Part 16 (1/2)

I switched off Peggy Sue's lights and put down the kick-stand. ”Feel better?” I asked as I dismounted.

Gretchen punched me in the stomach, but because of the Moonsuit and a layer of cupcakes, it didn't hurt much. I stood with my hands on my knees, and the mist turned to rain.

Gretchen flipped up my faceplate. Despite the darkness, I could see the water soaking her hair and running down her face. ”My parents put you up to this, didn't they?” she said.

When I was able to stand upright, we started walking. I pushed the bike. Gretchen set a fast pace, and occasionally I ran in an attempt to catch up. Peggy Sue was heavy, though, and before long Gretchen was far enough ahead that I couldn't see her. When I did spot her again, it was because she was illuminated by the headlights of a vehicle coming from the north.

My first thought was that the Bald Avenger was after us again, but as I looked back I saw that the headlights sat too high to be the Jaguar's. I stopped walking and straddled the Ariel to pretend thatnothing was wrong, hoping that the unknown vehicle would pa.s.s by without slowing. I was more afraid of being hauled in than I was of being stranded in the rain.

Gretchen, however, was running down the shoulder toward me, waving her arms.

”Stop it!” I yelled. ”We don't know who that is!”

”I don'tcare who it is,” she said.

I grabbed Gretchen's wrists as she came close, but by then it was too late. A Winnebago slowed to a stop beside us. Lights came on inside, and the door opened.

An elderly couple smiled out. The husband, who was driving, asked, ”You folks having trouble?”

”No,” I said, while Gretchen said, ”Yes.”

”Need a lift?”

”Please,” Gretchen said, pulling away from me and starting toward the open door.

The wife's eyes widened. ”Dale, the radio, it talked about a motorbike, a blue suit...”

The husband's face switched to an expression of shocked recognition. He put the Winnebago into gear and hit the gas.

Gretchen ran after it, keeping pace with the open door for fifteen or twenty yards. ”I'm not with him!”

she cried. ”I've never seen him before! Wait, G.o.dd.a.m.n it!”

They didn't. I got off Peggy Sue and began pus.h.i.+ng again. When I reached Gretchen, she said, ”I hate you.”

”You can't,” I told her. ”You're my accomplice.”

I had judged that she was in too much discomfort to hit me this time, and I was right. She began walking beside me and the Ariel, calling us names now and then.

Another vehicle, a flatbed farm truck, came upon us from the same direction several minutes later, and it too slowed and stopped. Gretchen stared at it sullenly.

”What's up?” the driver asked. His cab light wasn't on, and I couldn't see his face. I could, however, see the faces of a teenage boy and girl sitting beside him.

”Just some mechanical difficulty,” I said. ”I can handle it, thanks.”

”You sure?” the man asked. ”Nearest town's Pumpkin Center, and there's nothing there. There's Lawton, of course, but that's another twenty miles.”

I considered. Twenty miles might as well have been fifty or a hundred. The Moonsuit was wet and heavy, and my Nikes were drenched. ”Well, I'd hate to leave my bike out here,” I said.

”Got a ramp,” the man said. ”Don't think she'll fall over if you ride back there with her. There isn't enough room up here for more than one more anyway.”

”That's me,” Gretchen said.

The pa.s.senger door of the truck opened, and the boy jumped out. ”Hop in,” he told Gretchen, and she did. Then he nodded toward the back of the truck and said, ”I'll give you a hand with your motorcycle, sir.”

I rolled Peggy Sue backward as the driver emerged. He was broad-shouldered and walked as if he were strong. He and the boy dragged a sheet of plywood from the flatbed and propped it on the tail.

The man vaulted up onto the bed. ”Push her up, and I'll grab the handlebars when she's high enough,” he said.

Peggy Sue and I were at the bottom of the ramp now, but I hesitated. It had occurred to me that I had no idea of what I was getting myself into.

”You sure you want to take us all the way into Lawton?” I asked.

”If you want,” the man said. ”To tell you the truth, though, it's awful late, and we live just a couple of miles from here. I've got a shop, so I could probably fix you up for less money than they'd stiff you in town.”

I became suspicious. ”Why would you want to do that?”

”I'm getting wet,” the boy said.

”Be polite, son,” the man said as he waved for me to bring the bike up. ”We've got a spare room. You and your wife look honest, and you could probably use some sleep. I promise we aren't thieves or backwoods cannibals.”

I pushed Peggy Sue up the ramp, and the man reached down to help. When we were almost up, I slipped and fell to one knee on the wet plywood, but the man caught the bike and kept her from falling.

”I'm Pete Holden,” he said as I scrambled to my feet.

”Thanks, Pete,” I said. ”I'm-Charles Hardin. I owe you one.”

”At least,” the boy muttered.

I rolled the bike to the front of the flatbed and propped her on the kickstand while Pete and his son shoved the ramp in after me. I would have to crouch beside the bike to hold her steady.

”I'll take it slow,” Pete said.

As they walked past on either side, my suspicion increased. They hadn't asked what Gretchen and I were doing out here. They hadn't asked why she was wearing such inadequate clothing. They were beingfar too helpful to possess entirely altruistic motives.

”Seen any TV lately?” I blurted.

Pete got into the cab without answering, but the boy paused and looked up at me.

”Television is the new opiate of the ma.s.ses,” he said. ”It tells them lies of peace and prosperity while they're slowly crushed by the iron heel of an oppressive and greedy aristocratic minority.” He got into the cab.

The truck started moving, and now I couldn't escape without abandoning Peggy Sue. All I could do was huddle in the cold rain as a stranger drove me toward whatever would happen next.

Soon, the truck left the highway for a muddy road and proceeded through countryside that alternated between flat, open fields and stands of soggy trees. The silhouettes of oil pumps nodded like rocking horses. The truck turned twice onto muddier, b.u.mpier roads, and I was afraid that Peggy Sue and I would be jostled into the ditch. My arms, shoulders, and back ached from holding the Ariel, and my fingers were numb.

Finally, the truck turned into a rock driveway that entered a grove, and I saw a mailbox with an attached sign that read ”Holden Welding and Motor Works.” Far back in the trees stood a one-story frame house with a porch light that illuminated a separate garage and a satellite dish. The truck stopped beside the garage, and I let go of the bike. When Gretchen, Pete, and the two kids came back to the bed, I was lying on my side.