Nightbirds

The banjos plucked and twanged. All of them out of tune. The melody they attempted was lost to the distemper of the players. Still, the flourishes were all played correctly, synchronized with the belting call of the Leaders as they brought back their arms and cracked their whips. It was vile. It was what passed as art and entertainment.

“HIT!”

Howling cries erupted sharply for a flicker of a moment before the raucous laughter of the event overtook them. Red, white, and blue confetti shot from a canon with a boom, hiding the following screams.

I watched the confetti fall.

Fluttering through the air, slips of glittering reflective papers landed on Jessie’s shoulders. Those colors haunted my dreams just as they did the Nightbirds I kept in my care. How many had come through? As many as the slips falling through the sunlight. They were so bright against her dark skin, the contrast made me want to weep. Those colors were made for her.

Ma and Pa, God rest their souls, had told me the tall tales of how those colors had once represented a beautiful empire built on hope, hard work, and the dream of inclusivity. To most, especially at this place, those stories are nothing more than old folklore. The United Confederacy could never have been something like that. Accepting of all. Lenient. Kind. But I know better. I have a relic.

“HIT!”

I jolted and the little girl I’d recently acquired did too. Pale hands that never worked a day in their life lifted into the air with a cheer as sticks banged on metal buckets. My own calloused hands, tanned and burned from the long Montgomery summer days, twinged in shame. I wasn’t doing enough. Not nearly enough.

I squeezed the slim shoulder of the girl at my side. It was supposed to be comforting but by the scared look those big brown eyes shot me, it was anything but. Had we been in different company, I would have given her space. There wasn’t a chance of that here.

“HIT!”

Jessie shuffled a half-step closer to me, water threatening the edges of her eyes. These were her people. The parents of the children I shuffled to safe places. Hell, she probably knew half of them. She was old enough to know most of them well.

Twelve years old. Hardly. I’m bettin’ fifteen. I didn’t let the uneasiness show.

It was hard enough work to smuggle out a young kid but one as old as her was nigh on impossible. Most died trying and I wasn’t too keen on dying. We hadn’t gotten that far from town yet, either making it risky to even be out. Not that there was a choice today given the celebrations.

It was the worst time of year to plan an escape.

I stooped to pick up my wallet, purposely thrown to the ground. On the way up, I whispered a quiet apology. Jessie blinked hard. Feigning nonchalance, I glanced around. No one had seen the subtle movement of my lips. The words I shouldn’t be speaking to her.

“HIT!”

Venturing to the fairgrounds was a once-a-month event and if you valued your life, you’d attend. Today’s event was one you couldn’t avoid without incurring the penalty of treason. It was a holiday. All the worst rebels were rounded up and plopped onto a stage, chained to their hands and knees with their silver heart lockets blowing in the breeze of the Union Alliance.

Avoid the celebration and you’d find yourself up there likely with the same locket regardless of skin color the next year. July third was practically a divine holiday to the Confederacy. Two hundred and nine years passed since Gettysburg had been won. My stomach flipped at that number.

“Aim, fire!”

She looked away. The movement was enough to jar the locket out of its hiding place. The blazing sun glinted off the silver, flashing momentarily. A pair of narrowed blue eyes surveying the crowd caught it. I kept my eyes forward, forcing a large grin on my face as I met a different pair of dark eyes filled with raw, wild fear.

I had to laugh. I had to. Tossing my head back with an overly loud guffaw, I dropped a hand to Jessie’s shoulder and leaned in, pointing at the dead, dark-skinned man on stage and pretended to mock him.

“Baby,” I said, hesitant to even whisper in this crowd. “Cover it up.”

The black curls of hair bounced as she nodded and wrapped a small hand around the heart-shaped locket. She couldn’t take it off if she tried. Technology had come so far. The Brits would help her when she got there. They always did. I looked down at Jessie’s locket. It would come off. It would.

The lockets always came back untouched. I claimed them for a pretty penny, handing over a few locks of hair, some teeth often ones they’d lost from malnourishment but the collecting officers never figured. They didn’t know I was releasing the next generation. They thought I was killing it.

Jessie fumbled with the chain. I had to swallow the fear as she struggled to tuck the chain under the shoulders of her sleeves. It was a bulky thing and the only thing to show her true colors.

She was different. A mix. She passed. And it made keeping her off that stage even harder. People were hunting children like her. People who happened to be in this crowd.

A tall man with a ridiculously taller hat sauntered up, grass hanging from the gap where a tooth ought to have been.

“This one yers?”

“I have the documentation.”

“Mm,” he drawled, running his eyes up and down Jessie. “What’s yer name sunshine?”

“Jessie, sir.” She batted her dark eyelashes and offered a sheepish smile as she bounced up on her tiptoes. It wasn’t her real name but she could use that one when she’d escaped. She was lucky she had a name at all right now.

Almost as an afterthought, she leaned over and kissed my darkened forearm with a smile. Cavity-sweet.

Good girl. Adam had said she was a smart one, but boy. She’d give them blonde dollies a run for their money. She’s a good Night-bird.

Night-birds. Our homegrown bad dreams. Night-birds were the children of the Others, the ones born with darker skin and warm, welcoming eyes that had lockets lassoed around their necks from birth. The Night-birds were exclusively children that the rebellion had managed to smuggle out of bad situations and executions.

People like me, traitors to the State, existed in staggering numbers moving the kiddos through back forests until they hit the coast where freighters took them to England. Someone had to.

“And this here’s yer Daddy?”

Bless her. Jessie squeaked and clung onto my arm as though I’d changed her diapers when she was a youngin.

“Yessir! The best Daddy around.”

I kept my eyes wrinkled in a smile as Jessie giggled. Maybe she could be the one to change this country into the pretty thing of folklore. With her hanging on my arm like that, I could even forget that I had just picked her up a week back. God, she was a good girl.

Friends of mine, dead friends, had carried plenty of Night-birds that couldn’t contain their rightful rage in the presence of hungers. The “sirs” were forgotten and the big doe eyes were lost to spite. These moon-skinned monsters wouldn’t hesitate to cock their gun and blow apart the dreams of children if they thought they were a Night-bird.

That’s how I lost Adam.

He grabbed a bad actor and his luck died.

Jessie tried again, smiling wider. “He is the best Daddy, I know it.”

“He is, is he?”

“Yessir.” Her light eyes flicked up to me, a moment of uncertainty reflected in them before she flashed a dimpled grin and said, “He doesn’t think so, but I know better. Daddy makes sure to keep me away from…” she wrinkled her nose and looked to the stage “…them. And he takes me to every festival. Not even my friends from school can say that ‘bout their daddies. He even bought me some hair once to play with!”

The man’s blue eyes, reddened from yelling and killing, landed on me. I shrugged and rolled my eyes, hoping it was enough. It didn’t slow the jackhammer in my ribcage and it did nothing to stop the rivulets of sweat from trickling down my neck. If it wasn’t the heart of summer, I’d have been had.

But it was.

He cracked a smile. Then opened his mouth in a feral grin before laughing. It sounded like a car accident, metal grinding on metal. Both Jessie and I had a moment of reluctance before joining in as pop, pop, pop the guns rang out. I looked out the corner of my eye, but she showed no sign of visible distress.

“Oh yes, little lady. He sounds like a great Daddy. Daddy’s who spend that much silver on souvenirs are one in a million!”

He stuck his grimy hand out. Before Jessie could see the curl of bloody hair clinging to his pinky finger, I took his hand in mine and shook it.

“Sorry folks. Never can be too careful these days.” His hand squeezed harder as he leaned in. “They be everywhere even with the Stage. Whole forests teemin’ with ‘em.” He shook his head with an exasperated sigh before dropping my hand. “Anyway, name’s Gunner.”

“Hunter.”

“Y’all enjoying the day? Don’t know if ya saw, but we got some elephant ears back by the entrance and some lemonade for the misses.” He winked and whatever food was in my stomach instantly curdled. “And some mighty strong iced tea for ya Daddy.”

“Is that right? Well, we’ll be sure to go check that out. I’m fixin’ for a nice snack as it is. Thank ya, Gunner.”

“Naw, it ain’t a problem for a fellow Confederate like yerself.” A tremendously heavy hand came down on my shoulder as the stench of beer and vomit wafted off him. He slipped a few silver coins into my pocket as he stumbled closer. “Get the little lady something real nice. There’ll be some teeth fer sale in an hour or so.”

“Will there?” It was a war to keep the tremble from my voice. “Well, that’s a special treat, ain’t it? Thank you, Gunner.”

He nodded with a sniff. One glance at his misshapen nose and blood-caked nostril had me even more uneasy. Cocaine.

Gunner took another step closer, leering at something over my shoulder.

“Be safe out there, Hunter. Between you and me, some of ‘em got their grubby hands on some guns up North. New Union movement. Word on the street is they took Memphis, Chattanooga too. It’ll be fixed, course, just want ya to keep an eye out if you see anythin’…ungodly.” He pulled away with a frown. “Have a nice day now.”

Muttering a polite goodbye, I watched his back retreat, the strong muscles pulling the white dress shirt taut. Guns. They haven’t been allowed in the hands of civilians since the Great Purge. I looked over to Jessie who was barely shaking on my arm. She needed to get handed off soon. I had to find those guns.

Gunner tipped his hat at an old woman who herself was holding a small, barely ethnic-looking child. She smiled, ducking her head bashfully and playing right into the sort of man he was. When she turned, his eyes dropped to her rear rather than the child in her arms. I’d helped cover that baby in paint and makeup the day prior. He was as dark as the night and lucky that his eyes were closed in a medicated sleep. Excitement trilled in my chest. That baby would be safe. Maybe even on this soil someday.

Guns. God have mercy on me. I’m going to war.

Gunner disappeared completely into the crowd. Three more heads started moving in our direction. A sense of dread cooled me quickly, even in the hundred-degree heat. I had his money in my pocket.

“Follow me, now,” I hissed, grabbing her arm hard enough to bruise.

Dragging her past the lemonade stand I tossed her in my rusted Chevy ignoring the whimper of fear. The engine started up with a slight grumble and a puff of smoke before the wheels spat gravel.

There were guns out there. I had money in my pocket. Adam was dead. The world was flipped on its head.

I drove for an hour, gripping the wheel with white knuckles before I had enough sense to calm her down. Fiddling with the cassettes, and slamming my hand against the dash once, the Chevy began rocking with the gentle, sloping tunes of good music.

After a day of angry banjos, buckets, and mouth harps the beautiful blues was a welcome relief.

“Abeni,” I said. A quiet gasp came from the seat beside me. “Ever heard of blues?”

I watched a dark hand reach for the radio to adjust the volume louder. Her small legs kicked to the beat.

“Momma played ‘em for me.” She toyed with her necklace. “She listened to the radio every night and sang along with it too. Said it was important we never forget that we fought once.”

The roar of the engine and the metallic pitter-patter of rocks smacking against the underbelly of the truck filled the space. A harmonic danced to its own tune as a man sang out in a gravelly voice I could feel in my chest. Abeni closed her eyes and swayed to the music.

In the space between songs, I said, “It’s yours, Abeni. All yours. Born and bred from Others. Ya hear me?”

She nodded.

“Don’t forget it. No matter where you go.” I almost stopped but instead I heard myself asking, “Would you fight back, Abeni, if you could?”

Quiet uneasiness unfurled.

“Yessir.”

“Yes Hunter. I ain’t your sir.” She giggled. “You wouldn’t leave.”

“No, Hunter. I think I like this place too much to let it die.” She frowned. “This was my Momma's place. And her Momma’s place.”

I licked my dry lips. Something clicked into place in my chest. Instead of driving Northwest along my normal route to Memphis, I veered right and kept East. I drove toward the guns. Mississippi faded in the rearview.

It took another three hundred miles of driving and three discreet refills before night fell and we were driving into the northern forests of Alabama where the fields of lightning bugs had quieted Abeni with awe.

The truck rolled to a stop with a quiet grumble.

“Get out,” I said. “I’ll be there in a sec.”

She moved quickly and obediently, slipping out of the truck without a complaint and trudging to the treeline. Popping the glove box, I grimaced. Two 1911 Colts stared at me. Mine and my dead buddy’s.

“Well, Adam,” I whispered. “It’s not just you and me with the guns now. Hear they’ve got ‘em Northeast.” I huffed. “Know what that means? Mountains are alive.”

I looked out to Abeni. Her face glowed amidst all the lightning bugs.

“Mountains are alive,” I said again.

For a moment, I could see him in the driver’s seat grinning over at me. I closed my eyes with a grimace. This was the first time I was breaking protocol with a Night-bird.

Reaching into the back, I grabbed the duffel bag I always kept for the Night-birds. The boxes of ammo dropped heavily into it, clacking against a knife which I attached to my belt with trembling fingers. Closing my eyes, I drew in a deep breath. She wanted to stay. And stay she would.

She’s too old to take across anyway. It was only her malnourished height that kept her safe earlier and even then, a few extra minutes and she would have been on stage. She wants to stay.

Throwing the bag over my shoulder, I grabbed the guns and checked the chambers of both guns. We were all set. The only left to do was leave. The door slammed behind me. I patted the truck on the side and whispered goodbye.

I dropped out of the truck, pointedly ignoring the stiffness in my joints. There was a lot of walking ahead. Warming up would be no issue. Abeni and I, we would be walking through the mountains to an old friend’s shack where I was certain I’d find some of those guns.

Situating the bag better across my shoulder, I took a deep breath.

It smelled like rain, the delicate petrichor of summer. That must have been why the lightning bugs were out in force. They loved the rains. I watched them blip across the humid air. Abeni watched too.

Even though the heat had dissipated, it was still warm enough to make me sweat like a pig. Another deep breath and the smell of rich southern dirt flooded my nostrils. This dirt had history. And I was going to add to it. I was going to change it.

“Pretty, ain’t it?”

Abeni looked over as a lightning bug flashed in her dark eyes. She nodded, timid smile stretching her mouth.

“How old are you really, Abeni? Your Momma said twelve but I ain’t buying.”

Terror wiped her features of emotions. She opened her mouth and I could smell the lie.

“Don’t worry, just gotta know.”

“Sixteen.”

One whole year older than I had thought. And more than old enough to fight. “Baby girl, have you shot a gun?” Abeni’s eyes went wide at the question. She froze. “You ain’t a youngin’. Have ya shot a gun?”

“No. I thought…I thought only they had them.”

I pulled the colt from its holster, waving it in the light of the lightning bugs.

“Not just them. Not now, at least.” I sighed, tucking it away. “So you don’t know how to shoot. Well, you’re gonna learn.”

“Why?” She breathed.

I paused, watching the lightning bugs flicker on and off. I held up the heart-shaped locket on her neck for us both to see. It twinkled in the starlight; the elegant stars engraved in its center winking at us.

“Because this is going to be the symbol of the revolution. And you need to live. You said you’d stay and fight and I’m gonna give you that opportunity.” The bugs lit up in agreement in her eyes. Something like excitement split her mouth in a smile. “You’re gonna get to make your future here just like you wanted ‘nd someday your kids will say their Momma fought on the winnin’ side of the war.

“We’re going to fight, Abeni. Look,” I said, setting the bag down and rifling through it. My hand closed on the fabric and I slowly pulled it out. “They can’t take this from us. It’ll live on. Always has. Never much believed in it, but I think I do now. And this…this is yours too Abeni. Yours and mine and everyone else who wants it.”

The cloth was burnt around the edges and torn halfway through, its twin part lost to the mud and blood of war but when the moonlight caught the red and white stripes, the pale stars nearly swamped by dark blue, I understood why people fought and died and fought again from beyond the grave. It was hope. The undying belief that all were created equal. The dream that no one should die, suffer, or fear.

Abeni saw too.

Breaking down into tears, she ran her dark fingertips across the bumps of the hand-sewn flag and whispered, “Will we fly it?”

“Yeah, baby. We’ll fly it every day ‘till we win and then we’ll fly it some more.”

She nodded, the ghost of a smile touching her lips as she tightened her grip on the flag. The dark expanse of forest stretched behind her but as she pivoted, flag crumpled in hand and locket glinting like a lantern, I knew not even the darkness could stop Abeni. She was a Night-bird. And no darkness could stop a Night-bird.