The drop, p.11
The Drop, page 11
Blink Martins will begin serving his sentence immediately at the Inverness Jail Center.
Chapter 7: Ashton Uribe
Lyrics from Whoa-Town's 2nd #1 Hit "Sublime" from the album From the Fire
You can be whatever you want to be
You don't need permission from me
I can do whatever I want to do
I don't need permission from you
You're not mine, though you are
You're sublime the way you are
I'm not yours, though I am
I'm sublime and you're sublam!
Whoa! (x7)
****
The heat was on us. Through Peggy at The Daily Solicitor, I learned that the police in New Orleans had issued a warrant for my arrest. They didn't know about Freddie or Ella, but they shouldn't have known about me either, so I figured sooner or later, anyone connected to me would be thrown into the mix as well. Whoever had told the police I was in Mikke Blyleven's apartment in New Orleans was still on our tail. Maybe they were just cleaning up loose ends, or maybe they were just toying with us. I didn't know which option worried me more.
What I didn't understand was why they didn't just come after me. They could have ended this in New Orleans, in those abandoned streets that would soon be under water. But they had let me continue my journey. Why? Was the person behind all of this having a good time? Were they some sort of sadist? I didn't know the answer, but I wasn't going to be scared away from this story. It meant too much to me and too much to the world.
We headed east, into the desolate parts of the world. The going was slow here. The roads had not been maintained as well as other parts of the country. We headed east on I-84, climbing up and up into the Rocky Mountains. Gasoline sloshed around in red, plastic jugs in the back of the car for when we inevitably had to stop and fill the car up. There wasn't much between Portland and Boise, Idaho, the next major city, and a drive that should have taken six or seven hours, seemed like it was going to be more in the 12-hour range. At this elevation, the road froze and thawed almost every night of the winter; the swelling and shrinking wreaked havoc on the pavement that still remained. Give it another couple of months and the only vehicle that would be able to make it up these mountains would be the four-wheel drive variety.
While large towns had become dens of death and sadness, the small towns had become even worse. We drove through Baker City, a town that had once held almost ten-thousand souls. It was now a ghost town. There were pockets of people living in the town, but for the most part, it was abandoned. Many of the people in the small towns had moved away once the food had disappeared and the electricity stopped running. Those that were left were either completely self-sufficient or one-hundred percent crazy. Either way, the residents of small-towns were not the type of people you would want to make acquaintance with.
We didn't stop in the small towns. Somehow, they seemed more dangerous than the big city with its stalkers. Freddie leaned his head against the window as the dead towns rolled by. Ella slept in the back. The wind whistled by the car, the plastic sheeting we had used to cover my busted windows whipped and snapped with the air pressure. We passed the time in silence, and I twisted and turned the puzzle pieces of my investigation in my head, ignoring the vague notion hovering in the back of my mind.
Give up. Abandon the investigation. It wasn't my voice that said the words, but my father's voice. You should be happy just to be alive.
But I wasn't. No one was.
****
Transcript of an interview between Katherine Maddox and Mark Souers, a self-proclaimed expert on boy bands.
Katherine: So why is it then, that out of all the boy bands that ever existed, that Whoa-town is the one that had such a drastic impact on the world?
Mark: I've often wondered this myself. Besides the fact that Rick Reaves obviously knew what he was doing—
Katherine: That's undecided.
Mark: Maybe for you, but not for me. So other than that, one of the things that Reaves did, and this is truly groundbreaking... he included a girl in his boy band.
Katherine: You're referring to Ashton Uribe.
Mark: Exactly. All these other boy bands, they were just boys. They were just different sides of the same coin. Ashton was a completely different coin thrown into the mix. I mean, we still don't know how any of this works. We're just theorizing here, but Ashton, having a girl in the mix, is a huge part of it. I have no way of proving this, but... it was as important as anything else in Whoa-Town.
Katherine: If she was so important, why did they hide Ashton's true identity? Why dress her up like a boy?
Mark: Hell, why does anyone dress up any which way?
Katherine: Do you think Rick Reaves made the decision?
Mark: I don't know, but I would be interested in finding out. The mix is more than just who they are... maybe gender disphoria was a key component. Maybe all these boys were the Kool-Aid, and Ashton was the sugar.
Katherine: She or he, or whatever, didn't sound like the sugar.
Mark: Pardon the metaphor, but you get what I mean.
Katherine: So if you were going to write down a recipe for how to recreate the "Whoa-town" experiment, what would it be?
Mark: You need racial diversity. In Whoa-town we had an Asian-American, a Latino, an African American, and a couple of white boys. You need a variety of different personality types, the bad boy, the boy-next door, the nerdy one, the handsome one, and the wild card. But most of all, you need a female voice, not a boy that sounds like a female, but some honest to goodness double X-chromo action. That's the activator. That's my theory at least.
Katherine: You admire them, don't you?
Mark: I don't think admire is the word... respect I suppose. I respect what they did. I respect the change that they brought upon the world, and I feel lucky that I'm still here to see it.
Katherine: A lot of people aren't going to like that when they read it.
Mark: Yeah, well, if we had all been a little more critical of the things that we read and saw, then maybe none of this would have ever happened.
Katherine: You think it could have been stopped?
Mark: I'm hoping so, or else why the hell am I bothering talking to you?
****
Excerpt from HeartThrob Online, an online magazine dedicated to whatever weird thing teenage girls are currently into. The article is entitled: "Getting to Know Whoa-Town" by Tandy Lowenstein.
Name: Ashton Uribe
Height: 5'8"
Weight: 110
Birthplace: Denver, Colorado
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color: Black
Hailing from Denver, Colorado, Ashton Uribe has been described as the soul of Whoa-Town. Blessed with a voice that can hit all the notes, Ashton's frequent solos are the highlight of many a Whoa-Town song. In addition, his sense of style is second to no one. Always dressed in designer clothing, Ashton has fast become one of the most-sought after commodities in the fashion world. If his career as a member of the most influential boy band of all-time ever falters, then he could easily have a second career as a fashion model.
****
We spent two weeks lying low in Boise. In that time, we saw no one. I maintained contact with Sebastian, and Freddie and Ella drove me crazy.
We stayed in a Marriott. What had once been the height of mid-level hotels had turned into a hell hole. They still had running water fed from mountain run-off, but the facilities themselves were falling into disrepair. The entire hotel was in extreme need of a remodel. Cracks lined the walls, and fuzzy mold carpeted the bathroom floor. Along with the mold came a smell that made me queasy to my stomach, and Ella had a constant case of hay fever either from the mold or the dust. For this reason, we spent most of our time outside in the late spring weather.
There wasn't much to do, and I was spending Sebastian's money left and right. Food was expensive here, and Freddie wasn't a cheap date. He consumed more food to feed his large frame in one day than I was likely to need in a week. Ella somehow seemed to match him.
Time moved slow, and while I enjoyed the break, I was ready to move on. We had seen no sign of our stalker, but I had the feeling that whoever it was, they were still around, just around the corner perhaps, watching us. Part of me wanted them to reveal themselves, to come out and get this all over with. The other part of me was full of fear, real fear for my life and the lives of Freddie and Ella.
We were now wanted in Portland as well as New Orleans. Peggy had given us the news that morning. Apparently, the Portland P.D. had received an anonymous tip that we had something to do with the death of Sister Mary Ursula. If this had been before The Drop, there might have been a massive media witch hunt, and our work would have been over before it had begun. But the population had been thinned. Less people watched the news. There were less cops now. A criminal could run if they wanted, and live life on the road for a good long time. There were places to disappear now, whole cities where someone with a reputation could hide and never be seen again. If we were caught, I would take the blame for everything. I didn't see any reason that Ella and Freddie had to go down with me.
We had let the heat on us die down for a couple of weeks. When we resumed our trip, we did so with our fingers crossed, hoping that some other crime would be on the minds of any police we encountered. Our next stop was Denver, Colorado, the birthplace and last known residence of Ashton Uribe. I had always been drawn to Ashton. You could say she was my favorite. While I had never listened to any of Whoa-Town's later music, having immersed myself in a huge backlog of punk rock, I knew who they were, and what can I say? I'm a woman. I found them attractive, though their saccharine sweet music made my stomach turn. Ashton was the one I always found myself watching in the videos.
She or he, I'm not sure what to call Ashton, was a small thing. Though portrayed as a boy, looking back on it, we should have known she was really a woman. She (Or is it he?) had a small body, topped by a slightly larger than normal head. She/he seemed like a living, breathing bobblehead doll. Their head was faintly diamond-shaped, with spiky black hair and almond eyes that seemed impossibly large. Whatever they were, they made a rather handsome boy. I'm not sure what that says about me that this was the member of Whoa-Town that I found myself drawn to.
Our merry band packed up our gear and continued on our way to Denver. Our drive was relatively uneventful. I tried to remember what people used to do when on road trips, but all those old games and tricks had fallen by the wayside, or they were attached to memories that I didn't want to relive. There weren't enough cars on the road to play the license plate game. The radio was a no go. There weren't enough people out here to justify running a radio station. This was the part of the country where people scraped out an existence by growing food, fishing, and hunting. No one out here had the time to do non-essential jobs like running a radio station.
The only other vehicles on the road were semi-trucks that barreled down the potholed streets. In the cab, you would often see two or three people in addition to the driver, the barrels of their rifles jutting into the air, ready to repel any pirates that threatened to mess with their precious deliveries. Oftentimes, even this was not enough to deter pirates. Long-haul driver had become the most dangerous job in the nation, and in a day and age where people could literally get away with murder, hijacking a truck full of food had become a viable occupation. One day, these modern-day outlaws will pass into legend... who knows, the next Billy the Kid could be out there right now, tossing a spike strip in front of a semi-truck with his gang of hoodlums.
Thankfully, our own car was something of a less attractive mark with its busted-out windows. We only stopped once, in the middle of nowhere, somewhere between Denver and Salt Lake City, to fill up with gas.
I watched as Ella sat on the side of the road, taking in the countryside. It all seemed new to her, and I envied her the experience. At 25-years-old, I'm ashamed to say that I feel world-weary most of the time. I’m like one of the workers in those old, industrial era photos, one of those pictures where someone who had busted their ass all day was caught unaware by an opportunistic photographer. Though I didn't have lines etched into my face by time, strain, and toil, I could sense them deep in my soul. The countryside held no interest for me.
As I put the cap on the last gas can, Ella let out something halfway between a scream and a shout of delight. I turned to see what had grabbed her attention. There, bounding through a field, trotted a black and white dog, its tail wagging.
"Get in the car, Ella." But she wasn't looking at me, so my words went unheeded. She waited until it got closer and closer, and as she started to bend down to greet the dog, I grabbed her by the shoulder and ushered her back to the car. Freddie was already in the vehicle with his gun in his hand.
The dog reached the car with its pointy tail wagging back and forth. It barked a few times, a deep bark that seemed to say, "Please. I mean you no harm."
We watched as it circled the car, looking for a way inside. Then it began to whine, and I could sense all of our hearts breaking at the same time. But, wild dogs were what they were. The last thing I wanted was a case of rabies from someone's former pet. And while this dog seemed friendly and like it genuinely wanted to be with us, we couldn't take the chance.
"Here," I said as I handed Ella a granola bar.
She knew what to do with it. She unwrapped it, and lowered the window just a crack. The dog went insane, and Ella forced the granola bar out the window. The dog devoured it in two gulps, I started the engine and drove off.
In the rearview mirror, I watched that dog chase after us, baying at us, and I felt that world weariness yet again. When we rounded a corner and it disappeared, my first instinct was to turn right around and go rescue the dog. But I didn't. I continued onward, and we rode in silence some more.
****
Forum Transcript from Whoa-Towners, the Official Website of the Whoa-Town Fan Club - February 2, 2021
[Sebastian's Note: I find it strange that even a couple of years after The Drop, this website is still running at maximum efficiency, almost as if it has received constant updates. While the entire world seems to be crumbling, somehow, the Whoa-Town Fan Club just keeps trucking along. Strange.]
SublimeGirl: Do you think we'll get a new album soon?
WhoaBoy420: I don't know. They just released the last one like three months ago. Don't they usually string these things out?
SublimeGirl: Yeah. I guess so. That was pretty funny what you did in Ms. Roberts' class today.
WhoaBoy420: What?
SublimeGirl: You know, when you played Whoa-Town on your phone and started dancing just like Ashton in the Friends 4Eva video.
WhoaBoy420: Oh yeah. That was nothing. I just had that damn song stuck in my head all day.
Naoko'sHair: Send nudes.
WhoaBoy420: Get the fuck out of here with that shit.
SublimeGirl: You danced just like Ashton. He's my favorite.
WhoaBoy420: Yeah, he's my favorite too. I'm not gay or nothin, but if I had to be... just sayin.
SublimeGirl: Gross.
WhoaBoy420: jk
SublimeGirl: I don't think you were.
Naoko'sHair: Message me if u want 2 c me.
WhoaBoy420: Dude, just go away.
SublimeGirl: Did you hear who Ashton was seen with last week?
WhoaBoy420: Nikki Vorhees, right?
SublimeGirl: Yeah. Can you imagine what their babies would look like?
WhoaBoy420: Nikki Vorhees is a skank.
SublimeGirl: Isn't that what boys like?
WhoaBoy420: I'm a boy, and I don't like skanks.
SublimeGirl: Yeah, but u were just talkin bout what you'd do to Ashton.
WhoaBoy420: Shut up.
Naoko'sHair: u can do to me what you'd do to Ashton.
SublimeGirl: Get out of here.
WhoaBoy420: Grow up.
SublimeGirl: Anyway, I gotta go. My mom's calling me for dinner.
WhoaBoy420: What are you having?
SublimeGirl: Some sort of casserole thingy. I'm not looking forward to it.
WhoaBoy: Cool. Later.
SublimeGirl: Later.
Naoko'sHair: Later.
****
Denver is much like the other cities I've encountered in my journeys. The streets are falling apart, there are few people around, and the parts of the city that we can see from the highway look as if they've been bombed out. So... pretty much the same as everywhere else, just at a higher altitude.
We established home base at a small, forgettable hotel. It's the type of place where they would have shot a horror movie pre-Drop. Small, unassuming, just a row of rooms whose doors open right onto the parking lot.
The owner seemed happy enough to have us.
"How is the security here?"
The old man, his hair completely silver, said, "I'm all we got. But I have a dreadful case of insomnia, so I usually see it if someone is snoopin' around." He handed me a set of ancient brass keys, and I tried to remember the last time I had stayed in a hotel that didn't use magnetic keycards. I suppose never would be the right response. "You guys got trouble followin' ya?"
"No more than anyone else I suppose. But still, if you should see someone snoopin' around, could you give us a heads up?"
"You got it."
With that, I signed my name to his weird book, and we went to our room. Two double beds... a shower, a TV that showed the local broadcasts. What else could a person want in a hotel room?
"Home sweet home," Ella said as she flopped on one of the beds. We were tired, all of us. Riding in a car for hours will do that to you.
Freddie said something about going to find us some food, so I gave him some cash, and he disappeared, leaving me and Ella alone for a while.
I flopped on the other double bed, and I fell asleep immediately. I woke up to the sound of crumpling wrappers. Ella and Freddie sat around the room's single small table, stuffing french fries in their faces.
"I see they have a McDonald's here as well."
