by Greg Dragon
“Let me give it a shot.” Python did no better.
“All right. Plan B. I climb up the standpipe. You can push me part of the way. Then I have to power up the last part, and I’ll hook the line on when I get there for you. Get on your hands and knees.” When he set himself beneath the hole, she pushed herself in, arms up and holding the hook, line dangling down. She stepped up on his back, then widened her elbows, and braced her feet and knees up inside, supporting her own weight.
“Okay, get up and grab my feet, my ankles or something, and start pushing.”
Python did, awkwardly lifting. Jill used his strength to move upward as far as she could, then braced with her hands and forearms. Then she lifted her feet again, and set them against the sides, aided by his hands. Soon she stood on his palms as he extended his arms straight up.
“You all right?” she asked.
“No problem. I can do this forever.” His voice held no strain, so she believed him.
“All right. I’m going to try to throw this thing up. It’s only about three more feet, but I got almost no way to swing it.”
The fifth time she managed to get it caught on the rim, and with the line, climbed to the top. Once there, she boosted herself onto the rim and settled the hook solidly. She looked around at the cold, overcast Iowa December and wondered when the first snow would arrive. It was a week to Christmas.
“Send up the gear,” she said quietly. Soon she had brought everything up on the line, and dropped it gently to the dirt below, then jumped down. Just a football field to the north she could see the SS compound and the internment camp beyond, lit up like an outdoor stadium. Fortunately all the light pointed away from them. They should be invisible.
Python climbed the line easily, hand over hand, and came down the same way. He flipped the hook off the rim and caught it. “Lamp,” he said, removing his and turning the tiny thing off. She did the same. “We’d feel pretty stupid if they caught us because we were wearing ‘catch me’ lights on our foreheads.”
“Yeah,” she replied. “You ready to run?”
“Gonna really suck if we don’t come across a vehicle to steal.”
Jill grimaced. “We could try for an SS vehicle. They don’t even have a fence around their parking lot.”
Python stroked his chin. “That’s not a bad idea…”
“I was kidding.”
“No, really. Who’s going to notice a vehicle gone, with all the new people and the comings and goings?” Python’s eyes shone with reflected floodlight as he looked northward. “They’ll just assume someone else has it, running errands or whatever. They might not miss it for days.”
Jill thought for a moment. “All right. We’ll take a look. Let’s go.”
They crept across the field, crawling the last forty yards until they were in among the fifty or sixty various trucks, SUVs and Humvees there. The parking lot was poorly lit, and the vehicles haphazardly arranged.
“Damn,” Python muttered at the first SUV. “This model has kill chips. Can’t hotwire it without a bypass module.”
“How about a Humvee? All we need to find is one without its steering wheel chained…” She opened the first one she came to. “Like this. What schmucks. I’d have their asses if they were my troops, leaving their vehicles unsecure.”
“Down!” Python hissed, and they flattened and rolled under the Humvee. A truck with a half dozen troops in the back pulled into a parking spot twenty yards away, and they dismounted. With the driver and passenger in tow, they gaggled back toward the main SS building, rifles slung over their shoulders.
“Don’t even think it,” Jill said in a low voice as Python stared at them. “We don’t need weapons bad enough to risk getting caught. Stealing this Humvee is already dangerous.” She watched the eight men’s feet as they dwindled in the distance, then said, “Come on.”
They slipped into the vehicle, Jill in the driver’s seat. Once she was sure the patrol had entered their building, she hit the starter and a moment later the diesel rumbled to life. She didn’t wait, but immediately pulled out and turned on her lights. Leaving them off might have helped avoid being spotted, but if they were seen, someone would wonder what she was doing driving dark. Most people saw what they expected to see, and wouldn’t think a Humvee leaving was unusual.
She hoped.
Only when they were headed south on state route 169 did Jill finally relax. She let out a whoop, and grabbed Python by the back of the neck with elation. “Free at last, free at last, thank God I’m free at last!”
“I didn’t know you were religious,” Python remarked.
“It’s from a speech by Martin Luther King,” she replied. “Although right now I’d join the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster if it helped us get away.”
“Amen, sister. Preach it.”
They both began to laugh, and didn’t stop for a while.
Chapter Nine
“What are we going to do for money?” Python asked as they neared St. Joseph, Missouri.
Jill handed him a roll of bills the size of a packet of candy mints. “Three hundred. Should get us a tank of gas and some food.”
“Where the hell did you hide this?” he asked.
“You don’t want to know.” Jill chuckled.
“We’re pretty ratty looking, too,” Python went on. “We need some new clothes.” It was true; even discounting the dirt from crawling all over and under Iowa, they’d been wearing more or less the same few outfits for months.
“Truck stops see all kinds. We need to pick up the interstate while it’s still dark.”
“Right. I-29 South it is.”
“There’s irony for you,” Jill said. “We’ll pass within ten miles of Fort Leavenworth.”
Python didn’t respond, just slumped down in his seat. Then after a while he said, “I’m not going back.”
“Of course not.” She spotted a sign and turned the Humvee onto the on-ramp for the interstate.
“No, I mean it,” he said, turning haunted eyes toward Jill. “I’m done with prisons, even wimp-ass prisons like Camp 240.”
“I’m with you, Keith.”
“No, look, Reap, you’re not getting me. Dammit, what’s your real name, anyway?”
She took a breath. “It’s Jill.”
“Thanks, Jill. But listen to me good. I am not going back in. Whatever it takes. I can’t do it anymore.”
“You can’t think that way. No matter what happens, we have to survive. Now that we can live to a thousand, so they say, we can wait the normals out.”
Python snorted. “Or they can just torture us for a longer time.”
Jill glanced at him, saw the resolve and determination in his eyes, and for the next half hour she worried silently.
“Truck stop.” Python pointed.
“Right.” Jill took the exit. “You go in and pay for the diesel, and pick up two sets of clothes, sweats or something. I should fit anything you do, except shoes. I wear a women’s nine, man’s eight. Don’t forget socks, and a couple of ball caps. And get a couple of shower tokens.” Soon she pulled up at a pump in the truck section, away from the cars where the Humvee and their mismatched appearance would draw more stares.
Once she had pumped the vehicle full, she parked behind some semis, gathered her belongings, and met Python inside.
The hot shower felt incredible; water in the camp had never been more than warm, and was often barely above freezing. Ten minutes later she rejoined her partner in matching outfits of cheap sweats and hoodies. Their next stop was the burger joint inside, where they ordered eight meals in go boxes. They wolfed down two each while bagging the other ones for later, another decided contrast to the bad, bland camp food.
Thus fortified, they headed out to the Humvee.
Jill grabbed Python’s elbow and steered him off at an angle when she saw what waited where she parked. Two SS vehicles sat next to their stolen truck, and several uniformed troops milled about.
“We’re blo
wn,” she said as they walked across the tarmac toward the on-ramp where the semis made their long runs up to cruising speed. “We have to get out of here right away, before they lock the place down.”
“Gonna hop a truck?” he asked.
“Exactly. Flatbed with something on it would be perfect.” They walked quickly into the bushes that lined the on-ramp, out of sight of any onlookers, or the drivers. Jill was sure the truckers were wise to unwanted riders, but she also knew they would not expect hers and Python’s physical capabilities. Probably as soon as they had achieved fifteen or twenty miles an hour they would be watching the road, not their mirrors.
She let five or ten trucks pass in the next couple of minutes, getting a feel for the right place to get on, and crept through the bushes to set up.
“Lowboy,” Jill said as a heavy hauler revved through its first few gears. It carried a large earth mover, chained down but not covered. Fortunately it was a standard load size, without an attendant safety vehicle. “This is it.”
As it came past them, they dashed out of the undergrowth and ran up on the trailer from directly behind, to minimize their exposure to the driver’s vision. Then it was a simple thing to sprint up and climb aboard, even carrying a sack each. Soon they had settled in the lee of the airstream behind the behemoth’s steel treads.
“You sleep,” Jill told Python, hooking a leg over him to make sure he did not roll with the sway of the trailer. “I’ll wake you up later.”
He didn’t argue, but pillowed his head on his sack and went out like a broken bulb.
***
“Where are we?” Python asked as he started to sit up. Dawn’s early light was upon them.
Jill’s restraining hand kept him down. “We’re on I-35 coming up on Wichita. Stay down and still. I don’t want anyone spotting us from behind and alerting the driver he has ride-alongs.”
“Okay. I’ll stay awake, you get some sleep.” He pulled his sack from under his head and began to awkwardly rummage in it, pulling out a crushed food carton to eat flattened burger and cold fries.
Jill nodded and closed her eyes, exhausted.
She awoke as she felt the truck decelerating. Looking through gaps in the caterpillar tread, she saw the semi had turned off for a truck stop. Beyond the plaza she could see the edge of a municipality, presumably Oklahoma City.
“Get ready to jump off,” she warned. When the truck decelerated enough, they dropped off the back. A trucker behind them eyed the couple with disinterest as he drove past.
Glancing around, Jill couldn’t see any SS or police presence. Even so, she steered Python toward a picnic area away from the service building. “I’ve been wondering how they picked up on us before, and I have a guess,” she said.
“Besides two scruffy people getting out of an SS Humvee?”
“Yeah, well that’s the other possibility, bad luck. No, I was thinking biometrics. Our faces are in databases now. Maybe they tap in to the security cameras around the building, via the web. With martial law powers, I’m sure the Security Service is sucking up every bit of data it can.”
“So how do we beat that?”
Jill’s eyes narrowed as she rummaged in her dirty satchel, coming up with a burger and couple of stray fries. “Stay away from cameras. Stay hungry. Stay off the grid.”
“Okay. I’m getting used to starving.” He opened up his own bag and found a burger of his own, and half a cookie. “We’ll need water eventually, though.”
“Radiator refill hose,” Jill said, pointing with her chin. She finished off a plastic bottle and put its cap back on the empty.
“So what now? Steal a car, hop a truck?”
“Neither. Let’s see if I can find us a ride.”
“Why you?” he asked.
“Duh.” She unzipped her hoodie, tied up her t-shirt to show her rock-hard abs, and stood up. “Because most truckers are straight. But hey, if you want to look for one that isn’t…”
“Okay,” he said, putting up his hands. “I’ll refill the water bottles.”
“Keep your head down and your hood on. There are cameras above the pumps.” With that, she walked off to talk to truckers. Five minutes later she had secured a ride, but not with her bare midriff; it was her Corps tattoo that did it.
The driver looked about fifty, corpulent but still muscular, with ink on his arms that matched hers and a lot more. “Name’s Greg Hadley, Gunnery Sergeant, USMC, retired,” he said, shaking hands with them both. He turned Python’s arm over, holding onto it to look at his tattoos. “You been in,” he stated.
“Yeah, but I’m reformed now, boss,” Python responded humbly, and Jill almost snickered. Any con worth his salt knew when to suck up.
“As long as my sister in arms says you’re okay, you’re okay by me,” the man declared. “I was in the Gulf, you know,” he began, and for the next three hours he regaled them nonstop with war stories.
Now I know why we got the ride: he wanted an audience. Cheap at twice the price, Jill thought.
As they approached the Fort Worth area, the traffic began to slow down until it was creeping along. Up ahead they could see flashing lights from at least a dozen vehicles.
“Bad accident?” Greg asked, peering ahead.
Jill’s Eden eyesight reached farther. “No, looks like a checkpoint of some sort. Gunny, it’s been great, but we have to go.” She nudged Python to open the passenger door.
“Yeah, I don’t blame y’all,” Greg said wistfully. “Good luck, and stay away from Laredo.”
“Okay. Thanks,” Jill said. “Take care of yourself.”
“Ain’t nobody else will,” he replied with a wave.
They hopped off the running boards onto the shoulder next to the long line of traffic and then walked a few steps off into the verge. “Now what?” Python asked in exasperation.
“We go back, split up. You cross the traffic and walk along the other shoulder. They may be looking for a couple like us, or it may be a routine roadblock. Once you get parallel to the back of the line, where the cars are moving a bit, come on back.” Jill turned to walk northward as Python worked his way across the stopped traffic.
Once he had rejoined her, she pointed toward some nearby woods. “Let’s go there. I have an idea.”
As they descended the embankment they could see some sort of grand stadium-like structure off in the southwestern distance. “I think that’s a racing track. NASCAR or something,” Python remarked.
“Good,” she responded. “Railroad should be nearby.”
They picked their way across a cattle fence and crossed a pasture, eventually approaching a small herd of beef loitering near the tree line. The animals stared as they walked past and into the forested draw. On the other side, they found more field and pastureland, and they hurried along dirt roads, giving farmers on tractors friendly waves.
Some squinted suspiciously, but most of the folks seemed pleasant, or at least Texas-polite. Jill remembered she’d done some training at Corpus Christi and the culture shock had been severe. At first she’d wondered whether they were all faking it, but eventually came to understand that the cool Angeleno disdain she thought of as normal was as alien to the Lone Star State as their genuine respectfulness was to her.
Two women on gorgeous Palominos overtook them, tipping their Stetsons with sheepskin-gloved hands. It was a great day to ride, chill but sunny. “Mornin’. Where y’all headed?” the leather-faced older one asked with innocent curiosity.
“Los Angeles,” Jill replied with a casual smile. Always stick as close to the truth as possible, she thought.
“Los Angeles, West Virginia, Anchorage, Vladivostok…bad business. Pandora’s box.”
Jill connected the dots. “I’m sorry…Anchorage? Vladivostok? Do you mean they got nuked?”
“Yep, and a few more places I can’t pronounce, in China and Russia and some o’ those Stans. Kablinkistan or something. People goin’ crazy.” Her gelding tossed his head, as if agreeing. “How you fo
lks travelin’?”
“Hitchhiking, but the guy who gave us a lift made us get out before the interstate checkpoint. Guess we made him nervous.”
“Everyone’s nervous nowadays,” the pretty younger one echoed sympathetically. “Getting so you can’t go anywhere in your own country without some jackbooted thug from back east asking for your ID.”
“They’re not using Texans for local security?”
The older rider snorted, a sound that expressed disbelief and disgust. “Security. Don’t need no goddamned Federal security. The Rangers and sheriffs do just fine. Now they’re talkin’ about violating posse comitatus, callin’ up Texas Guard for duty up in Iowa and Nebraska, them camps, usin’ ’em against American citizens.” She patted a six-gun in a holster tied to her leg. “Reckon they might end up with a leetle uprisin’ here soon.”
Jill licked her lips and narrowed her eyes, not sure how far she could trust this outburst of local spirit. While she was dithering, Python made the decision for her.
“Is that a railroad line I see up there?” he asked, shading his face with his hand.
“You got good eyes there, sir,” declared the elder. “Union Pacific comes through here, transits Fort Worth, and there’s a spur that heads to El Paso and parts west. You thinkin’ about hoppin’ freight?”
Python shrugged. “Maybe.”
“Well,” she looked down at him speculatively, “you’re gonna want an express. Bypasses the rail yard. You’ll know it from three locomotives, y’hear? Two or one, it’s gonna stop in town. Three or more, generally speaking, gonna go through on the bypass.”
“Thanks,” he responded.
“Yes, thank you,” Jill seconded. “What should we call you?” she asked.
The rider shook her head. “Best don’t call me nothin’, ma’am. Best we just say so long and happy trails.”
The younger woman burst out laughing, and Jill did too. “You didn’t really just say that, did you, mama?” she guffawed.
Her mother’s eyes twinkled. “Just a bit of fun. You folks take care now.” She clucked her horse into a trot, and her daughter did the same, waving over her shoulder.
