Savage Drift

^{CHAPTER FIFTEEN} DEAN

In the entry foyer there was one of those black dry-erase boards that you write on with neon markers.

It said in bubble writing:

Welcome to Denny’s!

We have no vegetables or fruits

except canned!

No decaf No sodas! But we got milk!

And we’ll do our best to make it a great day!

“They sure do like exclamation marks,” Astrid said wryly. There was an edge of nervousness in her voice.

“We’re cool,” I said. “No one would have any reason to question us being here.”

“It is a little early for us to be out, don’t you think?” she replied.

“We’ve been out all night partyin’,” Jake said, throwing his arm around her.

“That’s one word for it,” she said with a laugh.

I rolled my eyes and pushed open the second door.

Inside it was busy. You could almost, almost forget there’d been a huge national emergency. Waitresses in uniform carried glass carafes of coffee (not decaf) to busy tables.

But there were a few striking differences.

There was a section of the wall near the restroom that was covered with bits of paper scotch-taped or pinned to the wall. Above it a sign made from three sheets of computer-paper taped together read:

There was also a big sign taped up over the register:

It listed an 888 number.

“Good morning, y’all,” the bottle-blond waitress greeted us. Her roots were way, way grown in. “Who’s paying this morning?”

We must have looked startled because she laughed.

“No offense, kids. We just need to see the cash up front.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Jake said. He fumbled to get some out of his pocket.

“Y’all want coffee?”

Astrid glumly said she’d just have milk, but Niko and Jake asked for coffee so I did, too.

I kind of wanted to ask for hot cocoa, but knew Jake would make some stupid crack.

When she returned with our coffees, she gave us the options. She said we could have eggs, French toast, regular toast, pancakes, or oatmeal. So much for my Spanish omelet and Niko’s Belgian waffle.

Niko and I ordered eggs and toast. Jake and Astrid ordered French toast.

The coffee was watery and bitter, but I put a whole lot of milk and sugar in it. It made it drinkable.

Of course Jake had to look at my coffee and chuff disapprovingly.

“My granddaddy drank his coffee black, my daddy drinks it black, and I drink it black.”

Imagine if I’d ordered the cocoa.

“Is it just me, or has Jake’s Texas accent come back a thousandfold since we landed?” I asked Niko and Astrid.

“Would you two please shut it?” Astrid said.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I put my hand on the back of her neck. She shook me off, putting her hand on her belly.

“Baby’s doing back flips in there,” she said.

“She loves Denny’s, just like her pop,” Jake said.

Did I mention Jake thinks the baby’s a girl? And I’m sure it’s a boy. Insert irony here.

I gritted my teeth and looked away. I was not going to let him bait me.

“I’m going to go check out the ride board,” Niko told us.

He edged out of the booth.

Astrid leaned back and shut her eyes.

Jake and I sat there in silence, trying not to look at each other.

Before the catastrophes, I remember feeling left out, watching groups of kids from my high school out together, sitting in booths just like this one, laughing and teasing each other in a rough, jocular way. They seemed to know each other so well.

Now I was sitting in a booth with the very kids I had watched enviously and I was about as familiar with them as anyone could be, but everything was different now.

For a minute, a short minute, I felt the unfairness of it all. We should be sitting there after a long night out partying. Jake should razz me about coffee and I should come up with something sharp to say back and everyone should laugh and Astrid should put her head on my shoulder.

But the world that could have happened in had been wiped away. Scorched and gassed and washed away.

The waitress brought our food and Niko came back to the booth.

“There’s a trucker going to Kansas City,” he said excitedly. “That’s close to Mizzou.”

He started shoveling the plain eggs into his mouth. Didn’t seem to mind there was no butter or jam for the toast.

Astrid and Jake each had a single container of maple syrup for their French toast servings.

Never mind, we ate and were happy for the food.

“He says cash or barter,” Niko continued. “We get up there, we’re really close.”

“Hey man, what’s the plan for getting Josie out, anyway?” Jake asked him.

“I’m going to go to the authorities and show them the letter to the editor and see if I can get her out the easy way,” Niko said. “But in case they won’t let me do that, I’m also going to get a good look around, to see if I can find a way to break in.”

Jake was sitting back as he listened. He didn’t look entirely open-minded, but Niko didn’t notice.

“I figure there are deliveries. They’ve got to bring in food and supplies, like at Quilchena. I mean, think about it. Who’s going to be checking for someone breaking in?”

“What if you got stuck in there with her?” Astrid said. “What if you couldn’t get back out?”

Niko took a sip of his coffee.

“Then I’ll be with her and I can keep her safe until she’s released,” he said.

He wiped his mouth on his napkin.

“While you guys finish eating, I’m going to see if I can find the trucker.”

“Wait,” Jake said. “Hold up a minute. We need to discuss the plan for a second.”

Niko looked surprised. “I know there are some aspects that are vague, but you know none of you needs to go with me to get her out of Mizzou. I mean, that’s not even in any version of the plan.”

“Well, I don’t know about that,” I protested. “I mean, obviously Astrid wouldn’t go, but I could go to help you—”

“I don’t think we should go with you at all,” Jake interrupted.

Niko looked at him, startled. We all did.

“What do you mean?” Niko asked.

“Look, we’re less than a couple hours from where my mom lives. Her place isn’t a palace, but it’s nice enough.” He turned to Astrid. “And it’s safe. I know she’d be over the moon to meet her grandbaby girl. Make us a place there to live with her. Her new husband’s pretty nice. They’d make sure you have a really good doctor,” he said to Astrid. “I think you should have family looking after you.”

Jake Simonsen. Always playing some kind of angle. Trying for the advantage.

“I’m sure I, for one, would be really welcome there,” I said. “Here’s your long-lost son. Here’s the mother of his child. And here’s her boyfriend!”

“You could go with Niko and then come back for Astrid when it’s safe,” Jake said.

“When are you going to get it that Astrid and I are a real thing?” I asked.

“I don’t think you get it. I’ll never be able to have another kid. What the compounds did to me is irreversible. That baby is my baby,” Jake said. His blue eyes were flinty and serious. His mouth set in a line.

“It’s mine, too, if I remember correctly,” Astrid said.

“I’m just saying, I want what’s best for you and the baby, and Dean wants to take you on some doomed rescue mission.”

The waitress refilled our coffees.

“Jake, I’m sorry that you’re type B, that you’ll never get to have kids, I really am. But that doesn’t mean you’ll be a good dad. Just because it’s your only shot doesn’t mean you’re actually fit for the job.”

“Screw you, Grieder!” Jake snarled.

“Guys, please!” Astrid said.

“We need to take this outside,” Niko said. “People are looking at us.”

My blood was pounding in my ears. Maybe this would be it. Maybe we would have it out for once and for all.

“If you really loved her, you’d go home to your mom and let me get her safely to the farm!”

“I’d leave Astrid over my dead body,” he spat.

“That’s how I feel,” I answered him.

“GUYS! You don’t get to fight over me like this! You don’t get to decide where I go or what I do! Just ’cause I’m pregnant doesn’t make me property!”

A deeply tanned woman with too much makeup lifted her coffee cup. “You tell ’em, honey!”

“I’m going with Niko,” Astrid continued. “You guys do what you need to do.”

I went into the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face.

I looked at myself in the mirror.

I looked older, bigger. Less than two months had gone by since the hailstorm that started it all, but there were huge changes written on my face and body.

“Do you ever feel different?” I’d asked Astrid one day, out on the green.

“How do you mean?” she asked me.

“Like… stronger,” I answered.

“I don’t know,” she had said. “My body feels so weird, it’s hard to tell what’s what.”

I didn’t know how to bring it up, the changes I’d experienced in my body. My muscles had somehow filled in during the time at the Greenway, like I was on Miracle-Gro. Neck, arms, chest, all wiry as heck before now had real muscle tone.

I wasn’t sure if it was some residual effect from the compounds or if it was the demi-steroids that Jake had convinced me to take after he nearly bashed my face in. But I only took those for a couple days.

There was something else—my eyesight.

It was fixed. Cured. I’d arrived at the Greenway in glasses, nearsighted. My vision was bad enough that my parents had started a Lasik fund for my eighteenth birthday gift. But since I’d gone O, I saw fine. Really—my vision was perfect.

It had to be some benefit related to exposure to the compounds.

I wondered if that’s what the Army scientists were researching.

I also wondered about Astrid’s baby. The way the first doctor at Quilchena said it was too developed for a four-and-a-half-month-old baby. And then Kiyoko had said the same thing, two weeks later. Was the baby stronger and bigger because of Astrid’s exposure?

I leaned in closer to the mirror. My nose had a lump on it, from where Jake had broken it. The break made me look tougher. Maybe handsome, even. When I looked in the mirror I expected to see the kind of underweight-yet-also-puffy face that had stared back hopelessly for my sixteen years. My new reflection showed strength. And yet… it was hard to look that guy in the face for too long.

I was shifty, even to myself.

Maybe that’s what happened when you killed someone. Maybe I’d never be able to look at myself again.

Jake came in.

“Niko’s found a ride,” he told me. “So wrap up your beauty regimen.”

I could not like the trucker, who introduced himself as Rocco Caputto. That was his real name. I don’t see how anyone could like the guy. Rocco was medium height, and pretty thin with gangly loose joints. He tried to be tough, which was dumb, because he looked about as threatening as Batiste. He had a thick mustache and a Jersey-gangster-ish accent that was almost cartoonish.

“Get you four to Kansas City? Hundred bucks up front for each of you. We eat when I say we eat. We stop when I say we stop. And if any of you try anything, my little assistant here will help you to change your mind.”

He pulled back his Windbreaker to show a large handgun in an underarm holster.

It really was too big a gun for so small a man.

“We’re not going to give you any problems,” Niko said, in a placating tone.

“But we don’t have four hundred dollars, either,” Jake said.

“No? Aw, too bad.”

“We can give you one—”

Jake interrupted, finishing Niko’s sentence. “Twenty-five. We can give you one twenty-five total.”

Jake must have assumed that Niko wasn’t the most shrewd negotiator. He was probably correct. Niko was too honest for a guy like Rocco.

“One twenty-five for four kids?!” the trucker whined. “Come on!”

“No problem,” Jake said. “Someone else will take us. Kansas City’s not even that close to where we want to go.”

Jake turned and walked back toward the restaurant. We followed him like lesser dogs in his wolf pack.

“Oh, for Pete’s sake,” Rocco Caputto said. “You have any gas credits?”

“Probably,” Jake bluffed. “We haven’t used any this week. Have you guys?” He turned and we all shook our heads.

“One twenty-five and all your gas credits and let’s go,” Rocco said.

“But can we all fit?” I asked. I don’t know, from the movies it seemed like there would be one driver seat and maybe you could fit two people next to him in the front. I didn’t want to ride for four hours in the back with whatever it was he was trucking.

“Can you fit?!” He laughed. “Evidently you’ve never ridden in a Freightliner Century Class! I have bunk beds in the back! Can you fit.”

It was true. The cabin of his truck had a driver seat and a passenger seat, then behind it was a little sleeper area, with a bed and a pull-down bunk over it.

“Look here,” he said, pointing out the features. “Here’s where I keep my clothes and I put little baggies in this cubby here to line my trash can. I got a cooler I keep my food in and an alarm clock and I even got a little bureau here. Only don’t go looking in my drawers. Especially not you, miss.”

“Believe me, I won’t go looking in your drawers,” Astrid said.

I muffled a laugh.

She winked at me.

I had to hand it to Rocco Caputo. His truck cabin was clean. Really organized and tidy.

“Don’t you guys go making a mess. For one twenty-five, you better leave the place exactly how you found it.”

He got into the front seat and started making preparations to go.

“Let’s pull down the bunk and, Astrid, you can get some rest,” Niko suggested.

That was a good idea. She looked worn-out. The blue circles under her eyes seemed more pronounced than usual.

“Okay,” she agreed.

“One of you can sit up with me,” said Rocco. “And the other two can sit on the bottom bunk.”

I volunteered to go up front. No way did I want to be sitting on a bed with Jake.

The truck roared down the highway.

I settled into the passenger seat. It was really comfortable—upholstered in a soft tan material. Very cushy. There was a risk I’d fall asleep.

“Ride to KC’ll take about eleven hours,” Rocco said to me. “Stop to refuel and I’m up to Chi-town.”

“What are you hauling?” I asked, making conversation.

“Canned goods. Vegetables and whatnot,” he answered. “Since the wave, food goes east. No food comes west, that’s for sure. I run supplies, mail, people, anything and everything.”

“What’s it like back there?”

He drove in silence for a while, then he said, “It’s jacked up. It’s jacked up big-time, Sam.”

We’d given him fake names. Niko’s idea. I was Sam. Astrid was Anne. Niko had given the strangely unfitting name of Phillip and Jake was Buddy, which fit perfectly.

Did Niko secretly want to be a Phillip? Did he want to trade his serious, all-business demeanor to be someone who wore plaid pants and ate pâté and, I don’t know, lettered in badminton?

I think in the time that I’d known Niko he had made maybe four jokes. None of them funny. A Phillip he was not.

“I lost my ma,” Rocco told me. “Flushing. She was about eighty though, so, I don’t know…”

This awkward admission made me feel for the guy.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. Maybe I’d have to revise my opinion of him.

He relaxed back in his seat and checked the side mirrors.

We were going seventy-five, easy.

“I do a lot of people-movin’ is what I do. Lot of people want to get out of the East Coast and get west. Anywhere. Any town with electricity and running water. People have given up on finding their people. Given up on their houses—half the houses are molded up or got sewage in the basement. People just want out. Refugees are everywhere and all of ’em trying to get somewhere else.”

I hadn’t given much thought to what life would be like in Pennsylvania. Maybe Niko’s uncle wouldn’t want us, after all. Maybe the old farm was already overrun with refugees.

Rocco interrupted my train of thought: “You know what I get paid in sometimes?”

“What?” I asked him.

“Tail,” he boasted.

It took me a second to realize what he meant.

“Yup. Girls and women in all sizes and shapes. People gotta get where they need to be.”

No. It was not possible to like Rocco Caputo.

After an hour, I traded with Jake.

Niko was leaning back against the wall of the cabin, half asleep. Astrid was asleep on the top bunk, her back turned outward.

“Want to lie foot to head?” I asked Niko. “Maybe we could get some sleep.”

It was a little weird to lie in the narrow bunk with Niko. And a little gross to lie in that bed at all, when I thought of what the trucker had done there with the poor refugee women, but I was tired.

Up front, Jake and Rocco got along perfectly well, which didn’t surprise me at all.

Before I fell asleep, I heard Jake ask Rocco about the drifts.

“I tell you what that’s about. It’s the cleanup. You got FEMA and whoever in there, cleaning up the blast zone and they’re sweeping up clouds of dirt and everyone’s in a tizzy. I been all over the area and I ain’t seen nothin’,” Rocco said. “Here’s what I think—those refugee camps are big money, BIG money for the people running them. They don’t want people to go home. Think about it!”

“What about the Army, though? I mean, they all wear those protective suits. We even bartered for one for our friend”—a tiny beat here while Jake remembered Niko’s fake name—“Phillip. You saw it.”

“You got taken, my friend,” the trucker laughed. “Those outfits are PR, nothing more. Take a look at ’em. They’re paper-thin. All for show.”

“Really?” Jake said.

I didn’t believe that. Why would the Army go to that expense?

“I guess we got ripped off,” Jake said.

“Happens to the best of us,” Rocco conceded.

“Hey, I been wondering, why do they call it Kansas City if it’s in Missouri?” Jake asked.

“Now, there’s a good question,” Rocco said. “Midwest. It’s all a bunch of retards.”

Yeah, they got along just fine.