The cloudhogs thumped, and the Crawe family’s old Rattleback thrummed from grill to bumper. Sebastian’s arm, draped across the open driver’s-side window, numbed from the steam truck’s vibrations. Wet, heavy wind dragged down the streets of Diamond Heights, tousling his sweat-damp hair like a frantic lover might—or so he imagined one might.
One fat raindrop splatted against Sebastians elbow. Time was dragging.
“C’mon, Papa. Where in the three hells are ya?”
Parked at the center of town, eighteen-year-old Sebastian Crawe drummed his hands on the steering wheel, waiting for Papa. He watched miners, soldiers, and scientists scuttle across the cobbled streets of the small but industrious town. They clutched caps and wide-brimmed hats tight to the skulls as they hurried amongst brick buildings, street vendors and copper lampposts. Black clouds were sweeping in on the winds.
The steam truck sat one block down from Papa’s favorite mud-stop. From a distance, Sebastian could see Officer Barnaby and his partner, lounging under the mud-stop’s awning. Papa had chosen to park far away from them, and to get his cuppa mud through the back entrance.
A few moments later, another wet thwap echoed off the Rattleback’s steel roof. They would soon be caught in one of the Heights’ infamous downpours, and they had yet to unload their shipment of Mox’s Hot Whiskey. As much as Sebastian was prepared for working in the rain, rain in the Heights could peel skin and drown frogs, as the saying went. He would much rather unload the damned Rattleback while it was still dry, and then settle in at Fat Tom’s with a pint and a sizzler to wait out the worst of it.
By the time Papa hurried into view the cloudhogs had stopped chugging and an eerie silence draped across the town like a damp blanket. Clouds, clumped like steel wool, sagged low over greened copper rooftops. And then, like awakening crickets in the field, Sebastian caught the hiss of the wind whipping through leaves of street-corner trees, and could finally pick out individual sounds from the clamor of the small town.
Arthur Crawe moved with atypical haste, his oilcloth duster snapping in the breeze. He limped towards the steam truck, thick tree-trunk legs performing a clumsy skip-and-hop so unlike his usual soldierly bearing, that the skin on Sebastian’s arms prickled up. One muscular hand clung tight to his wide brimmed hat, while the other clamped down on the satchel at his hip. He carried no mud cups. His jaw was clenched tight, and his dark eyes flashed with such urgency that Sebastian snapped into action, throwing the Rattleback’s idling steam engine into gear with a clank.
All around them civilians scurried and dodged as they completed last second tasks before the deluge, oblivious to the aura of tension surrounding Papa.
Papa threw himself into the passenger seat. “Gogogo! I think I lost them.”
Sebastian gunned the throttle as the door slammed closed. From the corner of his eye he watched Papa slouch low into his seat and tug down the brim of his hat.
“Lost who? What happened to you?”
“Punch it son, that’s an order.”
Like a flipped switch in Sebastian’s brain, their relationship toggled from father-to-son to commanding officer-to-subordinate. And their regular weekly excursion into Diamond Heights toggled from a calm father & son bonding day to Operation Punch It, and whatever that might become.
Sebastian punched it.
Sebastian chonked the steam truck into gear and lurched awkwardly into the late afternoon traffic. People leapt aside with rude gestures and curses. Errant raindrops began to assail the street and everyone in it.
*tink*
*tink* *tink*
*tunk*
*tunktunktunk*
Umbrellas started sprouting up among the pedestrians.
“Drive normally, dammit. We don’t want attention.” Papa clipped. Glaring side-eyed across the dashboard at the two lounging MPs as the Rattleback and rolled by. The MPs hardly glanced at them while watching the town’s traffic, and he released his held breath. “Fakkin’ Barnaby.” He grumbled, “Why is he haunting my mud-stop?”
“Why does he hate us so much?” Sebastian asked, becoming more nervous with Papa’s agitation.
“None of ‘em like us much, Seb.” Papa said referring to Chalice’s military broadly.
“But why? Your allegiance has been to Chalice since before I was born…”
Papa scoffed and scowled. “Allegiance… I’ve told you they hate us because we were soldiers of Tomlin once. And we broke our oaths to defect here. Doesn’t matter that we fled Tomlin during the conflict cuz we morally objected to their war efforts. Doesn’t matter that by us and others leaving, we helped end Tomlin’s invasion. We’re oath-breakers. From one soldier to another… sorta puts a bad taste in their mouths. How can they trust us to not do it again?” Papa finished gruffly, staring off.
Sebastian glanced briefly into his side-mirror, then glanced back again in alarm. He cussed. “Papa we got trouble.”
Papa shot up in his seat to get an angle on Sebastian’s mirror. In the reflection they could see two other soldiers hurrying over to Barnaby and his partner from the same way Papa had come. They were speaking and gesturing heatedly. Barnaby rubbed his head, and then turned to look across traffic in the Rattleback’s direction with an alert look on his face. Sebastian could see Barnaby point and shout as the rain started to pick up, and then he had to put his attention back to driving. He flicked the rain wipers on to clear his view.
“Take that next right normal-like. And then gun it once we break line-of-sight.” Papa kept eyes on the mirror.
Sebastian followed the order, but stammered, “What the hells happened to you back there?”
“I’ll tell ya later, but for now… Shit, we can’t just hide; they know who they’re looking for. Hard right again. We gotta parallel Center Street and get outta town.”
“But our delivery?” Sebastian’s brain latched onto the one remaining normal thing of his day as he struggled to look for his next turn through the pelting rain. Their shipment of Mox’s Hot was still in the back of their truck. Shouldn’t they deliver it first? The sudden trouble with the law, and Papa’s intensity, muddled his thinking with panic.
We can’t stick around, kid. Fat Tom’s not getting his whiskey today.”
“But..”
“No buts. Drive, soldier, drive.” Papa barked.
Sebastian grit his teeth and nodded. He mumbled out loud, forcing himself to think more clearly about the danger Papa insisted they were in. “Center Street… The barracks are on Center Street. What if they radio ahead?”
Sebastian worked to identify his fear and compartment it away so that he could sharpen his focus. Friends and peers found it an odd dynamic. But it was just common-day life for Sebastian. Mama and Papa were soldiers at heart, farmers by need, and a family of three by choice. They matched doting affection with a rigorous work ethic, and put a heavy focus on attention to details and following orders. Mama leaned more towards the affection side of things, Papa more towards discipline. The mental flip-flops he experienced growing up as part child/son, and part soldier/farmer used to really throw him for a loop, but now, at eighteen, it had become mostly second nature. Although today felt like the worst ever surprise-drill, like a jagged rock suddenly stuck down his throat making it impossible to breath or think clearly.
“That’s why we cut onto Center Street once we pass the barracks. Puts them behind us.” Papa answered.
Steady rain quickly became a downpour hammering upon the Rattleback and the streets of Diamond Heights. Visibility was reduced to just a few dozen feet or less. On all sides the town disappeared behind a blurry curtain of water. Shadows lurked under awnings, resigned to staying put wherever they had been caught. Vehicles moved at a crawl or not at all on the cobbled streets, and carts and horse-carriages sheltered inside garages or under way-stops built for such a purpose.
Father and son could hardly hear each other. Sebastian drove as quickly as he could safely navigate, following his commanding officer’s barked directions. He refrained from checking his mirrors with effort, lest he drive into something. But it hardly mattered, he would see nothing behind them through such a deluge.
Eventually they turned onto Center Street. There seemed to be no one else on the road. Sebastian prayed they had left their pursuit in the dust. He dared to breathe a sigh of relief as they approached the wide stone archway that marked the southern exit of Diamond Heights.
“Don’t get too comfortable.” Papa said testily.
“But there’s no one behind us. We’re outta town clear.”
“We’re not out yet.”
Up ahead, the stone archway loomed into view as a blurred shadow. The Rattleback’s yellow headlamps hardly pierced the sheets of rain.
Suddenly an airhorn blatted out, followed by a loud voice over a scratchy loudspeaker. “Exiting vehicles please stop for mandatory routine inspection.”
“Papa…?”
“Put the pedal to the metal and the thing to the floor, son.”
