So Much for Democracy by Kari Jones Page B

next to Gordo, shoving him over so he’s sitting up, then let him lean into me when he falls over.
    â€œNo, Astrid, no,” says Dad when he sees I’m planning to go with him.
    â€œHow else are you going to get there?” I ask. “It’s not like we can phone an ambulance or something.”
    He punches the car roof a few times and then, without saying anything else, spins around and marches into the house. When he returns a couple of minutes later, I ask, “Did you tell Mom we’re going?”
    He nods.
    â€œWhat did she say?”
    He scrunches his eyebrows and doesn’t answer. Instead, he opens the door and gets in behind the wheel. “We’re turning around at the first sign of trouble,” he says.
    â€œGood,” I say.
    Dad noses the car out of the driveway and races down the street. He’s driving way too fast, and when he turns left I almost fall over Gordo.
    â€œDad, slow down,” I say. My arm’s already aching from holding Gordo’s head up.
    Dad glances back at us, then slows the car. We drive along in silence for a while, and to avoid seeing Gordo’s slack face, I look out the window.
    There are so many people walking, even though it’s early.
    Gordo groans and shifts, and his arm falls across mine. It’s so hot it feels like sunbaked clay, and I want to move my arm away, but if I do he’ll fall over, so instead I blink back tears and sit still. All I can feel is the heat on my arm.
    â€œHow far now?” I ask Dad.
    â€œSoon,” he says, but that seems to jinx things, because as soon as he says it, we turn a corner and there’s a crowd of people blocking the street.
    I stiffen but then notice that these are regular people, not soldiers, and they seem to be laughing and talking. Dad honks the horn, but no one moves, and we’re driving so slowly, we’re hardly moving at all. Dad throws his arm across the seat and looks over his shoulder, intending to back the car up, but the crowd has closed in behind us.
    â€œShit,” he says.
    â€œWhat now?” I ask. I try to keep my voice even, but the heat of Gordo’s arm sears into me.
    Dad honks again and a few people move out of the way, but not enough to let us get anywhere. Dad turns on the car radio, but, like yesterday, there’s nothing but military marches, and he turns it off again.
    Someone bangs on the hood of the car, and Dad unrolls the window. I hold my breath as Dad says, “Hey, what’s going on?”
    The man slaps the hood again and laughs and says, “Rawlings is coming. He’s taken over the government, and he’s coming to talk to the people.”
    â€œAh…” says Dad.
    â€œRawlings? Here?” My voice gives away how scared that thought makes me, but Dad says “Shhh” and leans out the window.
    â€œMy son’s sick. I need to get to the clinic,” he says.
    â€œThe way is blocked to the ring road,” the man says.
    I’m amazed at how Dad keeps his cool, because he says, “Thank you” before he rolls the window back up, but then it’s like someone has punctured a balloon. He slumps in his seat, and his head falls back against the headrest.
    â€œWhat are we going to do?!” I wail. I can’t help it. Gordo’s so hot, he’s taking up all the oxygen in the car. The air-conditioning isn’t enough to cool him down. And now Rawlings is coming. Here.
    Dad takes a deep breath, then says, “Get out, Astrid. We’re going to walk.”
    â€œWhat?” We’re in the middle of the street. What about the soldiers, and Rawlings?
    â€œGet out.” Dad’s voice is like iron, and I know there’s no point in arguing. A deep shiver runs down my back.
    Dad pulls the car close to the side of the road and we get out.
    â€œStay with me, Astrid. Stick close.”
    Dad strides quickly through the crowd, carrying Gordo like a baby, and I have to run to