Chapter 21: When is Check Out Time?
Mort tried to hold onto his lunch throughout the chopperride. He had never been in an airplane, let alone a helicopter. His ears stillrang, but it was a damn sight better than it had been. On the rooftop, he hadtried to help Blake get to his feet, so that they could move away from thefire, but Blake had been useless, even after his eyes had opened. His first fewseconds of blinking didn't uncross his eyes, and as Mort helped the man to hisfeet, he had doubled over and vomited, falling to the ground like a drunk.
Mort had barely noticed the sound of the thumping rotorsof the helicopter as it hovered over them, turning the smoke from the burningthrift shop into roiling shapes that looked like waves. Blood dripped fromBlake's ears, and Mort waved at the pilot, who sat behind the controls, lookingdown at them through the dark lenses of his helmet. He seemed more like aterrifying insect than an actual human.
When the helicopter swung to the side, Mort shielded hiseyes from the wind that sent the tiny pebbles and loose rocks that covered theroof flying. The side of the helicopter slid open and two soldiers hopped out.They yelled at him, but over the noise of the helicopter, Mort couldn't makeout their words.
He stood there, trying to read their lips, shouting backand forth. The soldier on the left held up his arm and pretended to bite it,then he pointed at Mort and Blake, who was lying on the ground his arm over hisface. Mort understood what the man was asking, and he shook his head, yelling,"We aren't bitten," as loud as he could. "It was anexplosion!" he screamed. The man nodded, and turned around, giving thepilot a thumbs up from where he watched the proceedings in the cockpit.
The soldiers lowered their weapons and helped Blake upoff the ground. They dragged him to the hovering helicopter, and helped himinto it. The best he could manage was to lie across the floor, the tips of hiscowboy boots pointing up into the air. Once Blake was situated, the soldiersturned to Mort and waved for him to get on the helicopter. Mort bent down andpicked up the bag with all of their weapons in it.
Immediately, the larger soldier held out the palm of hishands and gestured for Mort to stop. He demanded to the see the bag and Morthanded it over reluctantly. The soldier went through the bag, and from thesoldier's body language, he could tell that it was no longer his. When he wasdone inspecting the bag's contents, the soldier gave the pilot a thumbs up.Mort climbed into the helicopter, and they lifted into the air.
Now he was trying to keep his lunch down. If it wasn'tfor Blake, he would have taken the guns and let the helicopter leave him on theroof, but Blake was hurt bad. The man had saved him, the least he could do wasendure the presence of some authority until he was sure that Blake was alright.It was the code of the homeless. You didn't owe anyone anything, until theyshowed you kindness. Blake had showed him kindness. He owed it back. Maybethere was a doctor where they were going.
The helicopter slowed to a hover over a rooftop, and thetwo soldiers in the back rappelled onto the roof. Slowing down somehow madehis nausea even worse. Mort watched as the soldiers went through the samepantomime that Mort had gone through with a family of people clinging to theshingles of a roof. Mort took a risk and leaned out over the edge of thehelicopter. Beneath them, the dead had gathered, their arms stretched to thesky as if they could climb the air to get at their prey. The world began torock from side to side in his head, as if he had had too much whiskey, and hefell back and gripped the edge of his seat, cold sweat sprouting over everyinch of his body. Mort was not a fan of heights.
The family was sitting on the peak of a two-story house.Outside, the soldiers were having a heated discussion on the pitched roof. Mortcouldn't catch the words that they were saying, but the man buried his hands inhis face, briefly, and then hugged his kids and his wife. With that, thesoldiers ushered the wife and children to the helicopter. Mort helped lift theminto the helicopter, where they sat, tears running down their faces. Thesoldiers climbed on board, and though Mort didn't want to look, he did. On theroof, the man waved at his children, his face becoming smaller and smaller.Below him, the hordes continued trying to climb the sky. The man sat heavily onthe shingles of the roof, his hands over his face as the chopper flew throughthe sky, packed with survivors and heavy emotions. Even after they were out ofsight of the man, he could still see the look on his face and the small trickleof blood running from his forearm.
They sped through the evening sky, and Mort was thankfulfor the thumping of the rotors and the roar of the wind, as it drowned out thenoises of the grieving children who clung to their mother, her arms too busybeing wrapped around their shoulders to stem the tide of tears pouring down herown face.
As they flew through the city, Mort fantasized aboutstealing the helicopter and flying it to someplace better than the refugee campthat the soldiers assured him was safe. He would take it and fly it to theocean. It had been a while since he had seen a beach, and there were certainlylikely to be less of those things out there. What were they? Were theycompletely dead? Did they still have memories? There were so many questions andtoo few answers, but in the end, the only real question was would they survive?Mort closed his eyes so he wouldn't have to see the sad faces across from him.
The rhythm of the helicopter's whirring rotor threatenedto lull him
