined.

            “Ain’t you cold?  Get in.  You don’t like us?”

            “Mm-mm,”

            “What’d we ever do?  Ha ha!”

            “There’s plenty room here in the back.  Let me clear out these empties,” offered the fat man in the back.  He grabbed a bottle and flung it at Jed, just missing his head.  A can followed it, making contact with Jed’s face and a bottle hit his feet.  Now that the fun had started, all the men joined in.

            “I ain’t hurtin’ nobody!”

            “You can’t have a beer with your buddies?  Who are you, the goddamn king?”  A bottle glanced off Jed’s temple, sending adrenaline roaring through his veins. 

            “Whyn’t you just leave me alone, anyways?!” Jed screamed.  He grabbed a bottle off the ground and ran at the car.  The tires screeched and the truck lurched forward.

            “Uh-oh, Einstein is a mad scientist!” laughed the men.  “C’mon big guy, what’d you want?”

            Jed reeled back to throw the bottle, but just let it drop to the ground while the men laughed at him.  They pulled onto the road and hummed away into the dark, their taunts haunting the air behind them.  His cheeks burned with frustration at himself, and Jed ran towards home, hands in his pockets.

            He clomped up his porch and squeaked inside.  The inside was only slightly warmer than the night air, a small fire burned in the center room trying to heat the entire house.  His parents sat under blankets on the couch, his father reading a magazine and his mother a tattered novel.  Jed went straight to his room and started packing a small bag.

            “Where you going?” his father demanded from the doorway.

            “Out.”

            “Who you going with, you got some friends?”

            “Yeah that’s right.  I’m meetin’ some friends.”

            “What’sat bag fer?  You don’t need no bag to get drunk, do you?  What the hell are you doing with my lighter?”  Jed ignored him and rushed out.

            “G’night, Jed.”

            “Night mom.”

            He marched towards the oil rig and the sounds of other men.  Suddenly he heard a barrage of explosions.  A line of men stood up on the rig, and Jed realized it was only fireworks.  He stood and looked up at the glistening rig and the group of silhouettes moving about near the top.  His right hand fidgeted with a small rectangle, flipping the top open and closed, as he watched the flame leap up.

            The evening had been fairly rowdy, but nothing the barkeep hadn’t seen on a Friday night before.  He wiped the dark wooden countertops and reminded himself that he would have to mop the vomit off the bathroom floor before he went home.  The bell dinged on the door and a big man shuffled in.  He dropped a bag on the counter and collapsed into a stool. 

            “How goes it?  What can I git’cha?” the bartender offered.

            Jed shrugged.

            “You cold?  I got something take the edge right off,” he filled a small glass and placed it in front of Jed.  “I don’t see much of you in here.  What brings you tonight?  Your birthday er somethin’?”

            “Mm-mm,”

            “Well if you ain’t gonna talk, I ain’t gonna make you,” the barkeep said.  A shout from the tables caught his attention.  He jumped up, expecting a fight.  But people were rushing to the windows and out the door.  The bartender ran out, wondering what could draw these men out of a saloon on a Friday night.

            He followed the gaze of the crowd towards the oil rig.  Flames like snakes coiled and pounced at the bottom of the structure, steadily making their way up to where half a dozen men stood, shouting for help.  As one of the few people with access to a telephone in this town, the bartender ran into his building where a phone hung behind the bar.  The bar was empty except for Jed who sat, head down, unmoving.

            “Don’t y’know there’s a fire out there?” the barkeep shouted.

            “Yeah, I know,” Jed responded quietly.  He stood up slowly and trudged outside, leaving his drink untouched.  A frightened audience watched the smoke grow thicker and the flames hotter.  A group of men stood closer than the rest, knowing they had been on the rig only moments ago and their friends were not so lucky.  Jed bulled through these men and charged at the inferno.

 

            Jed awoke, head swimming, and tried to push himself off the ground.  His hands screamed with pain and Jed fell back, tears in his eyes. 

            “He’s awake!  Stay down big guy,” an unfamiliar face leaned over him, and Jed looked around, confused.  He lay in the dust, the moonlight shining off the activity buzzing around him. 

            “Let’s get him to the hospital,” shouted the face.  “Where’s the ambulance?”

            “Long gone, they took the other men in that.”

            “Goddammit!  Someone got a-”

            “Want a ride, Einstein?”  A fat man stood beside an orange pick-up truck, grinning.  He cleared a bottle out of the bed and tossed it to the ground.  Jed lay back and closed his eyes, smiling.