The Bumblebee Flies Anyway Read Free

way.” He pointed toward the sidewalk about fifty feet away. He looked back at Billy the Kidney. “Want to see what’s on the other side of the fence?” Barney called.
    “It’s a junkyard,” Billy yelled. “You see one junkyard, you’ve seen them all.” He brooded now, slumped in his chair.
    “Come on,” Barney said to Allie Roon. Allie nodded. Or at least Barney thought he nodded: It was hard to tell with all that twitching. Anyway, Allie dutifully followed Barney toward the sidewalk, still dancing as he went, an improbable figure, the old man’s wizened face and the boyish freckles. A lilac bush grew against the fence, the purpleclusters so heavy they made the branches droop. Barney hurried past the bush. He saw a trailer truck lumber by on the street, belching blue exhaust. Justice, kind of. He couldn’t smell the lilac, but he couldn’t smell the exhaust, either. And these days he couldn’t smell the odors in the Complex, which got so bad sometimes they took away your appetite.
    Allie tripped and Barney helped him regain his balance. They reached the sidewalk, arm in arm, Allie’s bones moving beneath Barney’s fingers. Barney was disappointed to find that the fence continued along the street, unbroken by any entrance.
    “Wait here,” Barney said, loosening himself from Allie’s grip. He began to climb the fence, his feet finding support somehow in the small spaces between the slats. The exertion cost him a lot, but he thought, What the hell. The Handyman would be furious if he saw Barney climbing the fence so soon after the last merchandise, but Barney kept climbing, developing a rhythm now, matching his beating heart to the rhythm of his breathing and the movement of his body. He reached the top, straddling the fence, his heart accelerating dangerously and his breath coming fast, but he felt triumphant as he clung there, gathering his strength. Looking down, he saw Allie Roon gazing up at him, a smile on his face, all twitchings gone. The first time he’d seen Allie Roon smile: His face lit up the way a streak of lightning brightens the sky. He realized that Allie Roon hadn’t really wanted to see what was on the other side of the fence. He’d wanted to climb it. Barney felt noble, as if he had completed a mission for Allie.
    Barney surveyed the scene before him: the junkyard in all its desperate glory. Acres of junk, a wasteland of abandoned cars and trucks and vans and buses, a metal graveyard.The vehicles were rusted and busted, sagging, some without wheels, as if sunken into the earth, or maybe sprouting from the earth like evil growths. Barney sniffed the air and, despite his inability to smell, could swear the smell of decay and desolation filled his nostrils. He realized this was the rear of the junkyard. No trees grew in the junkyard, no bushes, no shrubs. No one in sight. No living thing anywhere. Barney swiveled his body and looked over his shoulder at the Complex. Despite its shabbiness, it looked respectable compared with the junkyard. But the junkyard had spare parts and the Complex didn’t.
    Turning again, Barney spotted the red sports car. The small car drew his attention because it stood upright and complete, its color vivid in contrast to the mottled and ruined cars surrounding it. Yet there was something strange and off-key about it. He squinted against the sun, studying the car—it looked like an MG he had seen once—holding on to the fence as the wind rose again, and the image of the car grew in his mind, not this car down below but the other one: What other one?
The one with him inside, out of control on the slanted street, going down down down and fast faster faster, his hands gripping the wheel, knuckles white, foot pumping the brake pedal but nothing happening and the speed gathering, accelerating, the hill slanting steep, steeper, car careening crazily, rampaging now, streetlights flashing on the pavement, pavement wet, engine roaring, whining. The car was filled with