Phillip’s in charge.”
“Why? Are they related or something?”
That brought a round of warier chuckles, but everyone stayed focused on their plucking.
“Be careful saying those kinds of things. The wrong person might overhear and you don’t want to get fired, or worse.” Billy dumped a dustpan full of feathers in the trash. “Phillip’s dad owned a chicken farm. That’s why he’s in charge. Phillip taught us what to do.”
“Then what does Patrick do?”
“He likes chopping off chicken heads,” Billy said. He grabbed a plastic bin of plucked carcasses and transported them to another part of the building.
A nearby church bell rang, signaling lunchtime. Phillip passed out casino chips and told everyone to hurry back when the bell rang again or they could find a different job. The last thing Hunter felt like doing was eating. He considered checking in with Jimmy, but that was too far away and he might not make it back in time. He decided to educate Billy instead.
Billy skipped after Hunter like they were going to the toy store, as fresh air and warm sunshine brushed away the remnant of chicken death. They approached a sparkling pond occupied by Canadian geese dressed in mottled shades of brown feathers. Hunter washed off at the muddy edge and the geese congregated close-by seeking handouts.
“I’m glad we’re not plucking those things.”
“That’s only on Thursdays.”
Hunter would be out of Denver by Thursday. If not, then he would make sure to skip work at the Goose Shack.
They continued walking through a neighborhood until Hunter spotted the tall metal pole standing in the grassy area of a circular drive. He led Billy to the building named Henderson Elementary. They stepped inside, choosing a careful path across a pair of shattered glass doors lying on the floor.
“What is this place?” Billy asked.
Hunter glanced into a room and then traveled farther down a hallway cluttered with paper, books and broken furniture. “This was a school. A place where they used to send kids to learn about things before all the grownups died.” He walked into another room and pulled down a rolled-up map. “See, this is the world. The blue parts are the oceans and the brown and green are the continents.”
Billy inspected the map closely and narrowed his eyes. “It’s flat.”
“Well, yeah, maps are flat. But here…” Hunter crossed over the scattered notebook paper, broken pencils and other debris that littered the classroom. “This is called a globe.” He lifted the dingy orb off a filing cabinet and gave it a spin to whirl away the dust. Then he handed the world to Billy.
Billy set the globe down on a desk and traced his finger over the oceans and continents. “Where are we?”
Hunter pointed to Denver. “Feel these bumps here? They represent the mountains.”
Billy touched the bumps and gazed out the window where the mountains rose to challenge the western sky. “That’s amazing.”
Hunter smiled. “At least now you know where you are.”
When they returned to the Chicken Shack, Hunter wished he could do anything besides rip the feathers from a dead bird. But he started plucking when Phillip mounted his backside to the stool and shouted, “Work!”
Billy bustled about his duties, telling everyone about school. Some kids nodded their heads, saying they remembered, and it wasn’t that great. Billy would disagree, explaining the importance of an education. Hunter smiled at the monster he had created.
Then Phillip waddled over and ruined it all. “Get back to work!” He slapped Billy in the back of the head and knocked him to the concrete floor.
Hunter charged Phillip, aiming his punches at the fat kid’s dumbstruck face. Hunter pounded his fists into Phillip until his anger faded into shame. Phillip hobbled away, sobbing.
Underneath his heavy breathing and the growing distance of Phillip’s crying, Hunter noticed the silence surrounding him. He shrugged and addressed his coworkers. “I think we all know how to pluck a chicken without him yelling at us.”
A few halfhearted cheers rose from the crowd before everyone carried on with their plucking. The mood in the Chicken Shack lightened as several quiet discussions sprouted about how Phillip had been asking for that butt kicking for a while.
Hunter helped Billy up from the floor. Billy rubbed his head as Hunter patted the little boy on the shoulder and brushed some feathers off his shirt.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, thanks.”
“Tomorrow you should find somewhere else to earn your chips. Maybe I can help.”
“Sure,” Billy said, wiping his nose. Then his eyes grew wide and he stumbled backwards.
Hunter spun around in time to see Patrick and his bandaged head. Patrick threw the first punch with a solid fist that hit Hunter like a baseball bat and knocked him flat.
Hunter sat up and rubbed his jaw. “Hey, Patrick, I missed you at breakfast.”
“Cut the undercover shit, baldy. Where are your friends hiding that little girl?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Wrong answer.”
Patrick stepped in line for a kick, but Hunter rolled and the big kid fell off balance when he met the empty resistance. He growled in frustration and both boys scrambled to their feet. Patrick rushed forward, swinging his fists through the air. Hunter sidestepped and punched the clumsy giant in the kidney. Unfazed, Patrick pivoted around, throwing another wide-arcing shot. Hunter dodged left, registering the breeze from the passing swipe. Pain pulsed in his face from the first punch. Another connected strike like that and he would be the one getting plucked.
Everyone in the building retreated to a safe distance but remained close enough to keep their spectator status. Billy stood alone, looking scared and anxious, which was exactly the way Hunter felt as he backpedaled from Patrick’s fury.
“I like the new look, Patty,” Hunter said, sidestepping another onrush. “What happened? I didn’t think brain surgery was possible anymore.”
Patrick frowned. “Your black buddy surprised me, but it won’t happen again. I’m going to leave all of you for dead, just like your brother.”
Hunter clenched his fist and ignored his common sense screaming at him to run away. Patrick’s hungry eyes flashed, but instead of trading punches, Hunter dropped and kicked Patrick’s right knee out. The kid yelled with pain and toppled over like a broken stone statue. Hunter pounced on top, clamping his legs around the boy’s barrel chest and punch after punch rained down.
Patrick bucked him off and Hunter rolled clear. They both got up, Patrick just a little slower, spitting blood on the concrete as he limped forward.
Hunter smiled, heaving for air as the initial adrenaline surge that brought him along this far dissipated. Was he prepared to kill Patrick? He realized he’d have a hard enough time just knocking him unconscious, while Patrick would certainly kill him if given the opportunity. Chances were slim on Hunter’s side all the way around.
He spread his hands. “Well, I’ve done everything I can. Maybe we can catch up again at breakfast tomorrow.”
Patrick grinned and lurched closer.
Billy yelled something and Hunter wished his new friend hadn’t announced his allegiance, but Patrick didn’t notice or seem to care. He continued his slow advance. Hunter swallowed his pride and turned to run just as Phillip swung his stool. Hunter’s teeth smashed inward with a brilliant sparkle of pain. He collapsed in a heap on the stinking floor.
“Thanks for the help, Phil,” Patrick said, kicking Hunter in the back of the head.
Hunter’s eyes rolled. Unconsciousness replaced the pain and swept him away.
