DMV, page 36
Danny said he had called 911 when he and his sister first arrived, and the police dispatcher had told him that the two of them were supposed to be at the camp, that their confinement here was entirely legal.
Todd thought about his great-grandmother.
Three Four One Five Seven Nine.
That had been legal, too.
History wasn’t a straight line, it was a circle.
They ate their gruel in silence. He didn’t know enough about this place yet to formulate a workable escape plan, but he already had the others monitoring the movements of the staff, keeping track of who went where and when, looking for patterns, and it was only a matter of time before vulnerabilities were revealed, vulnerabilities that they could exploit. He himself was trying to figure out where Jorge might be and how he could break his brother-in-law out as well. It had been a shock to see Jorge here, and while Todd had no idea what was going on, he knew that he could not leave without bringing Rosita’s brother with him.
Immediately after breakfast, they were herded out of the mess hall. Todd ran a tongue over his front teeth, wishing they’d given him time to brush. They were shepherded down the street to a concrete building where, inside, they met up with internees from another dorm, nearly all of them Asian. The building was bigger inside than it appeared on the outside, and the space consisted of a small paved track around which were positioned low flat bench seats. On the track itself were six small Autopia-type cars, parked in a line.
The two groups were seated on opposite sides of the track. An instructor Todd had never seen before stood in front of them. “You may address me as ‘Sir,’” he said. He went on to explain that there was going to be a type of demolition derby. Six drivers at a time, three from their group, three from the other group, would get into the cars and drive around the track, crashing into each other. If any car was incapacitated, that driver would be forced to run around the track and avoid the cars that would be trying to run him down. The round would end when there was only one car still running.
“And don’t worry,” the instructor said. “We have plenty of other cars on standby. You will all be able to participate.”
The first group was chosen, and the rest of them remained on the benches to watch. Todd and Danny were at the far end, and as the drivers were warming up their tiny cars, yesterday’s instructor walked up, carrying a purple tote bag emblazened with the gold letters DMV. He stood in front of them. “Condolences,” the instructor said, handing Danny a blood-stained shirt he withdrew from his bag and that Danny seemed to recognize immediately. “Your sister didn’t make it, but she died for a good cause, and we at the Department of Motor Vehicles are grateful for her sacrifice. She redeemed herself at the end, and if it were not for her selfless example, several scofflaws would not have learned a very valuable lesson.” Smiling, he withdrew from his bag a pair of torn stained panties, placing them on top of the shirt.
And Danny began to cry.
THIRTY SEVEN
Rosita’s heart was pounding as they entered the camp. She held tight to her permit, not willing to put it in either purse or pocket, afraid that if it left her hand she might lose possession of it and end up being stuck here with no way out.
The road on which they were walking led through a grove of closely growing trees, but beyond, she could see sunlight reflected and refracted off the windows and white concrete walls of buildings. From that direction, two men approached, no doubt informed of their presence by the guard. One of the men was white, the other black.
“That’s them,” Beverly whispered. “The ones who took Jorge.”
Rosita and Beverly were in the lead, and the salesman smiles plastered on the men’s faces switched to something like confusion when they saw Zal, Violet and Bernard behind them. Rosita and Beverly had clearly been expected, but the presence of the other three was a surprise, and obviously not one that was welcome. For the first time, Rosita felt the stirrings of real hope. Despite all of their hours on the road, they’d come up with no real plan, nothing more specific than coming here and showing up, but the fact that the DMV had apparently not prepared for this contingency, made her think they could use this to their advantage.
The African American man spoke first. “Welcome. I’m Mr. White. My associate here—”
“Is Mr. Black,” Beverly said. “I remember. Where’s my husband?”
“We had arranged for you and Ms. Klein to attend Mr. Guiterrez’s graduation—”
“You didn’t arrange anything. Jorge sent us a message.”
“Which we arranged for him to do. But we did not anticipate additional guests.” He shot a hostile glance at Zal, Violet and Bernard.
“And yet here we are,” Bernard said, stepping forward. “And we have no intention of attending any graduation ceremony. We’re here to bring two of your ‘guests’ back home. Now take us to them.”
“I’m sorry—”
“Yes, you are. In fact, I’ve never seen a sorrier pair. But if you meant to imply that you are remorseful and apologetic, you certainly are not.” Bernard held up his entry permit. “What I have here, what we all have, in fact, is permission from the Department of Motor Vehicles to enter this facility. And we are entering this facility to rescue two of your prisoners.”
“Jorge,” Beverly said, defiantly speaking his name.
“And Todd,” Rosita added.
“So take us to them, or get the hell out of our way and let us do our job.”
They had blanched at the permit when Bernard exhibited it, and now the two men seemed at a loss as to what to do.
“We are also part of the DMV ‘family,’” Zal informed them, gesturing between himself and Bernard. “We’re programmers with Data Initiatives and we’re working on updating your registration system.”
The two men looked completely confused.
“So you need to let us do what we need to do,” Bernard said.
“Where’s Todd?” Rosita demanded.
The two men seemed to have regained a measure of authority. “I do not know any Todd,” Mr. White said. “But Jorge Guiterrez is one of our great success stories.” He nodded at Beverly. “As we knew he would be. Right now, I believe he is having a late lunch.”
“Where?”
“In our cafeteria.”
“And where might that be?”
“We’ll take you there.” Giving them no chance to object, the men started walking, and Rosita and the others quickly followed. It was a short walk to what looked like a college campus, a series of new modern buildings with a lot of green space in between, everything connected by clean concrete sidewalks. They stepped onto one of the walkways, stopping before an angular structure with large tinted windows.
“Is he in there?” Beverly asked. “Is that the cafeteria?”
“Yes. We’ll—”
“Thank you for your help,” Rosita said. “We’ll take it from here.”
“We’ll take you in there.” A flash of anger crossed Mr. White’s features. “You are guests here—”
“Exactly.” Rosita held up her permit. “And according to this, which I got from the DMV and is an officially authorized document, we have been granted access to this camp. It says nothing about having to be chaperoned while we’re here or—”
“It’s understood!” Mr. White said angrily.
“It’s common sense!” Mr. Black exclaimed.
“I don’t read it that way.” She looked around at the others, who were nodding. “We don’t read it that way. Is there someone in charge I can talk to, to get this straightened out? I’m not going to stand here and argue with two recruiters about a policy that seems pretty cut and dried.”
Once again, the displayed permit seemed to have almost a magical affect on them. Mr. Black appeared genuinely flustered.
“Go to Administration,” Mr. White ordered his partner. “Find Renault. I’ll stay with them.” He turned on Rosita. “And if you think I’m going to let you go traipsing about on your own, you have another thing coming, bitch.”
There was an intimdating hostility to his manner that left even Bernard quiet, and, holding tightly to her permit, Rosita decided that this was not the time to push. They were in enemy territory here, and a reliance on rules and regulations might only get them so far. The important thing was to find Jorge and Todd and get out of here as quickly as possible.
Because no one knew where they were.
And if they were to disappear, they would probably never be found.
“Then let’s go in,” Rosita said, feigning a bravery she did not feel.
Smugly, Mr. White gave her a single nod, back in control again, and led the way up a wide, short set of steps into the building.
Jorge was sitting alone at a table by a window, with a few other diners scattered throughout the cafeteria. He didn’t notice them at first, but when Beverly rushed across the dining room, the movement caught his attention. Looking up from his food, he seemed for a second not to recognize her, but then she shouted out his name, and he jumped up, dropping his fork, knocking over his chair. The two of them smashed into each other, a collision that ended in a hard desperate hug. Rosita could not remember ever seeing her brother cry, not even as a child, but there were tears in his eyes now, and he threw his arms around his wife, clutching her tightly. Beverly, sobbing, buried her head in his shoulder.
“I thought you were dead,” he kept saying. “I thought you were dead.”
Rosita made her way over to them, slowly, giving them time, while the others remained behind, not wanting to intrude on their privacy.
“You didn’t have a stroke?” Jorge asked, his voice catching.
Shock stopped Beverly’s sobs. “What?”
“I thought you died of a stroke.”
“No!” She pulled back, still holding him tightly but no longer talking into his shoulder. She looked him in the eye. “You didn’t break up with me? I mean, I didn’t think you did, but when that woman called…”
It was Jorge’s turn to be confused. “What woman?”
There was clearly a lot to unpack, on both sides, but neither of them wanted to speak in front of Mr. White, and they simply stopped talking.
Rosita stepped into the breach. “Hola,” she said.
Jorge was laughing and crying at the same time. “You got my message.”
“I got it.”
He glanced over her shoulder toward the door, toward Mr. White, and a look of worry passed over his features. He dropped his voice. “How are you going to—?”
She held up her permit.
He smiled. “Form A one-thirty-one slash two B?”
“It worked.”
The door flew open. Mr. Black had returned, nearly out of breath. He addressed Mr. White, a stricken expression on his face. “They’re allowed,” he said.
“What?” Mr. White’s features twisted with fury.
“They’ve been issued valid permits. They have permission to visit and to do so unaccompanied.”
“What are the limitations?”
Mr. Black looked uncomfortable.
“You’re joking.”
Mr. Black lowered his voice, but in the quiet of the cafeteria, he could easily be heard. “It seems there’s a loophole. They didn’t apply online. They used an old form that hasn’t been updated since…you know.”
“That’s impossible!”
“They’re allowed.”
“We told you,” Zal said calmly.
Rosita nodded. She felt relieved but wary, knowing that she would not be able to relax until they found Todd and were safely away from here.
“Begone,” Bernard said. “Before somebody drops a house on you.”
Mr. White was livid. “We’ll see about this!”
The two men stormed off, and Zal, Bernard and Violet hurried over. “We’d better move quickly,” Zal said. “While we still can.”
Rosita turned to her brother. “Where’s Todd? You said Todd was here.”
Jorge wiped his eyes. “He’s at the other camp, the re-education camp. It’s on the other side of the wall.”
The other side of the wall.
Her heart sank. He was in another camp. And since it was a completely separate location, that probably meant their permits did not apply.
“So what do we do?” Beverly asked.
Jorge glanced around to make sure no one was around to overhear. While it was possible there might be hidden listening devices, the few diners in the cafeteria were nowhere close and were once again concentrating on their meals after being briefly distracted by the commotion. “I think I can take you there. I…I think I work here.”
“You think?” Rosita said.
“They took me around the other day and gave me a tour of everything—even the other side of the wall. That’s where I saw Todd. They told me I was an employee. They kept talking about how I could be stationed here or there…” He paused. “I’m pretty sure I work for the DMV.”
“They told us we were here for your graduation,” Beverly said. “Mr. White and Mr. Black. Did they hire you before you graduated?”
“I don’t know.”
“And they said they arranged for you to send us your message.”
He did not seem surprised. “I sort of expected that. It seemed way too easy.”
Rosita gestured to Zal, Violet and Bernard. “But they didn’t think we’d bring others. And these guys know what they’re doing. They work on the DMV’s computer system.”
Bernard cracked his knuckles. “And we’re here to shut things down. Where can we get access to computers?”
“That might be difficult,” Jorge admitted. “Besides, we might need you on the other side of the wall.”
Violet looked as nervous as Rosita felt. “I think it would be better if we got out of here as quickly as possible.”
“I agree,” Jorge said.
“You guys can access their system from anywhere,” Violet told Zal. “Let’s just do what we need to do and go.”
He nodded, took her hand.
“Then where do we need to go?” Bernard asked.
“Follow me,” Jorge said.
They left the cafeteria and walked outside. There were people here and there, but none of them paid any attention to their little group. Rosita saw no sign of Mr. White or Mr. Black or the uniformed officers that she expected to encounter at any minute. They continued down a winding walkway before Jorge led them up a concrete path between two buildings that led into the trees. The trail passed through a meadow and around a hill.
“There’s a graveyard somewhere over there,” Jorge said, gesturing to the woods on their right. “I stumbled across it one time. I think it’s where they bury the bodies of the people they kill. I’m pretty sure my ex-roommate’s there.” He turned to Beverly. “We have roommates here.”
Eventually, they reached the wall. It was solid concrete and much higher than Rosita had thought. Extending through the trees in both directions for as far as she could see, it had murals painted on it, murals depicting in gruesome detail the myriad ways people could die on roads and highways and trails.
There was a door in the wall that was hidden as part of a mural, and Jorge knocked three times on it, then grabbed a handle that Rosita could not see, and pulled the door open. He let out a deep breath. “I wasn’t sure that was going to work,” he admitted. He pointed at a chunk of brown rock roughly the size of a basketball that was on the ground in front of a long broken tree branch amidst a pile of significantly smaller rocks. “Could someone get me that? We need something to prop the door open. Just in case.”
“I could stay here and keep it open,” Violet offered. “I’m not really—”
Zal cut her off. “No.”
“We stay together,” Jorge said. “No one’s splitting up. It’ll make it easier and we’ll get out faster. Just get me that rock.”
Zal was already picking it up, using both hands.
“I guess they did teach you to be more responsible here,” Rosita joked with her brother.
He didn’t smile. “You don’t want to know what they taught me.” Jorge opened the door wide, while Zal placed the rock at the edge of the jamb. “Everybody through,” Jorge ordered. When they had passed to the other side, he closed the door carefully, adjusting the heavy rock with his foot to make sure it left a large enough crack.
On the opposite side of the wall, they took a short dirt path that led to a paved road. The buildings here were ugly, concrete and nearly identical. Rosita instantly recognized the place for what it was.
An internment camp.
She sensed it immediately, not only from the utilitarian architecture, the functionality of the layout or the grim expressions on the two men who walked past them, but from the atmosphere of the place, a heavy feeling of misery and dread that seemed to exist independently of the surroundings and hovered over the place like a black cloud. The thought that Todd was imprisoned here filled her with sorrow and anger. “Where do you think he is?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” Jorge said.
“Then how are we going to find him?”
“I know where I saw him last time. We could start there, I guess.”
“You work here,” Zal said. “Couldn’t you ask someone?”
Jorge shut that down immediately. “I’m not taking any chances. Come on, let’s start looking. The sooner we get out of here…”
From an open door in one of the squat ugly buildings came a line of men and women dressed in orange jumpsuits. There were about twenty of them all total, and they marched in single file down the road in the opposite direction.
“Let’s follow them,” Jorge suggested.
There was no talking, no discussion. The rest of them simply fell in behind Jorge, who strode quickly over the asphalt in an effort to catch up to the prisoners. For that was what they looked like to Rosita—prisoners. She could tell pretty quickly that none of them were Todd, but, like her brother, she hoped they would lead her to him.
