Bridge of Scarlet Leaves (27 page)

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Authors: Kristina McMorris

BOOK: Bridge of Scarlet Leaves
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Kumiko tsked.
“Naze kagi o kaketetano?”
She peered at Maddie with a look of suspicion, a question of what they had been up to behind a locked door.
An explanation would have to wait.
“Get her in here,” Maddie ordered. Emma ushered her mother from the doorway so that Maddie could reseal them inside. Then the girl helped Maddie shove a table across the room. It scraped over linoleum until slamming into the door.
Kumiko stared as if they’d gone insane. Emma started to respond, but Kumiko interrupted, indignant over a situation she didn’t understand. She sputtered a few phrases before an object shot through the apricot curtains. The window shattered. They dropped to the ground, hands covering their heads. A fist-sized rock rolled through the scattered shards.
In a flash of a memory, Maddie was back on Lane’s old porch, assaulted by a downpour of hatred and glass. “Stay down,” she whispered.
Cautiously she peeked out the window frame. Three men wielding baseball bats and an axe had created a protective line against a pair of Black Dragons. Orochi hollered gruffly at them in Japanese. The human blockades—two of them Lane’s coworkers from the factory—didn’t surrender an inch.
Maddie crawled around the glass, in search of weapons as backup. She found a shovel near the stove, nothing else. From her directive, Emma guided her mother onto a cot in the corner. The two huddled together, eyes on Maddie, who took up a post beside the front door. She squeezed the wooden handle, posing its grimy spade overhead.
Yuki volunteered to help. He stood in front of the door and simmered a growl.
Finally, the shouting stopped. Quiet reigned until a man poked his head through the window, and Maddie gasped. The net worker told her of the news traveling through camp, about a “death list” that confirmed Emma’s translation, and gave assurance that he and his buddies would keep watch all night. The Dragons were gone, but Maddie knew they could be back. Next time, in larger numbers.
She glanced at Emma and Kumiko, the apprehension clear in their faces. The family couldn’t stay here. Yet where could they go?
If the rumors were true, about a planned siege on the jail, the police station would be in equal danger. The Administration Building would be their best option. Maddie decided this before another report arrived: A riot had exploded on the administrators’ doorstep.
The verifying sounds gained volume. Boisterous Japanese songs and yells of
“Banzai!”
soared on the night air.
An hour crept by, every second wrangling Maddie’s nerves.
Then gunshots tripped a wire of shrieks. What was happening out there? Had evacuees taken over the camp?
After that came silence. Just breathing and hunger and silence.
 
The announcement of death, a universal sound, came in the tolling of bells. Their metallic mourning rang from the mess halls.
Word trickled in of an unmanned truck being pushed into armed soldiers, of ignored warnings by the enraged crowd, of tear gas and bullets flying in a panicked blur, and MPs regaining control. Among the eleven evacuees shot, the one killed was a teenager evidently on his way to work. Cries over his death echoed off the jagged mountains, joining a chorus created by Paiutes who’d once wept on the same desert floor.
Maddie, too, wallowed in the tragedy, embittered by its senselessness, until the thought of revenge seized her. Not her own revenge, but of those who might seek it out with heightened motivation.
“We have to go.” She unblocked the apartment door. Exhausted though fully alert, she stepped outside and informed their defenders of her intentions. One of the men offered to escort them, yet Maddie wouldn’t have it. Tonight, women and children traveling alone would garner safer passage from nervous sentries.
Kumiko made only a small fuss over heading out. Maddie’s ultimatum—
Come with us or stay here by yourself—
managed to do the trick. With a shovel in Maddie’s hands and the puppy at Emma’s heels, they navigated their way toward First Street. At the intersection, they swung around the rec hall, where a shadowy man appeared.
“Halt!” The deep voice straightened Maddie’s spine. He wore a helmet; he was a soldier.
Maddie grabbed hold of Kumiko’s wrist to communicate the order. A searchlight draped them in white.
“Drop your weapon!” he yelled.
Maddie released the shovel, let it clink against the ground.
“What’re y’all doin’ out here?” he demanded, approaching them. “Get back to your apartment.”
Maddie squinted against the beam. “There’s some men coming, and we might be in danger... .”
“You a staff member?”
She shook her head, allowing him to formulate the rest.
“In that case, you’re a hell of a lot safer in your barracks. So go back where you came from.” He used the barrel of his Tommy gun to indicate the road behind them.
Maddie’s first instinct was to comply, to abide by the rules. Then she glimpsed Emma, reminding her of the stakes. “No,” she told him, “we can’t. Our lives are in danger and we have to reach the Admin Building.”
“Little lady,” he said, “maybe you didn’t hear me the first time, but martial law’s been declared here. For your own good, I suggest you hightail it back—”
“I said
no.
” She stepped forward, prompting him to lift his gun. Sweat beaded at the base of her scalp. She couldn’t back down. “You can either shoot us all or you can take us to the director, where we’ll be his problem, not yours.”
After an infinite pause, he blew out a ragged sigh. He signaled to a guard tower. In the midst of striding away, he turned around. “You comin’ or not?”
The women scrambled to follow. At the next barrack, he passed them on to another GI. This continued, a rescue brigade from post to post, until they reached the door of their destination. Lights glowed in the windows. The smell of tear gas floated above the bloodstained dirt.
Once granted entry, they discovered other families inside, solemnly gathered for the same reason. All were refugees robbed of yet another home, but at least they were in this together. Relief eased through Maddie. She leaned her back against a wall and rubbed her eyes.
“Maddie,” Emma said, her voice tight, “have you seen him?”
Maddie’s mind was a haze. “Who?”
“Yuki. Have you seen him anywhere?”
“Oh, sweetie. I’m sure he’s around here.” The front door opened, giving sanctuary to another family. “After all the excitement, he’s probably curled up taking a nap. Maybe off in a corner, so he won’t get stepped on.”
“I don’t remember him coming in with us, though. I think we lost him on the way.” Her chin crinkled from emotion. “I should’ve been watching him, but I was so scared... .”
Maddie squatted down and squeezed the girl’s shoulders. “We’ll find him, okay? You go check the hallways, and I’ll try the offices.”
They parted in opposite directions, whistling and calling the pup’s name. Maddie looked under chairs and desks, behind doors, inside closets. Her worry grew with every elimination. She had to remind herself that Yuki was a pet, that even if he were out wandering, chances were slim that revenge on the family would extend to their dog.
Or would it?
Dread from the possibility brewed, interrupted by a sound. A bark. Yuki’s bark.
“Thank heavens,” she sighed, before realizing the bark came from outside. A problem, but easily solved. One of the soldiers was sure to have a soft spot for animals. He could retrieve Yuki once the area was deemed safe.
Maddie hurried in and out of rooms, past folks huddled in conversations, to tell Emma so. Yet the girl was nowhere to be found.
Beside the fireplace, Kumiko sat alone. Maddie went over to ask the woman—though why would she suddenly have an inkling of her daughter’s whereabouts? The rest of the people offered better odds.
She called out, “Has anyone seen Emma Moritomo? A little girl, about this high. Wearing a white ribbon.”
A man by the window pointed outside, toward the barking. “She’s out there. Just got past the MPs.”
Maddie darted over to catch the view. A small, moving form faded into the blackness.
“Kocchi ni kinasai!”
Kumiko, apparently understanding, had opened the front door. She waved her hand frantically toward herself, demanding her daughter’s return. “Emma-
chan! Dame yo!
”
A guard at the entry stopped Kumiko from following. It was clear Maddie wouldn’t have any more success.
How did Emma sneak out? Had she found a back door?
Questions whirled in Maddie’s head as she tracked down the new project director. He’d taken over the position just a week earlier, and was probably regretting his acceptance right about now.
She located him seated at his office desk. “Mr. Merritt,” she broke into his discussion. He and another man looked up. “There’s a nine-year-old girl. She’s supposed to be here, but she ran back for her dog. I need your soldiers to let me get her.”
Merritt rubbed his temples, as if trying to solve a problem on the fumes of thoughts. “We’ll get her back here, but you stay where you are.” His tone was firm as concrete. Arguing would only cause a delay.
Conceding, Maddie volunteered vital details. Emma’s name, what she was wearing. Her block, barrack, and apartment numbers.
He faced the other fellow. “You heard all that, Campbell. Now, send out an MP to find her.”
Maddie accompanied the second gentleman to the door, where Kumiko still stood, arms at her sides. “Don’t worry,” Maddie told her, “they’re going to find her.”
Slowly Kumiko returned to her chair by the hearth.
“Mrs. Moritomo?” Maddie fought to keep her voice calm.
The woman just stared into the flames, the laxness in her face resembling ... resignation.
Propelled by fear, Maddie’s memories tunneled up in a rage: The coldness Kumiko directed at her daughter. The disapproval, the indifference.
“What kind of mother are you?” Maddie blurted.
Before she could say anything more damaging, she marched off to wait by the window.
 
The moon continued to rise behind a scattering of clouds. Maddie gripped the windowsill as a jeep finally pulled up to the building. Shadows outlined what appeared to be a young person in the passenger seat.
Overcome with relief, Maddie yanked open the front door and found Yuki there, offering a yippy greeting. “Hey, troublemaker.” She bent down, gave his head a mere pat. Despite her delight over their safety, a lecture would be in order.
When she rose, she caught eyes with the GI marching closer. His graveness led her gaze to the limp body draped over his arms. A young girl. With a white ribbon.
“Oh, my God.” She ran to meet them. The entry guard didn’t bother stopping her. “Emma, no,” she whispered, commanding, pleading.
Dust covered Emma’s cheeks and blouse. Blood streaked in thin lines from a gouge on the side of her forehead.
“She’s just unconscious,” the soldier offered in assurance.
Maddie released a breath. She walked with them to the couch, where he laid Emma down.
All went silent as Kumiko emerged from the crowd. She took one tentative step after another, both hands over her mouth. Kneeling beside Maddie, she looked at Emma with anything but resignation.
“Is there a doctor here?” someone asked.
“I was a nurse cadet,” a gal replied, entering the room. She called for a bowl of water and a washcloth. She checked Emma’s pulse, her wounds.
The GI explained, “Looked like some kids were tossing the dog around. Right when I drove up, they’d slingshotted rocks that made her fall. Banged her head on a woodpile.”
Kumiko lifted her eyes to the nurse. Her hands and voice trembled. “My daughter ... she go hospital?”
Hovering close by, the director supplied the answer. “I’m afraid that’s too dangerous. There’s a mob surrounding the place.”
Fred Tayama. That’s who they were after. Maddie could guess without being told.
“But the minute we settle that problem,” Merritt said, “we’ll bring Dr. Goto over to care for your daughter.”
According to the nurse, there was nothing to do. Nothing but wait and see.
Emma had been right—about the avengers and people getting hurt. As her older sister, her
on
san,
Maddie should have listened. She’d underestimated the power and insight from a single voice. She went to embrace Emma, to tell her she was sorry, but an unexpected act halted her. Kumiko leaned down and rested her cheek on Emma’s waist. She grasped her daughter’s fingers and rocked to a silent lullaby.

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