DMV, page 39
Which meant that they should probably get out of here as quickly as possible.
They walked carefully around the edge of the chaos toward the entrance of the camp. What was happening in the other camp? Zal wondered. Were the DMV employees going crazy there, too? Were the prisoners able to escape?
It didn’t matter, because as soon as they returned to the real world, everyone was going to find out about this place. Internees would be released if they hadn’t left already, and public pressure would shut both camps down.
Behind them, screams were competing with the ringing of the bells and alarms. He didn’t know what was happening back there.
He didn’t want to know.
The gate, when they reached it, was open, as was the guardhouse door. There was no sign of the guard.
Louder and much closer than the muted cacophony behind them, an electronic chirp-chirp sounded. Beverly had taken out her key and unlocked the doors of the Blazer. Zal hadn’t realized how tight and tense he was, but hearing the familiar sound caused him to literally breathe a sigh of relief, his chest relaxing with the exhalation.
Violet hugged him tightly, kissing him. “Is it over?” she asked, and her breath against the skin of his cheek was warm and sweet.
“Yes,” he said.
For now, he thought.
THIRTY NINE
On the drive back to civilization, Todd’s head was filled with rules and regulations of the motor vehicle code that had been drummed into him at the camp. It was impossible for his mind not to go there as they hit the highway and saw crashed cars on the side of the road, jacknifed trucks blocking lanes of traffic. People honked at them because they were going too slow, and when they switched from the fast lane to the middle lane, drivers to the right of them honked in disapproval because they were going too fast.
The chaos of the camp seemed to have spread out to the highway.
It was night by the time they arrived back at the DMV office where Zal had left his car. The building itself had new yellow caution ribbon wrapped around it, and they could see from the light of the streetlamps that the DMV had burned. Empty blackened windows stared out at passing cars, and so many of the the metal letters on the front wall that had spelled out DEPARTMENT OF MOTOR VEHICLES had fallen off that it now read: MEN OF TOR HI. A sizeable section of the roof had completely caved in.
Good, Todd thought.
Beverly pulled in, driving along the side of the building to the parking lot in the rear. Luckily, Zal’s car was still there, unharmed, and she parked next to it. They all got out.
Todd’s right leg was asleep, and every one of them seemed to be in some measure of discomfort. There hadn’t really been enough room in the Blazer for eight people, and they’d crammed together awkwardly, making sure everyone was strapped in so they wouldn’t be pulled over—which meant that Rosita had been sitting on his lap and Danny had been half-hanging off the edge of the backseat, Bernard’s upraised knee shoved into the small of his back.
Groaning, they limped around the two cars, straightening legs, extending arms, twisting around to assuage hurt muscles.
“What happens now?” Violet asked.
Bernard massaged his neck. “We finish our work. The rest of you are done—and thank you for your service—but Zal and I have computer systems to deconstruct. Technically, we’re still contracted to work on their programs, and we still have access, so while they’re otherwise engaged—” He gestured vaguely to the east, in the direction of the camp. “—we will modify, delete and do what we can to stop them or at least set them back for as long as we can.”
“You can’t stop the DMV,” Beverly said. “It’s a government agency. And people have to have driver’s licenses. They’ll find a way to keep things going.”
“But maybe it won’t be exactly the same,” Zal offered. “Maybe it’ll just be normal. At least for awhile.”
It was late and they were exahusted, but everyone seemed reluctant to leave. They stood around discussing what had happened and what they wanted to happen, what they feared and what they hoped, until Danny finally said, “I need to go home.”
“Do you want a ride?” Beverly offered.
“I don’t have a phone to call anyone, so…yeah. Thanks.”
He had thawed out a lot since they’d left the camp, but the loss of his sister was still close to the surface and unmistakable in his reserved demeanor. Todd felt terrible for the boy and wondered what he would be going back to. Did he have any other relatives? Because his sister was gone, and God knew if his mother was alive or dead—or something else.
And his father…
Danny’s house was at least twenty minutes away, even with light traffic. Jorge wanted to drive, but considering where he had been and for how long, no one thought that was a good idea.
“I’m driving,” Beverly said flatly.
There was more room in the SUV this time, and Beverly and Jorge sat in front, with the rest of them in the back, Danny next to the driver’s side window, Todd in the middle. As they pulled out of the parking lot, they waved goodbye to Bernard, Zal and Violet, still standing next to their car.
“Are you going to write about this?” Danny asked.
It was one of the questions people always asked him, and Todd didn’t answer immediately. The truth was that he seldom wrote about events that actually occurred, although he might incorporate bits and pieces of things that happened to him, rearranging them to suit his needs. But the events of today were different, more important, and he thought it possible that this time he would write about it. “Maybe,” he said.
There was an accident on the right side of the freeway onramp, a Prius that had crashed into a homeless encampment. The flashing red and blue lights of a police car directed drivers to move to the left.
People were driving stupidly, Todd thought. Crazily. But people always drove stupidly and crazily. It was quite possible that this had nothing to do with anything.
Danny grew quieter as they aproached his house, speaking only to give terse directions. “Turn here…keep on going…turn right…”
Eventually, they pulled into the cement driveway of a one-story tract home in a middle class neighborhood. Beverly shut off the engine, and they all sat there for a moment, unsure of what to do.
“Can you come in with me?” Danny asked.
Todd nodded. He looked at the darkened windows of the house. He had no idea whether Danny’s father or mother were in there—or in what condition they might be if they were—and Danny didn’t, either. Just in case, he would prefer to have some sort of weapon, and, getting out of the car, Todd asked Jorge if there was anything they could use to protect themselves, just in case.
Jorge kept a bag of tools in the rear compartment next to the spare tire, and he opened the canvas satchel to hand Todd a hammer, taking a much larger lug wrench for himself. Danny declined a pretty hefty wrench.
“Wait here,” Jorge told Rosita and Beverly, who had gotten out of the SUV.
“The hell we will,” Rosita said, and Todd smiled.
“You want something?” he asked them.
The women looked at each other and shook their heads. “No, we’re good.”
Still in his jumpsuit, Danny had no key to the house, but on the porch he picked up a clay flowerpot containing a red geranium and withdrew a spare key located underneath. He unlocked the door and opened it. “Mom?”
The living room was dark, but there was a light in the hallway beyond, a yellowish orangish light that made Todd think of the illumination behind the wax and sent a chill shivering down his back.
Sobbing came from a room off the hall, female sobbing, and Danny ran forward, pushing open the door. “Mom?”
The woman seated on the edge of the bed was naked, bruised and bloody. She stared straight ahead at nothing in particular, tears streaming down her face, and, embarrassed, Todd pulled a crocheted afghan from a nearby chair and draped it over her.
What was left of Danny’s father was on the floor, a pulpy mess of protruding bone and gray gelatinous flesh in the vague shape of a human. There was no blood, and Todd understood that that was because the boy’s father had already been dead and then resurrected.
Whatever they’d done back at the camp had put an end to that resurrection.
“Mom?” Danny said.
Her gaze focused on him for the first time. Something passed between them, and Danny started sobbing. Standing unsteadily, holding the afghan around her, she came to him. He hugged her tightly, both of them crying. Rosita moved forward, put a hand on Danny’s shoulder. “Are you going to be all right? Do you want us to stay?”
He shook his head. “You can go. We’ll be fine. Won’t we, Mom?”
In her first moment of true coherence, his mother nodded.
Todd’s impulse was to remain, explain to the woman everything that had gone on, gently break it to her that her daughter was dead, but Rosita’s insistent pull on his arm let him know that that wasn’t really his place. Danny was a teenager, but he could take care of himself. He didn’t need Todd to adultsplain things to his own mother.
“Thank you,” Danny said, tears rolling down his cheeks. “For everything.”
Rosita had her phone out. “What’s your number here?” she asked, turning it on. “We’ll call you, keep in touch, see how things are going.”
Todd thought he saw an expression of relief cross Danny’s face. The boy gave her their home phone number and the number of his mother’s cell.
Outside, after saying goodbye, Beverly tiredly tossed the keys to Jorge. “You drive,” she said. “I’m beat.”
He smiled. “Let’s go home.”
****
The existence of the camps made national news. Although he hadn’t noticed them doing so at the time, Violet and Bernard had used their phones to film and photograph almost everything. If it had been up to him, Todd would have sent the material to major news outlets—newspapers, TV stations—but Violet and Bernard were a lot more tech savvy, and their footage had gone viral, exploding onto internet news sources before being picked up by the mainstream media. The massive amount of corroboration online had lent even more credibility to the allegations, and in addition to being examined by journalists, the DMV’s actions were being investigated by other government agencies.
There was still a Department of Motor Vehicles, of course. Maybe it wasn’t exactly the same as it had been—at least for the moment—but it remained in operation, and Todd and Rosita decided that the only way to protect themselves long term was to opt out of the system.
“It’ll mean taking the bus or train or taxi or rideshare from now on,” Todd said.
“I’m fine with that,” Rosita told him.
A month after their return, after his rescue from the DMV camp, Rosita had a day off, and they’d just finished eating when there was a knock at the door. They weren’t expecting anyone, and both of them automatically tensed up.
“Beverly?” Todd said.
“She’s at work.”
“Jorge?”
“He’s supposed to be interviewing for a job.”
The doorbell rang.
Pushing his chair back, Todd got up and walked to the front door, feeling nervous. Rosita was right behind him. He put his eye to the keyhole to see who was out there.
Zal, Violet and Bernard were standing on the porch.
Relieved, he unlocked and opened the door.
“Come in!” Rosita said when she saw them. “Come in!” She ushered them into the living room.
“How did you get here?” Todd asked. He looked over their heads toward the front window but could not see the driveway from this angle. “Did you…drive?”
“I did,” Zal said.
Violet smiled. “Very carefully.”
“I still have my license. If I got pulled over, and they ran it, there’s nothing to back it up, but I’m willing to take that chance.”
“We all still have our licenses,” Bernard said. “They’re just no longer in the system. We’re no longer in the system.”
“I cut mine up,” Todd told them. “I didn’t want it anymore.”
341579
Just the thought of the number gave him goosebumps.
Rosita smiled. “Yeah, we’re out.”
“I haven’t driven since we got back,” Violet admitted. She cocked her head to the left. “I just carpool with him. I’m not sure I ever want to drive again.”
“So you’re doing all right?” Rosita asked.
Violet took Zal’s arm. “Not bad. All things considered.” She smiled shyly.
Todd addressed Bernard. “What about the…project? Are you still trying to take them down from the inside?”
“Of course,” Bernard said. “And somehow we still have access.”
“For the moment,” Zal clarified.
“It doesn’t matter. However long it lasts—and I’ve put in a few backdoors, so even if they take our access away, we’ll be there longer than they think—we should be able to keep ’em down for quite awhile. I’ve written and set up a purge to un-enroll people from everything other than strict licensing and registration, and we’ve deleted God knows how many of those secret programs, the hit-and-run licenses and what have you.”
Zal grinned. “We have help now, too. A couple of their exprogrammers have come on board to help monkeywrench the system.”
“And you’re doing this at work?” Rosita asked. “When you’re supposed to be updating their system?”
“Somehow, the updates are going very slowly,” Bernard said. “We’re finding a lot of bad code embedded there.”
Zal shrugged mock-helplessly. “So much that we can’t seem to delete it all.”
“We’re doing the Lord’s work on our own time,” Bernard said. “With the help of our buddies.”
“So we’re all still gainfully employed.” Violet mimed wiping worried sweat off her forehead. “Thank God for that. Have you stayed in contact with Danny?”
“Not really,” Todd said.
“He knows how to get in touch if he needs us,” Rosita clarified. “But we thought it would be best to just leave him alone. The poor kid’s been through a lot. It’s probably better if he just moves on.”
They talked for a few minutes more, about Jorge and Beverly, how things were going post-DMV, life in general, then Zal looked at his watch. “We’d better get going,” he said. “We need to be back by one.”
“This is your lunch hour?” Todd said. “Why didn’t you just call?”
“Don’t exactly trust the privacy of communications at work,” Bernard explained.
“Just come by on a weekend,” Rosita told them.
Zal smiled awkwardly. “Yeah, sure.” A pause. “Maybe.” And Todd understood that beyond the short conversation they’d just had, there wasn’t that much for them to talk about. They’d gone through something traumatic and horrific together, but that didn’t mean they were friends. Out here in the real world, they probably didn’t have that much in common.
Or maybe they did.
Rosita touched Violet’s arm. “Why don’t you and Zal come by this Sunday for lunch? We know this great Southwest restaurant. Our treat.” She looked over at Bernard. “You, too. And your…significant other?”
“Wife,” Bernard said.
“Wife, then.”
“We’d love to,” Violet said.
Zal shuffled his feet. “I need to check—”
“We’d love to,” Violet repeated, shutting him up with a look.
Rosita laughed. “It’s a date.”
“We really do need to get going,” Zal said.
“Go! Go!”
Zal really was driving extra carefully, and Todd and Rosita watched and waved as he backed out of the driveway and proceeded down the street well under the speed limit.
“You know,” Todd said after they left, “I thought we might celebrate tonight.”
“Celebrate what?”
“I got an email from Chyla this morning—I guess she’s given up trying to call me—and it looks like she got me onto NPR. ‘All Things Considered.’ Oh, and the book’s going into a third printing.”
She hit his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me!”
“I’m telling you now.”
“We sat through an entire lunch, and you didn’t even—”
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“A likely story.”
“Well, you inviting them to Agave! jogged my memory. I thought we might go there tonight. Or somewhere else. Your choice.”
“Why don’t we stay in? I’m not really in the mood to go anywhere. Besides, I can make that pasta I was telling you about. I saved the recipe out of the Times.” Rosita frowned. “Except, I think I need to pick up a few things. I’m pretty sure we’re out of white wine and don’t have enough garlic. And I think it needs shallots.”
“Want to go shopping?”
“Not really.” She smiled sweetly. “But since I’ll be doing the cooking, I thought you might want to contribute, too.”
“Just give me a list.”
A shadow crossed her face. “Should we…call an Uber?”
“No,” Todd said, and gave her a quick kiss. “I think I’ll walk.”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Born in Arizona shortly after his mother attended the world premiere of Psycho, Bentley Little is the Bram Stoker Award-winning author of numerous previous novels and The Collection, a book of short stories. He has worked as a technical writer, reporter/photographer, library assistant, salesclerk, phone book deliveryman, video arcade attendant, newspaper deliveryman, furniture mover, and rodeo gatekeeper. The son of a Russian artist and an American educator, he and his Chinese wife were married by the justice of the peace in Tombstone, Arizona.
