She did need something to wake her up, that was true. Her nap in the taxi was entirely too short, and she was finding it difficult to keep her eyes open here, even under the harsh fluorescents, with the music cranked up loud and the other diners roaring at each other. She was wrung out, all but destroyed by one of the worst days of her life. And she’d had some bad ones.
‘You said you needed a ride, hon. Where you headed?’
The girl found herself momentarily unable to answer. She had come looking for a lift down to Fort Hood, in central Texas, or at least in that direction. But she’d intended to seek out the transport herself, by approaching someone she thought looked trustworthy. She may well have approached this chicken-eating Cindy French had she seen her first.
‘I am going to Texas,’ she said in the end, deciding to run with a version of the truth.
‘Really? Going down to the Federal Mandate, are we?’ The truck driver pulled a drumstick out and tossed it onto the spare plate. ‘Go on. Eat up.’
She was almost tempted to lie and say, yes, she was headed for the Mandate, but she caught herself at the last moment. Anybody with a legitimate reason for travelling down to the Texas Federal Mandate would’ve had any number of legitimate means of getting there. The government did not expect settlers to make their own way through the badlands. Most people would know that, and somebody like French, who probably drove those routes all the time, would definitely know.
‘No,’ replied Sofia. ‘I need to get to Fort Hood.’ There – she had done it.
Cindy continued with her meal, but raised one eyebrow as if Sofia had played a particularly interesting hand in a game of cards. She steered a ball of mashed potato on the end of the fork and used it to mop up some gravy. The mouthful of food prevented her from speaking, but it was obvious she was giving some thought to what she would say next.
Sofia took the opportunity to look around the diner once more. A quartet of soldiers came in from the cold, snapping their hats against their thighs before heading off to the counter. As they passed her, she waited to see if they were army or local militia. One of the younger ones smiled at her, shaking his head before moving on to get a drink.
She was becoming worried that this was taking too long. That a police cruiser would pull up in the next minute or so and the officers who had come to collect her at the apartment would find her here, obviously preparing to run away. If they found her, they’d make certain that she didn’t get another opportunity for a long time. Oh, they’d say they were doing it in her interests, but they didn’t truly know what her interests were.
‘Fort Hood? That’s an unusual place for a young lady to be lighting out to on a night like this,’ said French. ‘Especially a young lady like you.’
She gave Sofia a look that contained a long, unspoken reproach for her foolishness. ‘You’re Mexican, aren’t you? I mean, originally. I can tell from your accent you moved around a little. I guess we all have the last couple of years. My dad was part Mexican himself, served in the army. He’s dead now.’
‘The Wave?’
Cindy shook her head. ‘No, he died long before that. My mother broke his heart. She could be a real bitch. Now the Wave, it did get her. Surprised it didn’t spit the old dragon right back out. Anyway, come summertime, I park the rig on the beach for a week and pick up some sun. I get dark pretty quick, like you. That’s thanks to the old man. Or rather, his mama.’
Sofia nodded and took another piece of chicken. She was much happier talking about their past than providing details of her plans for the future. She even relaxed for the first time as she took up her own greasy fork to scoop up some of the mash.
‘I was young when we left Mexico,’ Sofia said. ‘My father . . .’ Her voice caught for a second before she forced herself to move on. ‘Papa got us onto a boat leaving Acapulco. Just before all the really bad riots and the killing started. The boat took us to Australia and we worked on the big farms there. For the government. It was not so bad. The work was no harder than we had known at home, and the camp where we lived was very good. Nuns came to teach us. We came to America to settle.’
She was unwilling to go into any greater detail. If French found out what had happened to her family down in Mexico, or even what had happened to her father more recently, she would call the police immediately. There could be no good reason why somebody like Sofia would want to return to a place that was the source of so much misery. Best let the woman’s imagination fill in the gaps for herself.
‘That would explain your accent,’ she said. ‘I’ve heard some mighty strange ones the last couple of years, pushing eighteen wheels all over the country. Yours sounds like you don’t really come from anywhere. Or maybe that you come from everywhere.’
It seemed a rather rude thing to say, but she refused to bristle in response. Perhaps Cindy was simply teasing her, trying to get on her nerves, to see how she would react. It was quite obvious she was intrigued, possibly even suspicious.
‘My voice sounds normal to me,’ Sofia replied with a shrug. ‘But what is normal? You are right, we hear many voices these days. In my class at school, there are people from twenty-six different countries. We have all of our flags pinned up on the wall.’
‘So, you’re at school here, then?’
Madre de dios . . . She cursed herself for having given away such a crucial piece of information. School children no longer lived the sheltered lives they had in the past. A typical school day ran until lunch, then everyone went off to their respective jobs, such as hers at the hospital. They were all expected to work, in the gardens, in the salvage efforts, in any position that needed filling, even if it happened to be shovelling the remains out of the reclamation zones. And as she had found out down in the Mandate, even to risk their lives on the frontier.
But there was no good reason why a schoolgirl would be in the Corrington Road truckers’ diner looking for a ride down to Texas, particularly not a schoolgirl like her. A Mexican. She might well have had a job washing dishes here until two o’clock in the morning, of course, but there was no way she should’ve been this far south, sticking her thumb out by the highway. She tried to cover the total ignorance of what to say next by filling her mouth with more potato.
The clink of knives and forks around them seemed much louder than it had just a minute ago. Cindy’s cutlery was crossed perfectly on her plate. The woman said nothing more, apparently content to wait on an answer. When the silence became difficult to endure, Sofia spoke up again.
‘I said I went to school here,’ she muttered, unable to keep a petulant tone out of her voice.
‘That you did. That you did.’ Cindy smiled again and pushed the plate away. She’d finished the meal and was leaning back now, enjoying what was left of her drink. ‘But you didn’t say why you were travelling to Texas. And that’s what makes me think you’re in trouble.’
If Sofia had a guardian angel, he whispered into her ear at this point.
‘I’m not in trouble,’ she said in a flash of improvisation. ‘My sister is in trouble.’
She received a nod in acknowledgment for that. ‘I see, and just what sort of trouble is your sister in, down in Texas?’
‘Meth,’ she replied. ‘To begin with, anyway. Then she had to pay for the drugs.’
French regarded her with a blank face, as though she had yet to make up her mind about the story. ‘And how is she paying for it? A Mexican girl, down in Texas.’
Sofia wasn’t sure just how far to push the story. She hesitated to say anything. The woman seemed to take her reticence as a form of distress. Her face softened, becoming almost motherly.
‘Is she working in one of the government brothels down there, hon?’
Sofia hadn’t thought of that. Her imagination didn’t run to such things, but it sounded like a good story. She nodded uncertainly, her eyes darting around the dining room as if she was concerned someone might overhear.
‘And so, do you mind me asking, young lady . . . I don’t
even know your name, by the way.’
‘My name is Sofia,’ she answered, instantly regretting it. She should’ve used a false name . . . If the police put out a bulletin, it could be picked up by the radio stations and then everybody would be looking for the little runaway Mexican girl called Sofia.
Damn. The mistakes just kept piling up.
‘Thank you, Sofia. Now, if you don’t mind me asking, why are you looking for your sister? You said you came here with your family. Surely it doesn’t fall to you to bring her home.’
She really did have to lie this time. But as she was learning, it was always easier to wrap a lie around a kernel of truth. ‘I am all she has left,’ she said. ‘Our father . . . died recently.’
She felt awful. It must surely have been a mortal sin to invoke her father’s name in such a fashion. And yet, she was doing this to avenge him, and all of the family. So no, she thought, rallying silently, she was not doing the wrong thing by using Papa’s memory in such a fashion. She was doing what needed to be done.
It was upsetting, however, and Cindy seemed to be attuned to her distress. The truck-driving lady suddenly looked older under the harsh, flat light inside the diner. She even reached across and squeezed Sofia’s hand. It was the sort of thing that would usually have caused the teenager to jerk away. She didn’t like people touching her. Yet oddly enough, she sat there, transfixed by Cindy’s warm, blue eyes.
‘Sorry, hon,’ she said. ‘I can be a pushy old hippie sometimes. I didn’t mean to pry. You are obviously carrying a world of hurt. I could see that as soon as I came in. I can also see those assholes Jasper and T Dawg sizing you up. It wouldn’t be the first time. Fuckers . . . Pardon my French.’
She finished the last of her Coke, sucking up a few final drops with a loud slurping sound before wiping her mouth with a napkin.
‘Tell you what, Sofia, I’m really not happy with the idea of you trying to haul ass all the way down to Texas on your own. You can ride with me, if you want. I can see, sitting here across from you, that there’s going to be no telling you otherwise. You won’t be talked out of this, will you?’
Sofia Pieraro shook her head.
Cindy smiled. ‘Too much like me. I can also see you got a few miles on you, kid, but you got some hard road ahead of you, too. And God knows what you intend to do when you get down there. I can’t imagine some fat government pimp in Fort Hood is going to stand for you waltzing into his bordello and carrying off your sister. Is she of age?’
Sofia’s face must have communicated her confusion.
‘I mean, is she over eighteen years old?’
‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘She is only fourteen.’
That seemed to satisfy Cindy French. She nodded once.
‘Okay then. What you need to do when you get there is keep your head down, get your ass in to see the padre at the 58th Street chapel. You tell him your sister is underage and where she’s working. Father Michael will take care of it.’ She paused, as if remembering something important. ‘You are Catholic, aren’t you? I’m sorry if I jumped to conclusions.’
Sofia sketched a tired smile and fluttered one hand at Cindy. ‘I am. We all are. Or were, anyway. I will talk to the priest. Thank you. I . . . I wasn’t sure how I was going to be able to do this. I spoke to the government here, but they didn’t seem to care.’
The information, as false as it was, didn’t seem to surprise the truck driver. ‘Well, there’s a news flash,’ she replied. ‘I’m sorry you had to waste your time barking up that tree. But I know from having to haul freight from Corpus Christi to Seattle that Blackstone and Kipper’s people don’t get along. The number of times I had to fill out one form for Texas and then exactly the same form for Seattle a-ways down the road . . . I tell you. If they’re not going to help, then I don’t see why the government can’t just get out of the way of people and let them get on with rebuilding their lives.’
It didn’t seem to be the sort of statement that required an answer, so Sofia kept her mouth shut. She had told so many lies in the last few minutes, she feared she’d begin to trip over them if she said any more. Cindy picked up the cheque that the waitress had left, squinted at it suspiciously, before pulling a couple of newbies out of her pocket and weighing them down on top of the bill with a salt shaker.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘There’s a few of us meeting up. We’re going to convoy down past Tulsa on I-35. It’s always safer when you can ride along with someone.’
Throwing a filthy look in the direction of Jasper and T Dawg as she followed Cindy out of the diner, Sofia could only agree.
19
KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI
Cindy French’s semitrailer was pulled up a short walk away from the diner, in the parking bay of the Flying J truckstop. The rig was enormous and blue, matching her eyes. Indeed, Cindy was a study in blues: denim jeans, a blue hoodie under her Eddie Bauer blue winter coat, and a royal blue knitted scarf. Her outfit was topped off by a strange animal-like white hat, with cartoon eyes and tails that dropped down to her collar. Sofia couldn’t decide if the hat was a rat, a cat or some sort of bunny rabbit. In a crowd of fat, male truckers, Cindy French stood out. Short as she was, just the way she carried herself gave off a strong impression that it would be unwise to cross her. The .45 on her hip further reinforced that, for anyone fool enough to make rash judgments based on her size and gender alone.
She was smirking as she took in Sofia’s reaction to her striking fashion statement. Especially the hat. A cartoon puppy hat, Sofia decided.
‘Yeah, I get a lot of looks,’ Cindy admitted, as her breath jetted out in thick white clouds.
The contrast with the overly warm, almost cloying, greasy interior of the diner was stunning. Sub-zero wind chill knifed into Sofia with lethal intent. The hooded sweatshirt was in no way adequate against the elements, and she was soon shivering, then shuddering with deep body tremors.
‘I think maybe you’re taking the whole “travel light” thing a little too far,’ opined Cindy. ‘Get into the cab before you catch your death.’
She couldn’t answer because her teeth were chattering. The older woman hurried over to the cab of Mary Lou, the big blue truck, and Sofia climbed in as soon as it was unlocked.
‘There’s a blanket on the passenger seat,’ Cindy called up from outside. ‘Wrap yourself up, I’ll turn over the engine, get the heat going, and then we’ll see about finding you some warmer gear.’
Rooting around in the cab, Sofia pulled out a SpongeBob SquarePants comforter. She wrapped herself deep in the folds, catching the scent of fabric softener, laundry detergent and perhaps a hint of perfume. It took a minute for the vehicle’s heating system to dull the pain of the icy fangs gnawing away at her bones. Cindy was dressed warmly, but even so, Sofia couldn’t understand how she could bear to be outside for more than a minute at a time.
The trucker insisted on joining three other drivers, who were warming their hands around a burning oil barrel on the far side of the road. Perhaps they were the ones she meant to travel in convoy with when they departed. Like many of the truck drivers, their clothes looked like they’d been salvaged from quality camping stores some time ago, but a few years on the road had roughed them up some. Sofia wondered why they didn’t just replace the ageing jackets and winter gear.
The men appeared to be in good spirits, despite the weather. One was drinking a steaming beverage from a thermos flask. The other two were smoking, which explained why they’d had to remove themselves from the truck plaza. Even the diner had been aggressively plastered with no-smoking signs. Cindy pointed back towards her truck and Sofia nodded at the men as their gaze followed the gesture. They seemed harmless enough. Middle-aged, running to fat, probably family men.
She shut down that line of thought immediately, lest it lead her to dwell on her own family. There was nothing to be gained from that at the moment.
One of the male truckers disappeared, hurrying away into the darkness, before returning a minute la
ter with a heavy, fleece-lined coat. Cindy appeared to thank him. They all checked their watches and said their goodbyes, before the thermos man tossed away the dregs of his drink, and without further ceremony they were on the move.
Cindy hurried over to her rig, taking care not to slip on the compacted ice.
‘Here you go, darlin’,’ she said, as she climbed back into the cabin. ‘I knew Dave had this old thing stashed away in his bunk. He’s been using it as a pillow, but it’s okay. He doesn’t have cooties. It’ll keep you a lot warmer than those thin scraps of cotton you’re wearing. At any rate, it’ll do until we can stop somewhere and kit you out properly.’
‘Thank you,’ said Sofia, feeling guilty at relying on the charity of people she was lying to.
For the Burton ski jacket, however, with its thick inner lining – real lamb’s wool, unless she was mistaken – the teenage runaway could only feel desperately thankful. As soon as she slipped her arms through the sleeves, she could tell that it would go a long way towards protecting her from the viciousness of the weather outside. Sofia wrapped the coat around herself and sank back into the soft, warm embrace of the bucket seat. With the heater blowing and Dave’s jacket, she hardly needed the SpongeBob blanket.
‘We’re going to rendezvous down 35 a-ways,’ Cindy informed her, ‘and push on down to Ottawa, Kansas. That’s the first town outside KC’s security zone, Emporia’s the next one. But they’re both close enough to the federal settlement that the scavengers haven’t really picked ’em over. There’s still a fair chance of getting picked off by the Cavalry if they do. We can take a toilet break down at Emporia – which we’re gonna need after those Cokes, girl. See if we can get you a road pack there, too.’
She applied a little shoe leather to the pedals, crunched through a complicated ballet with the gears, and the mighty Kenworth lurched forward.
Angels of Vengeance: The Disappearance Novel 3 Page 19
