Part 14 (1/2)
”I'm sorry, boys. You didn't expect it to be open, did you?”
Trent didn't say anything.
Alex answered, ”No, but it would have been cool to get one more Happy Meal toy. C'mon, Trent.” The oldest boy turned and headed back to the coach.
Trent looked up at the nomad, this man who said he had been all over the country. What had he seen? Had he seen anything at all? ”It's really all gone. Isn't it?”
Jerry placed a hand on the boy's shoulder. ”A lot has changed. There isn't much left of the world we knew. But, there are people out there. Good people. And, when good people get together, good things happen. The world may seem lost now, but in a few years things are going to start to change.”
He believed this. More than anything, Jerry had faith that mankind could make a better world than the one that mankind had blown up.
”Things are going to be good again, Trent. It may not be now, or five years from now, but soon.”
”So, I've got to wait five years for a f.u.c.king Happy Meal? Thanks, man. Good pep talk.” Trent shook the hand off of his shoulder and walked toward the McDonald's.
Of all the kids, Jerry liked Trent the least. ”I don't know what to tell you then, kid. If it'll help, I've got some juice boxes in the fridge.”
Trent's eyes lit up, ”You've got a fridge in there?”'
”Yes.” He had hoped for less whining, but Jerry had seemed to hit the mother lode of consolation prizes.
”No way!” Trent all but left an imprint of himself in the air as he ran back to the Silver Lining. His feet touched, only lightly, on the steps as he flew in to the cabin.
By the time Jerry had made it back to the coach, the boys were all taking turns opening and closing the miniature fridge door. Each would pop it open and stick their face into it, exhaling vast breaths, trying to watch a fog form in the air.
Jerry sat back down in the driver's seat. Erica sat next to him, where there were no questions being asked about her b.o.o.bs. ”Wow.”
”I know,” Jerry pulled the lever into drive. ”Just imagine when I tell them I have a TV back there.”
”You've got a TV back there?”
”Well, yeah, it's ...”
She wasn't there. She had bounced quickly to the back and located the remote.
SEVENTEEN.
Despite its rough appearance, the Mustang rode smoothly over the abandoned roads of post-apocalyptic Texas. The engine was loud and throaty, and as Logan s.h.i.+fted through the gears it was apparent that the drive train had been tenderly maintained.
”Okay, it's fast.” Sarah, having abandoned looking stern, grinned broadly as eroded mile markers whizzed by. She had her hand out the window playing with the wind as the pony car muscled it way down the road.
Logan beamed, ”I haven't seen anything faster. Only motorcycles have given her a run for her money.”
”So why not drive a motorcycle, big bad warrior?”
”A motorcycle doesn't offer much protection.”
”Protection from what? As long as you can *outrun trouble?'” She smiled as she mocked his earlier comment. The exhilarating ride had robbed her of the ability to frown.
”You can't outrun the rain.”
”The rain?”
”In some parts, the rain will kill you faster than a mutant. Plenty of the junk from the war is still floating around. The rain brings it down.”
”We haven't seen that here.”
”It's out there. And, when it hits, you've just got to hunker down and ride it out. Sometimes it can last for days.”
”I think you'd want something bigger then. Something with some room.”
”s.p.a.ce would be great. But having the speed is more important.”
”I don't know. There's got to be a few motor homes lying around. That's how I'd like to explore the new world.”
”You wouldn't want one.”
”Why not?”
”When choosing a wasteland vehicle you want something right in the middle, like my car. It's fast, not nearly as thirsty as a tank, and it's built solid.” He punched the roof of the car. A dull thud responded. ”That will keep the rain off and the mutants out.”
”I think you just like looking cool.”
”Well, there's that too.” He smiled at her and she smiled back. Not from the rush of the drive but in a direct response to his flirtation.
”Besides,” he continued, ”a motor home has its drawbacks.”
”Like what?”
EIGHTEEN.
”What do you mean it's stuck?” Erica shouted out the pa.s.senger window.
”I mean it's stuck,” he shouted down from the roof. ”If we try to go any further, we're not going to be able to get it out.”
”Well, that's just stupid.”
He knew he was doing the right thing by taking her and the boys to a safe town. Constant reminders were needed though, and he kept telling himself that it would be wrong to leave her on the side of the road.
”Okay. It's stupid.” He dropped to the ground and walked back to the front of the motor coach where the boys had gathered to see what a stuck motor home looked like. Chewy stood with them and seemed to be examining the problem as well.
Austin pulled at the collar of his bear suit to make his voice heard. ”Who would build a bridge that a car couldn't go under?”
”Don't be stupid. Of course they built it so cars can go under,” Trent snapped at his younger brother.