The Nightmare begins

Chapter Fourteen

"I never ate something so bad in my life," Rubenstein said, starting to turn away from Rourke to spit out the food in his mouth.

"I'd eat that if I were you," Rourke said softly. "Protein, vitamins, sugar—all of that stuff, including the moisture—is something your body is craving right now. Just reading a book burns up calories, so riding that bike all day, especially in this heat, really draws a lot out of your body."

"Aww, God, but this tastes like cardboard."

"You eat much cardboard?"

"Well, no, but you know what I mean."

"It doesn't taste good, but it's nutritious. Maybe we'll find something better tomorrow or the next day. When we get back to the retreat, you can stuff yourself. I've got all the Mountain House freeze-dried foods—beef stroganoff, everything. I've got a lot of dehydrated vegetables, a freezer full of meat—steaks, roasts, the works. I've even got Michelob, pretzels, chocolate chip cookies, Seagrams Seven. Everything."

"Ohh, man—I wish we were there."

"Well," Rourke said slowly, "wishing won't get us there."

"What I wouldn't do for a candy bar—mmm…"

"Unless you're under high energy demand circumstances, candy isn't that good for you. Sugar is one of the worst things in the world."

"I thought you said you had chocolate chip cookies," Rubenstein said.

"Well—you can't always eat stuff that's healthy for you."

"What kind of chocolate chip cookies are they?" Rubenstein asked.

"I don't remember," Rourke said. "I always confuse the brands."

"I found your one weakness!" Rubenstein exclaimed, starting to laugh. "Bad at identifying chocolate chip cookies."

Rourke grinned at Rubenstein, "Nobody's perfect, I guess."

Rubenstein was still laughing, then started coughing and Rourke bent toward him, saying, "Hold your hands over your head—helps to clear the air passage."

"This—pukey—damned baby—baby food," Rubenstein coughed.

"Just shut up for a minute until you get your breath," Rourke ordered. "Then let's get a few hours' rest and get started before first light again. I'd like to put on as much desert mileage as we can during darkness—want to make Van Horn and beyond tomorrow."

"What's at Van—Van Horn?" Rubenstein asked, coughing but more easily.

"Maybe food and water and gasoline. Good-sized town, a little off the beaten track, maybe it's indecent shape still. At least I hope so. Knew a guy from Van Horn once."

"Think he's still there?" Rubenstein said, speaking softly and clearing his throat.

"I don't know," Rourke said thoughtfully. "Lost touch with him a few years ago.

Might have died—no way to tell."

Rubenstein just shook his head, starting to laugh again, saying, "John, you are one strange guy. I've never met somebody so laid back in my whole life."

Rourke just looked at Rubenstein, saying, "That's exactly how I'm going to be in about thirty seconds— laid back. And sleeping. You'd better do the same." Rourke stood up, starting away from the bikes.

"Takin' a leak?" Rubenstein queried.

Rourke turned and glanced back at him. "No—I'm burying the jar from the baby food. No sense littering, and the sugar clinging to the sides of the glass will just draw insects."

"Ohh," Rubenstein said.