Red-tailed Hawk – Grant Weaver

Controlled Skies

Alex Orndorff

I wake up to two large, bright blue eyes staring me right in the face. “Dang it, wake up, Jay, come on, we gotta go,” says the 7-year-old kid named George, yelling at me while he stands on my chest. “Alright, alright, I can’t breathe, I’ll get up, get off me.” George finally relents his attempts to wake me up and jumps off me, he skips out the tent’s doorway. Bright yellow lights shine through, reflecting on the dust in the air. So much dust, it seems like it would never go away. I look out the doorway again. George is still skipping around, not a care in the world. I wish I could be like him. I must have been like him once, not caring about what could happen to the world. I mean, it makes sense. He was only 1 or 2 when the sandstorms came. He can’t even remember the horror, the starvation, the grief. I get up, brushing the dust off my body that collected during the night. My mom used to say that I was the quietest and deepest sleeper in the world, practically dead for a night.

“Jay, let’s go, we gotta keep going!” George yells at me. I walk out the doorway, and I am blinded by the intense rays of the sun. Once my eyes have gotten used to the sun, I look around at this view that I have known for years. Dunes as far as the eye can see in every direction.  I will finally be saying goodbye to it soon. About damn time. 

“Alright, George,” I say, beginning to pack up the tent. “Would ya help me with this?” 

“Yeah.” He says happily, he quickly grabs the other stuff, such as the water bottles and the old dusty radio George always insists on carrying on his back. He used to shove it in his old cloth backpack, but for his birthday 7 months ago, I made him some straps using some non-needed resources we had at the time. I’m actually pretty happy to have the thing, it brings a little hope into the day, especially during the winters when it is too damn cold to even get out of your sleeping bag, it’s solar powered, and he uses downloaded music that his dad had downloaded before he had died. When I first saw him, he had this radio next to him. I’m gonna be honest, his dad has the best taste in music I have ever heard, but that might just be because it’s the only music I’ve listened to for around 2 years, but I remember loving that kind of music when my parents were alive. 

After George and I are done packing up the camp and putting it on our backs, we start hiking North West. Toward the edge of the North West corner of what used to be our state, Colorado, toward the edge of the sand. About 4 miles later, I tell George that we’re gonna take a lunch break, 

“Why are we taking a lunch break? We’re only two miles from the North West camp, the edge, we’re almost there.” 

“I gotta do something,” I say as I toss him an apple that we got from the village that we slept at the other night. I open my backpack and pull out my book, and read for just a moment. Books are a rarity in the dunes, but every once in a while, you’ll happen upon a big marketplace in one of the bigger villages, and you’ll find a bookshop, frighteningly small compared to the ones I remember from when I was younger. But nowadays it’s a lifesaver for me. 

“Why are you always reading anyway?” George asks me with his mouth full of apple. 

“I don’t know, something about them that lets me escape, ya know,” I say. 

“I guess I can see what you mean. I prefer seeing the stories play out in real life.” 

George has never been much of a reader, but I am glad I taught him how to read when he needs to be, and when he wants to be, and can be insanely clever. It’s saved our lives multiple times. 

“Hey Jay, why did the government dust Colorado?” I look at George. This was random; he had never asked me this. He was only 7, how did he know that the government dusted Colorado? He was practically born into this wasteland. 

“How do you know about that?” I asked him, looking at him in a different way than I have ever before.

“I know my parents died in a storm 6 years ago, I know that the sand came 6 years ago, I always thought it was just a natural disaster, until I read it on a poster in that village we slept in last time. Just tell me why.” 

“George, I don’t want to talk about polit-” 

“Please tell me!” 

“You’re too young.”

“No, I’m not, just tell me, let me connect the dots, let me know what actually happened, PLEASE! If I can survive out here, you can just tell me why, why did the government do that?” 

“Fine. But it will endanger you; anyone at your age who knows what happened is an enemy of the government.”

“Please just tell me.” 

I sigh, looking at George. This will ruin all views of the government for him. 

“Alright, about two decades ago, the government started getting a little frisky, more and more people who were corrupt and not with the ideals of the people started joining the government using propaganda, and many other tactics, bribery, blackmail, you get the idea. Now the government did not want anybody knowing about this, so any person who told another person anything that person and the person they told would be imprisoned or even executed, tortured. But only if the government found out. Now, some people started realizing that the great U.S.A of democracy was not so much of a democracy anymore.

“The U.S.A?” George asked.

I forgot, George doesn’t even know what was here before; he knows that Colorado is a state, he knows that there are other states, but he doesn’t know that all the states are labeled as the United States of America. He doesn’t know anything about our history, nothing about the wars or the revolution.

“Oh, sorry, you know how there are other states that are part of a country that the government rules?”

“Yeah, of course.”

“We are part of the U.S.A and well. One thing led to another, and now we are in this hell.” 

I continued on and on with George, listening intently, and I finally got to where we are today. 

“Back to where I left off when the U.S.A was not a democracy anymore.  The government people would do anything for power; they even killed people. The government started to rig the elections, and a company called RainTech Industries invented a satellite that can control things such as winds, weather, and temperature to help stop hurricanes and such. The government took RainTech’s invention and used it to calm rebels from fighting back in the country. They caused freezing temperatures, hurricanes, tornadoes, and… sandstorms. Our state was one of the most rebellious states, so they sent very high winds to the state carrying all the dust that it could collect to Colorado, and as you know, that storm raged on for a month and a half. That’s when my parents… Died.” 

George looked at me, his face showing no emotion. His eyes did not hold the unstoppable determination that I had seen before, and then tears began to leak down his face.

“So that’s how my parents died. Murdered by the government.”

I don’t respond.

“I will kill them, they are gonna die, I don’t care if I die, I want them dead.” 

I stare at George. His tears had turned angry, his voice scratchy. The normally upbeat kid had just had his world crushed to pieces by my words. But then something caught my eye, something green in the distance, and we were close.

“George,” I say, looking at him

“What?” He said. He was now sitting down in the sand, his hands covering his face. 

“Look, North West.” 

“I don’t want to! I don’t want you to see my face, I am weak from crying!!” 

I turned back to George, staring at him.  “George, crying does not make you weak.”

“Yes, it does!” He says, his words muffled by his hands.

“No, George. Crying is a way to let out your emotions. Whenever you cry, it makes you stronger; it teaches you things. Being sad, angry, and crying is nothing to be ashamed of. It’s what you do with that sadness and anger that really matters; that’s what my mom and dad said to me every time I cried.”

“You cried?” He asks, finally looking up at me. His tears have created rivers of brown water on his face. 

“Yeah, I cried and still do.”

George finally stands up and says, “What did you want me to see?” I point to the little green spec in the distance. 

“Whoa. What is it?” George asks.

“Don’t know,” I say

We started to walk again, for hours, the green spot got bigger and bigger. 

“It’s a.. A…. A… A tree!” I say, “and the camp!”

George and I started to run. It was a real tree, a real one, not a fake one you see in the village shops. I hadn’t seen one in years; all the old ones had been buried in the sand for more than half a decade. Around the tree, there was a town with sandstone walls that were 10 feet. The tree was now obscured by the tall walls.

George hadn’t said anything since I had said the word tree, he was just silent, staring at the tall tree. I look ahead of the village, and I see a small creek in a deep crevice that must have been dug out to get to the valuable water. Most creeks and rivers had been filled with sand when the dust came, but some had kept on flowing from the reservoirs and lakes above them, creating an underground creek or river. Most villages on these creeks would dig down so they could have access to water the entire year. 

“Welcome to the North West Camp,” I say. George still says nothing. We both begin to walk down towards the camp. If I looked far enough into the distance and squinted, I could see more green specs that began to collect together to create what I had dreamed of for years, a forest. Smells and aromas began to fill my nose: some type of spiced meat, something sweet, and fish. All those smells together, even the fish were mouth-watering. After around 10 minutes of walking, we made it to the entrance of the camp. A rusted metal gate guarded the entrance with an aura that clearly said, “Back off if you’re not friendly.” It was an arched gate, maybe 8 feet tall, 6 feet wide, with old embossed lions on the front. 

A guard in head-to-toe armor that had glowing blue lines across it, showing the force field under the armor, stood behind the gate. 

“Who are you? If you’re government folks, I have an axe that will tear your head off,” The guard said in a deep voice.

“We’re travelers, we mean no harm,” I say, “we want to stay here before we get to the edge of the sand.” 

“Who’s the kid, he can’t be your son; he’ yo’ brother?” The guard said questioningly, clearly seeing that I was only 15. 

“No, I found him when I first was traveling here about 4 years ago, alone with no family.” 

“‘Alright…let’s get you inside.” The guard says, he turned and pulled a metal lever, and with an inhuman amount of strength, he lifted the gate for us to go through. We walked through the gate into a world of color and smells, colorful banners hung across sandstone buildings, and street vendors sold everything from meat to jewelry. It is by far the biggest village I have ever come across in the dunes. We walk down the street past stores, vendors, and many, many people, until finally we come across a hotel. Alaria’s Hotel and Restaurant was plastered on a banner across the hotel’s windows. 

“Hey, George, can you get the money?” 

“Yeah.” He says, the first word he’s said in a while, he opens up the backpack tied to his chest, and grabs a couple of green slips of paper. On the money were pictures of what must have been presidents at one point; they looked regal, wise, and benevolent, far from what we have today. 

We walked in, and it was a surprisingly nice place. Velvet carpets, polished sandstone walls, and beautiful pottering on tables. I bent down and brushed my hand against the velvet. It felt smooth and comforting on my rough skin. 

“What is this stuff on the ground?” George asked. “Velvet,” I said, kneeling on the ground with my hand on the floor, “I haven’t felt this stuff since…” I trail off. 

I remember it as if it were yesterday. My old blue velvet couch. My family had come over, and I had to give up my room to some of my family. I slept on it for 3 days until they left. It was so comfortable. That first night, I got the best sleep I had ever gotten. On a couch of all things. Nowadays, I sleep on sand, not as comfortable, but it is better than hard ground. I realize that I hadn’t felt the real ground for years, not counting the few buildings I had been in since the Dust began. A wave of sadness filled me, then hope. Hopefully, I won’t have to sleep on sand another time again.

“Since when? Jay? Jay, are you okay?” George asks. 

“Yeah…” I say sadly. I get back up, resisting the urge to lie there on the floor and take a nap. 

“So, since when?” George asks, his eyes wide with concern. 

“I don’t really want to talk about it.” 

“Tell me, it can’t be that bad.”

“It’s just, it reminds me of some couch I had a long time ago.” I sigh. 

“A couch is like one of those long chairs that are squishy, right?” 

I laugh, “Yeah.”

“Does a couch make you sad?” George said, laughing.

“Not the couch, just the memories around the couch, you know.”

“I guess,” he says. He feels the carpet again, “It’s so soft.” We get up and walk to the check-in desk. An old man stands there in an old sweater. His hair is flour white, and he has a bald spot that gleams in the dimly lit light bulbs above us. 

“If you’re lookin’ for handouts, scram. You gotta pay here,” he said angrily. 

“We have money.”

His face brightened, “Well then, we can do some business.” 

“I have some old money, do you take that?” I ask, ruffling the paper in my hands.

“‘Course, I’ll take anything as long as it’s worth anything. How long are you wantin’ to stay?”

“Just a night.” 

“10 of the Dollars.” He said, looking greedily at the papers. I’d met this type in the dunes, overcharging. I remember, before the Dust, 10 dollars wasn’t much.  Now, when actual cash was scarce, it was worth much, much more. But sleeping in a bed would be great. 

“Can you do 8 Dollars?” I asked. 

“NO! Only 10, no lower!” He said angrily. 

“Ok, ok! Jeez,” I said, holding my hands up. I gave him the money. He gave me the evil eye. 

“Your room is upstairs, to the left, number 3.” The velvet turns to creaky hardwood as we walk upstairs. The place was musty, but not bad. I open the door to our room with a rusty, metal-embossed three. A queen bed with clean white sheets. White sheets! A small white painted wooden cabinet sat beside the table. Its white paint was flaking so much that it was more beige than it was white—an old dusty window facing a sandstone wall. The walls must have been white once, but were now yellowed.  I see a small stain that might have been dried blood on the wall with the window, but otherwise… Luxury in the dunes! 

“Wo… Wow!” George said in awe. He jumped onto the white bed and let out a big sigh, “It’s amazing!” I smile. I look at George and see his eyes closing already. I realize my eyes are so heavy. I need to get some sleep. I lay down on the bed next to George, who is already asleep. I close my eyes.