in Virginia or West Virginia. He’s fifty and has a beer gut but there’s a strength in his heavily lined red face. The man’s spent most of his life on the road, the sun staring through his open window. “Where are you folks going?” he asks.
“Raleigh would be fine. Chapel Hill even better,” I say.
“Geez, Chapel Hill’s just down the road a ways. I can drop you there if you want.”
“Great,” I say. “We don’t mind riding in the back. You got a spread?”
“You know it, girl. I don’t spring for no motel rooms, notin this economy and with the money I’m making. You can climb in the door on the passenger’s side. It’s open.” He pauses and looks me over. “But if one or two of you want to ride up front, that’d be fine with me.”
“I’ll take you up on your kind offer,” I say, giving the others a look that says I want him all to myself. My reason is simple. If we run into a roadblock, it will be less suspicious if I appear to be alone with the man. Of course, if things go bad, I can always hypnotize the guy and have him tell the authorities what I wish. But I’d rather not fool with his head, especially since he’s being so friendly.
We’re on the road in minutes, and Mr. James Jackson—“call me Jim, honey”—does me the favor of turning off his radio. Jim hasn’t gone to college but reads the paper every day and is up on current events. He quickly begins to talk about politics and what a mess the president has made of the country. However, he’s not as right wing as I’d expect, and when he admits he voted Democrat in the last election, I have to laugh.
“Jesus, Jim, you’re a home-fried Confederate if I ever met one,” I say. “What got into you?”
Jim chuckles and fiddles with a piece of tobacco caught between his yellow teeth with a toothpick. “I thought that’d surprise you, Lara. It shocked my buddies. Some of them haven’t spoken to me since. But if you search the history of this part of the country, you’ll find that it was the Democraticparty—after the war—that stopped them damn Yankees from stealing what was ours to begin with.”
The war he refers to is the Civil War, the only war that matters to people of Jim’s persuasion. He’s technically correct, the Democrats did everything they could to hinder President Grant’s Reconstruction. But the modern parties have totally swapped roles since those days, which I happen to know for a fact since I lived in Washington DC after the Civil War.
I tell Jim as much—about the politics—and he studies me with fresh appreciation.
“How did a young thing like you get to be so smart?” he asks.
“By flirting with intelligent men like you.”
He blushes. “You’re too sassy for your own good, Lara. I love it, but I’ve got to warn you, it’s going to get you into trouble one of these days. The world’s a hard place and not all the men are as civilized as old Jim.”
“I hear ya. I’ll give it some thought.”
“That’s all I ask. Just watch your back.”
We run into a roadblock five minutes later.
The fact that it exists means that Brutran didn’t kill the pilot who ejected soon enough. It also confirms that those chasing us have an extraordinary network at their disposal. Only thirty minutes have passed since Matt and I landed in the grass field and already the area is being cordoned off.
I feel a wave of despair, something I seldom experience.It’s as if a huge net has been thrown over all our heads and it’s just a matter of time before the powers that be tighten it. We can’t pursue the veil with everyone else pursuing us. Somehow, we have to throw the government and its many agencies off our trail.
Even this simple roadblock could cost us.
“Shit,” I whisper, and Jim looks over.
The checkpoint is manned by a local sheriff and his deputy. Their vehicles are parked in an open V position that barely allows enough room for a car to pass, never mind Jim’s truck. The cops probably
“Raleigh would be fine. Chapel Hill even better,” I say.
“Geez, Chapel Hill’s just down the road a ways. I can drop you there if you want.”
“Great,” I say. “We don’t mind riding in the back. You got a spread?”
“You know it, girl. I don’t spring for no motel rooms, notin this economy and with the money I’m making. You can climb in the door on the passenger’s side. It’s open.” He pauses and looks me over. “But if one or two of you want to ride up front, that’d be fine with me.”
“I’ll take you up on your kind offer,” I say, giving the others a look that says I want him all to myself. My reason is simple. If we run into a roadblock, it will be less suspicious if I appear to be alone with the man. Of course, if things go bad, I can always hypnotize the guy and have him tell the authorities what I wish. But I’d rather not fool with his head, especially since he’s being so friendly.
We’re on the road in minutes, and Mr. James Jackson—“call me Jim, honey”—does me the favor of turning off his radio. Jim hasn’t gone to college but reads the paper every day and is up on current events. He quickly begins to talk about politics and what a mess the president has made of the country. However, he’s not as right wing as I’d expect, and when he admits he voted Democrat in the last election, I have to laugh.
“Jesus, Jim, you’re a home-fried Confederate if I ever met one,” I say. “What got into you?”
Jim chuckles and fiddles with a piece of tobacco caught between his yellow teeth with a toothpick. “I thought that’d surprise you, Lara. It shocked my buddies. Some of them haven’t spoken to me since. But if you search the history of this part of the country, you’ll find that it was the Democraticparty—after the war—that stopped them damn Yankees from stealing what was ours to begin with.”
The war he refers to is the Civil War, the only war that matters to people of Jim’s persuasion. He’s technically correct, the Democrats did everything they could to hinder President Grant’s Reconstruction. But the modern parties have totally swapped roles since those days, which I happen to know for a fact since I lived in Washington DC after the Civil War.
I tell Jim as much—about the politics—and he studies me with fresh appreciation.
“How did a young thing like you get to be so smart?” he asks.
“By flirting with intelligent men like you.”
He blushes. “You’re too sassy for your own good, Lara. I love it, but I’ve got to warn you, it’s going to get you into trouble one of these days. The world’s a hard place and not all the men are as civilized as old Jim.”
“I hear ya. I’ll give it some thought.”
“That’s all I ask. Just watch your back.”
We run into a roadblock five minutes later.
The fact that it exists means that Brutran didn’t kill the pilot who ejected soon enough. It also confirms that those chasing us have an extraordinary network at their disposal. Only thirty minutes have passed since Matt and I landed in the grass field and already the area is being cordoned off.
I feel a wave of despair, something I seldom experience.It’s as if a huge net has been thrown over all our heads and it’s just a matter of time before the powers that be tighten it. We can’t pursue the veil with everyone else pursuing us. Somehow, we have to throw the government and its many agencies off our trail.
Even this simple roadblock could cost us.
“Shit,” I whisper, and Jim looks over.
The checkpoint is manned by a local sheriff and his deputy. Their vehicles are parked in an open V position that barely allows enough room for a car to pass, never mind Jim’s truck. The cops probably
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