Steve heard sirens in the distance, coming closer. Over the sirens, he heard Nadin grunting and gasping for air as she tried to unbuckle the straps holding Steve to the ambulance cot. He heard nothing of Goodboy. "He ran off," Nadin told him.
Nadin gave up on unbuckling Steve, and drew the gigantic Bowie knife. She sawed at the straps, cursing the retired submarine chief at home who refused to let her sharpen the blade. Quite by accident, Nadin hit the button with the point of her knife, and the straps came free. She stood up a little straighter and said “Ta-da!â€
Steve felt the pain in his chest as Nadin pulled at him, guiding him out of the ambulance. The sirens grew closer, crossing the Missouri River Bridge from Bellevue. Ahead, Steve could see the lights of Iowa’s law enforcement, farther away but approaching more quickly. The pain in his chest increased as he started to hyperventilate.
“Look, dollink. Our chariot awaits!†Nadin croaked cheerily as an old Chevrolet Caprice pulled to a stop on the shoulder of the road. An old man got out of the old car and approached them.
“Hey, mister. What happened? Were you in that ambulance?â€
Steve grabbed the old man and pulled him into the ditch. Steve threw him to the ground, and waddled to the Caprice. Nadin was one step behind him. Steve thought, “This must be how Bonnie and Clyde did it!†as he got behind the wheel. Nadin sat close beside him. Her furry hand rested on his knee.
“Just like Barney and Clyde,†she said. The tires spit gravel as Steve took off.
Steve tried to blend in with traffic. As they approached Interstate 29, Steve wavered. North or south?
Nadin made up his mind for him. “Go left, go left!â€
Steve took the exit, and drove north. He remembered the last time he drove on this stretch of the Interstate, Father’s Day with his granddaughter. So much had happened to him, so many unbelievable things. For a moment, Steve wondered if the events of the summer had happened only in his head, or in a story. With a shake, he dismissed the thought.
“Where are we going, Nadin?â€
“I have a cunning plan,†was all she said. Steve shrugged.
Steve turned on the car radio. The channel was preset to KFAB, Omaha’s Talk Leader. Steve and Nadin reacted to the voice on the radio as if they had been splashed with holy water, and Nadin pawed at the radio until it was silent.
After an hour or so of silence, Nadin pointed to an exit. The fugitives crossed the Missouri River back into Nebraska. There were no police cars, no roadblocks, and no sign that their return to Nebraska had attracted attention. Steve relaxed a little, and put his arm around Nadin. She nuzzled him, her neckbeard tickling his.
Driving northwest, Steve again asked Nadin where they were going. “North, dollink†she replied. "We can sneak across the border and live in the Worker’s Paradise of Canada. They’ll welcome us with open arms!†Steve had often read of how Canada welcomed Democrats fleeing oppression, like the draft and Republican presidents. He imagined colorful tent cities along the border, where everyone belonged to unions, mini-tacos grew on trees, and the nights were filled with drum circles. Steve could almost smell the patchouli and hemp oil.
As darkness approached, Steve decided to stop for the night. He was afraid to park in any of the small towns they had passed through, so he looked for a quiet spot in the country.
On a secluded stretch of Nebraska highway, Steve found a pasture along a riverbank. He parked the car, and looked in the back for blankets, coats, or anything to make into bedding. Fortunately, the old man who owned the car kept a winter survival kit in the trunk, with two wool blankets. Steve made a nest on the grass beside the car, and lay down.
“Dollink.â€
Steve saw Nadin, standing naked in the moonlight.
“Do you remember my reverse Brazilian?â€
Steve remembered.
“Guess what else I shaved for you?’
The next fifteen minutes were the strangest and most disgusting of Steve’s life. Afterward, Nadin fell asleep in a little furry ball in the nest of wool blankets. Steve sat naked in the dirt, and rocked back and forth. His chest hurt again.
The longer he sat, the more Steve worried about the returning chest pain. Alone in the darkness, with only Nadin’s snoring to hold back the creatures who inhabited Steve’s imagination, he grew more apprehensive. After a few minutes, Steve was overcome by the fear that he would die in the darkness of the Nebraska countryside, and the coyotes would eat his carcass. Steve was certain that the coyotes were Republicans, who could smell a Democrat in the darkness.
He stood up and stumbled to the highway. The moon was low in the western sky, and the eastern horizon was beginning to lighten in anticipation of the dawn. Steve saw the lights of a city in the distance.
Steve walked unsteadily along the shoulder of the road, toward the city lights. He hoped the coyotes would not follow him into town. As the coyotes of his imagination grew closer, Steve saw headlights crest the hill behind him and a car approach, driving toward town. He stood in the middle of the road, waving his arms frantically.
The car stopped, with Steve full in its headlights. Steve lumbered over to the driver’s side and yelled, “Help me! The coyotes are gonna eat me! I need to go to the hospital!†Through the closed driver’s window, Steve saw the driver gesture at the passenger seat and nod. Steve waddled around to the passenger side and got in the car. The man drove toward town, avoiding eye contact with Steve as he drove. Steve assumed the man was being polite, as Steve was still naked. He had heard of country manners, so different from the behavior of the people of Omaha and Steve’s union brothers and sisters, and he figured the man was an example.
Steve started to talk. He talked about his granddaugher Madison, and the trip they had taken to Missouri Valley to ride the train. He talked about his candidacy for Bellevue City Council. He talked about the union, and the eternal struggle of the proletariat against the bourgeoisie. He even talked about Nadin, Goodboy, and the Neckbeard Gang, which made his chest hurt again.
As Steve talked, the driver resolutely watched the road. He did not speak.
On the edge of town, the driver turned onto a side street. Steve saw a one story brick building with a lighted flagpole and a circle drive. The driver turned into the circle drive and stopped in front of the building. Large glass doors led into a well-lit foyer which Steve assumed was the Emergency Room.
The stranger turned to Steve and looked closely at his face. “I think this is the place you’re looking for.†His voice was flat, completely without intonation. Steve thanked him and got out. He watched as the man drove away.
“He was nice,†Steve said aloud. “One of the nicest guys…†His voice trailed off as his blood turned to ice. He noticed the letters “NORFOLK REGIONAL CENTER†beside the glass doors, just as two uniformed officers stepped out of the door.
The officers quickly recovered from the shock of seeing a gigantic naked man outside of the facility, and subdued the wriggling walrus without difficulty. One of the officers noticed the still-healing wound on Steve’s foot, and said to the other, “Looks like he shot himself in the foot.â€
The other officer nodded and replied, “His kind always does.â€
