CHAPTER ONE
Jack
We came on across the dry land in our second Chrysler 300 with our trunk stuffed full of food and water. Every time we saw a market, or a farm with a greenhouse, we stopped to investigate and take whatever we could store and carry.
Snake stood for hours with his back paws on the floorboard and his forepaws on the broad console between the front seats. Turq, the turquoise-shirted Taker who had saved me from a painful death, occupied the shotgun seat to my right. He was my wingman. Carlos, my buddy the Harley rider, lay in the back seat on a mound of pillows and quilts, still healing from some of his burns even after all these weeks.
Thad, the attorney from my hometown of Eden, Texas perished in the firestorm we started in New Mexico. That’s also where we picked up Turq. We lost an attorney but gained a monster. Some would say we made an even trade. I wish Thad was here to appreciate the joke. He had a wicked dark sense of humor when he wasn’t drinking.
My mind wandered back over the last few days. The monotonous sand-toned landscape wanted to sing me to sleep. The hot air punching through the wide-open windows wanted to roast me.
We’d all grown accustomed to riding in the first car with no windows at all, thanks to the battle at the buffalo jump, so even though we’d picked up another Chrysler in Levelland—silver this time—we sometimes rolled down the windows instead of running the AC.
Carlos said the wind rushing through the car made him think he was back on his Harley before the battle that almost killed us. It made sense to me. Without radio or music of any kind, the sound of prairie wind probably seemed the same as riding on a motorcycle.
I stuck my head out the window to test my theory and to try and stay awake.
That’s when I saw the tall man in the distance. He stood beside a gray Dodge Challenger that had seen better days. His long scraggly hair fluffed around his face like cotton candy. His skin was pale.
Night traveler, I thought. No sunburn. No tan. Why’s he out in the daylight now? I had learned to be suspicious of everyone and everything.
I let the Chrysler slow.
He appeared to be filling the Challenger’s gas tank from a red and yellow plastic container exactly the way we’d been doing.
We were still a little way off, but on this stretched ribbon of earth, it was easy to see the man and his task.
“Whaddya think, Snake,” I said. “Good guy, or bad guy?”
My four-legged buddy whined in response. I believe he understands everything I say even though he is stone deaf.
