The Broadcast, Chapter 7

*copyrighted material*

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   His senses came forth. The peaceful sound of wild birds singing and the earthy fragrance of herbs was much of a surprise to his psyche. He recalled then that he was under Mt. Mowaki’s shadow, undefiled foliage, and living creatures. Yet, he could distinguish a continuous popping sound hidden under all that beauty. Something hitting against a hollow object. His eyeballs rolled up to meet the wooden ceiling of the small shack. The bed of red wildflowers was gone, replaced by a steel bed. The mattress was an old dirty thing, and the bed frame was heavily stained with corrosion.   

   Calvin was dumbfounded to discover he had no severe injuries, except for a deep cut on his cheek done when he hit the window too hard and a bruised knee falling off the roof. He sat up and took a look around the one-room shelter. A bedside table and a mug of freshly made tea by his side, the tea still smoking hot. He left the bed and walked around inspecting the objects scattered around the place. There was a coal stove at the corner and shelves, numerous of them that covered entirely two of the four walls of the shack with green wine bottles and

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amber-colored vials of all shapes. These contained all kinds of herbs, samplings, petals, seeds, even tree sap, honey, and other mushy substances he couldn’t recognize. The other two walls of the room were covered with vines, mossy rocks, flower pots with sprouts, dandelions, and a variety of colored wildflowers. He discovered the consistent, popping noise. A water leak came from a corner of the ceiling and landed in a rusty bucket with sweet aromatic herbs and grass growing from it. It felt somewhat like a purposeful move by the place’s owner.

   Calvin looked through the muddy window. He could tell it was very early in the morning, a soft and quiet rain gently moisturizing the snow-covered pine trees. Thick bark skins and thin with long branches that resembled spears of golden ages. He could see a river that traversed and zigzagged, losing its trail from sight due to the vegetation and snow. How far was he from Nooktown? He recalled the battle in the sky, the blazing barn, and the police one step behind him. He’d gotten out of that bad situation, at least momentarily but how? He walked back to the bed and sat on the mattress, taking the hot mug between his hands and taking a noisy sip. Lemongrass, he concluded.

   He heard rattles coming from outside the shack’s porch. Squeaky, sharp noises, soon he understood he was listening to someone’s footsteps heading his way. The sound of bloated wood torn out from the door frame struck as a figure opened the entry from wall to wall.

   The next thing he detected was a crooked smile. A smile he’d identify anywhere with its missing front teeth.

   “Woodbone?”

   “Good morning, kid. How’s life treating you?” The man standing before him was none other than the renowned townsfolk, Randall Haagensen, known as Woodbone by the entire Nooktown

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community. The man had gotten that nickname after he had lost his left foot to gangrene due to his pipe-smoking habits. His extremity had been replaced with a prosthetic wooden boot. The man had a wrinkly round face and a whitish-gold beard, his long mane had started to fall off at the crown of his head and his teeth too. Wise beyond his years, and lovable. A prevalent figure amongst the Renou natives, one of them, who maintained peace between the Renou village and town hall—backed by the military. Randall, also the same man that gifted his brother and him the fox cub that had grown to be Carol.

   “F—fine . . . ? No. Wait. How in the world did I get here?!”

   “I found you dozing off while everything was ravaged into smithereens. Worry not boy, I got nothing on you.” Randall shut the door behind him. “But if I were you, I’d tread lightly from now on. You ain’t covering your tracks that well playing the spy.”

   “I . . . ” Calvin hesitated. “I wasn’t thinking. What happened to the police?”

   “They ain’t the most effective I shall say.” He shrugged. “They didn’t see you crawl in or out. Found the bodies of the two suspects and that was good enough for them jolly bluecoats.”

   “. . . You saw me?”

   “Not even my ex-wife could beat you in a race. But leaving that car in plain sight could have cost you your life, it’s still under investigation . . . ” He approached the stove, and served his mug of tea plus a bowl of walnut kernels, offering the boy some after crunching a handful. “By the time the barn was collapsing, I was already waiting for you at the flower field. We stow away until the police gathered all the needed evidence. The military got to the aftermath way too late.

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Otherwise, you’d be in a hell of a lot of trouble.” Woodbone gulped down the last of the hot liquid and whipped his face with a sweaty hand.

   “Things could have ended pretty badly . . . ” The boy meditated. “Thank you.”

   “Your welcome kid. But try fainting somewhere else, my back can’t take another piggyback ride. I ain’t got many toes, you know?”

   “I’ll make it up to you.” Calvin nodded. “For sure.”

   “I’d say you have your hands full.” Woodbone sneered. To then reveal the envelope and photograph the boy had been trusted with inside the combusted barn.

   “You read that!?”

   “What do you take me for? You’re seeing a man of principles!” The old-timer with the wooden boot placed both the—indeed still sealed—envelope and sapling’s picture on the bedside table and then softened the lapels of his coat. “A fine Norway spruce you got there!”

    “What? Oh, the name of the tree?”

“Correct . . . but hey, I’m just saying, you are getting yourself into life-threatening situations and you don’t fully understand the cause. Jesse Mcallister isn’t happy with you, you know that? I’ve heard his men mumbling about it.”

   “I couldn’t care less about Jesse now . . . ” Calvin huffed. “This is so much bigger . . . than me defying him, there is a whole government behind him and so many in our position, but these people . . . these Rootstocks were looking for a woman in town, risking their own lives. She must be of great meaning.” Calvin frowned. “Her name, I can’t bring myself to remember.”

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  “Mrs. Mulhouse?" Randall looked at him inquiringly.

   “How do you know?”

   “It’s written at the back of the picture.” The boy had to see it for himself, took the picture, and flipped it. There it was, handwritten. Above it, the yellow insignia of the Rootstocks with its mighty war-hammer.

   “I don’t know anyone by that name.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

   “Same.” Woodbone assented. “Take into consideration that I know everybody in this shit hole.”

   “Maybe they got it wrong. The name or . . . the place . . . ?” He traced a corner of the picture with discontent. “Who were you anyway . . . ?” He spoke, referring to the Asian man with the British accent that had sacrificed himself for whatever his mission was.

   “See it this way kid, some things are better off buried and undeclared. Why get into all that mess?”

   “I . . . I guess so . . . ” 

    Someone knocked at the door.

   “Ah! Your chaperone is here!” Woodbone yanked his wooden boot with a tight grasp and dragged it all the way to meet his visitor.

   “Calvin, good Lord! You had me worried for a moment. Are you okay?” Nelson, sweaty and red on the face, came in with a sprint and a leash strapped onto Carol’s torso. “Look at you! What have you been doing?!” Calvin met his friend’s gaze with guilt and silence. His fox companion

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didn’t look happy either, hauled around on her butt all morning. “Randall, how can I thank you? I was baffled when I got your note. I’ve been looking for the boy since the alarms went off!”

   “No problem, amigo! You can make it up to me later with one of your delicious pinto bean bowls at the bar. I’ve been craving them since last week.”

   “You got it!” Nelson looked back at the teenager. “Shall we go off?”

   “Sure . . . thanks for taking care of Carol for me.” Calvin sighed, put on his boots, grabbed the other memento from the bedside table, and headed for the door, but not before showing his respect to Woodbone with a stiff handshake.

   They left Woodbone’s little shack and limped their way towards town, one injured and the other one too out of shape. Carol, now unstrapped, followed their shadows and fluttered her ears at the call of other creatures. The ground track followed the river he had seen through the shack’s window, the riverbed got thicker and the currents untamable. The glassy clear water reflected on the pine tree compact backwoods, and the kid saw a flock of brown trout swim up the river. Scrubbing against the pebbles to mount the waters. Soon enough the river took them towards a stonework bridge that had been constructed as a fast entryway to Nooktown’s wildflower fields decades ago. The shelter wasn’t that far from the catastrophe scene to the kid’s luck. Otherwise, Randall would have never gotten him out of it. Calvin then found the right moment to talk about what had transpired last night. The police, the war aircraft over town, and the attempted but failed rescue at the fire. The Rootstocks, the letter, and the sapling. As they walked back to town he was expecting Nelson to ask all sorts of questions but he might have sensed the kid’s disquietude as he was no avid storyteller either.

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    The business districts had been spiffed up with colorful flags and ornaments hanging from above the lamp posts. The officious locals sold scalded goulash, juicy reindeer beef, salty walnuts and acorns, baked sweetmeats, bonbons, butterscotch, taffy lollipops, and so on. Children played with timber planes, swords, and feminine-shaped figurines with straw hair. The broadcast would take place tonight at 09:00 P.M., it was expected that everyone would tune in before that. The circus Jesse Mcallister was pulling off was an aberration, all happening before his unrested eyes.

    Calvin Elsner—a timely soul when it came to working at the airfield—knew attending work was key to keep any authorities at bay, just in case someone caught up to his recent actions. He tossed snow a bazillion times, fell on his bum plenty, as usual, and moved away on several occasions for those twin engines descending upon him and onto the runway. Under hail and wind, scooping and reading his coworkers’ faces, but registering no particular threat. Yet feeling dizzy due to his newly developed, jarring levels of anxiety. He barfed on the crude snow and kept plowing, zipping up his jacket and hiding under its hood. Edna chewed out all the way through. 

    Later that day the kid and the fox came back to Booze Bucket Bar like they did every single eventide dismissed a few hours early for tonight’s broadcast. Every crucial event was on the table to be studied, from point A to point B to point C. His father’s name on the Red List, the chanting apparitions at the hot springs, the midnight alert that had to lead him straight to the Rootstocks. Everything was in less than twenty-four hours, but he found no connection between them except for the fact that it all was happening to him and him alone. Too engrossed in these events to plan his next move.

    The avenues were a chockablock shamble of knick-knack vendors at sundown, curious eyes their immediate target. Amongst the recreational activities were carousels, sled rides, lasso

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throwing, shooting games, ball games, puzzles, and jump rope races. There was a fit for everybody and yet, that didn’t make him feel less awful about it. People had died, traitors, or not the Rootstocks were still lawful citizens. 

    By 08:30 P.M. desserts were a must, sweetened nuts in paper cones, mostly cashews, and almonds, topped with cloudberries. Or one of many traditional aperitifs of Roanoke, peanut butter custard. Sweet and buttery. Calvin pushed his way to the alehouse’s counter, even with Wyatt’s absence the place still held its charm, the photograph compilation had been kept untouched but blackened and deteriorated. There were no empty booths or halls tonight. Those without a table waited keyed up on their feet. The crowd found ways to be entertained as they chowed down entire family-sized dishes and guzzled lots of alcohol. Calvin proceeded to sit on top of the counter as a few customers had done, while Carol lay down somewhere below his feet. He turned to Nelson and his assistants, who quite frankly looked muddled at the very instant.

   “Hey! Any news yet?” Calvin yelled at Nelson, the noise of the crowd swallowing his words whole.

   “Hmm . . . what?” Nelson sounded a little too uninterested as he served a few drinks.

   “Any news about the announcement?”He tried a second time.

   “Oh. No, not yet. But something tells me some of us are pulling an all-nighter . . . ” Nelson shimmied his mustache and the kid looked back at the congregation, soon enough he spotted Jesse Mcallister and his flunkies seated at the last restaurant booth from the left. Ready and willing to paint the town red.

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   The boy didn’t give way to his paranoia and had a jug of his favorite brew and pinto beans for dinner. He saved the leftovers for Carol and placed the dish on the floor so she wouldn’t accidentally bite off someone’s leg. People came and went but the place remained at its maximum capacity. The radio frequency was on-target while everyone waited for the broadcast to start. Meanwhile, it was just music.

   Suddenly the bebop tune was gone midway to be replaced with static noises. A screeching sound looped through the stereophonic amplifiers, strong and penetrating enough to have them all covering their ears for heaven’s sake. The apparatus went silent for a couple of seconds, to later fill the void with the voice of an overly enthusiastic man. Never too late for a commercial break.

   “Hello fellow citizens of Roanoke, this announcement is brought to you by Old Ronnie’s Cola drink! Old Ronnie’s, the taste of life!” Another frequency noise played on a loop. And stopped. The voice of yet, another man took its place.

“Good night dear fellow citizens of Roanoke, the following message is imperative for national security, delivered by the Roanoke Government, Roanoke Military, and the Grand University of Bartleby. Fellow citizens of Roanoke, the following matters to be discussed are not to be treated with indifference. The measurements taken by this government have the sole purpose of proportionate equality to the entire community, yet we must clarify that this is only possible through certain resignations.” The spokesperson loudly turned the page of his script. “It has been brought to our attention that a once dignified citizen and former student of this prestigious University has violated several state laws to run, with a new agenda, the Rootstocks movement that is today terrorizing us all. Possessor of a Master’s Degree in Pediatric Medicine. Dr. Mickey Mulhouse. Female, age thirty-six, and blonde with a narrow forehead and jawline features has 

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been confirmed missing days before her trial with the Supreme Court. Our sources have confirmed she has fled somewhere close to the town of Nooktown, near the Northeastern border with Norway. Dear fellow citizens of the small town of Nooktown, this is your chance to prove to your country what you are made of. Through this message, we promote your participation in the hunt for traitor Dr. Mickey Mulhouse in hopes that she is returned to custody. However, this woman has been proven to have perpetrated dangerous movements causing revolts nationwide. If her death is necessary at the moment of her arrest we most definitely approve of those actions.” The man cleared his throat. “Citizens of Nooktown, from this point, it’s your sole and firm decision to stop this woman at all costs, that will be the driving force to obtain a new tomorrow. Let us assure you, your efforts won’t go unnoticed for whoever brings this woman to justice will come out with high rewards worth your attention such as free passports for two entire families with indefinite expiration, goods monthly to last a whole year, and 350 roaks—equivalent to 7.80 U.S. dollars—for your new future out of the country. If interested please report to the local police department and enlist in our hunting party at the end of this message. Further questions can be answered at the police station’s enrollment section. Have a merry evening!”

“Hello fellow citizens of Roanoke, this announcement was brought to you by Old Ronnie’s Cola drink! Old Ronnie’s, the taste of life!”

   The radio went back to music, but customers were staring at each other as if they had just been told the big night out was over. And certainly, it had ended. Before anyone could register the source of the commotion, panic had the multitude pushing for the exit. The crowd shrieked, punched, stomped, and cursed. Calvin pulled up Carol from beneath him, wrapping his arms around her chest and putting her over the counter as she hissed at the tangled masses. He

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backed away from the edge of the board before he could be tugged down to the floor like so many others. Whatever it was, it got to the streets too. He could only watch in horror when he came across Jesse Mcallister’s grotesque crack of a smile. The realization hit him like fury. The recipient of the Rootstocks’ letter he carried was none other than the Mrs. Mulhouse everyone was hunting for. Dr. Mickey Mulhouse, who now ran the Rootstocks’ agenda, technically had just dropped by in a town ready to blow her brains off.

END OF CHAPTER #7