"Some army guys in a truck showed up at my son-in-law's place and took 'em away." The old man stared at Reese indignantly.
"They did?" Dennis looked at the sergeant, who looked hopeful at the news. Maybe they'd be on their way today if they could get in touch with these guys. "Did they say why?"
"I don't know why! I didn't get near enough to ask. I could see from the way they were behavin' that they weren't askin' my daughter to get on that truck."
"What about your son-in-law?" the sergeant asked.
"Him, too," Gruder snapped. "That boy never did have any gumption."
"His father was too strict with him," the principal said.
"He has no backbone. Never did."
The principal tightened her lips and said nothing. Dennis chalked her reaction up to long experience with opinionated parents.
"Do you have any idea where they might have gone next?" he asked Gruder.
"Well, how the hell would I know? I don't even know what they wanted with my daughter!"
"Well, what direction did they go in, and what would lie in that direction?"
The old man thought about it, looking at Reese suspiciously.
"I guess they were heading east, toward the Boucher place."
"How about if you took me and the sergeant and we tried to catch up with them?" Reese suggested.
"I dunno. Haven't got that much gas left," the old man grumbled.
"I thought you wanted to know what happened to your daughter," Dennis said.
"Well, of course I want…" The old man glared at him, then took his keys out of his pocket. "Okay, get your stuff," he finally said.
Dennis indicated his rumpled uniform. "This is my stuff."
"Me, too," the sergeant said.
"Then let's go," Gruder told them, and stalked off.
"Thank you," Dennis said to the principal.
"Good luck," she said. "Come see us again sometime."
* * *
They'd been driving for about forty minutes and Gruder was muttering nonstop about his gas when they spotted the olive-green truck. Reese reached over and honked the horn, earning an indignant glare from the driver. But the truck ahead of them slowed down and pulled over; the back was crowded with civilians, many of them looking thin and worn.
Reese hopped out of Gruder's truck and trotted over to the transport. "Lieutenant Dennis Reese," he said to the driver when he came up to the cab. "Army Corps of Engineers." He couldn't help but notice that the driver's uniform didn't match the designation on the side of the truck. A trickle of unease went through him. "What outfit are you with?" .
"National Guard, sir."
Reese gestured at the door. "This is a Regular Army truck," he pointed out. "Seventh Light."
"Yes, sir. And thank God it doesn't have a mind of its own."
Reese nodded. "What's going on here, Corporal? Where are you taking these people?"
"They're centralizing supply distribution," the driver said. "So we're taking people to a relocation camp where there'll be food and medical care."
Made sense, but… "I haven't heard anything about this,"
Dennis said.
"I wouldn't know anything about that, sir. I just pick people up. But I guess they're doing things as best they can."
Reese considered that. If the army was cooperating with the National Guard, there would have to be a considerable amount of improvising and no doubt certain things would fall through the cracks.
"Would you care to come with us, sir?" the corporal asked.
"It's a bit crowded back there, but I think we can still offer you a lift."
"I'll take you up on that," Reese said. "Just let me tell our friend back there what's going on."
"He can come, too," the driver offered.
"I'll tell him," the lieutenant said, "but I doubt he'll leave his truck behind. Where's this camp located?"
"The Germantown fairground," the corporal said.
Reese nodded and went to tell Gruder.
"Somethin's not right here," the old man said, glaring at the transport.
"Nothing's been right since the bombs fell, sir. You're invited to come with us if you like."
"I'm not about to abandon my truck, young man!"
"That's what I told the corporal," Dennis said with a grin.
Then he turned serious. "But if they're centralizing supplies, then they won't be delivering any to this area. That means when you run out, there won't be any more."
" Then maybe I'll look for this camp of theirs." Gruder scowled fiercely. "Think my daughter will be all right, then?"
"I'm sure she will, sir."
"All right, then. I guess it makes sense to do it this way."
Gruder shook his head. "Just wish they'd told us first."
As Reese and the sergeant walked to the transport, the old man turned his Chevy and drove off.
"Think he'll be all right?" the sergeant asked.
"As all right as any of us." Dennis glanced over his shoulder at the disappearing truck. "Yeah. He's a self-sufficient old coot.
He'll be fine." He hoped that his father was all right. He hoped he'd be able to find out soon.
BRITISH COLUMBIA
When they arrived at the camp Balewitch instructed the guards to direct the buses and the first two trucks to the women's section and the others to the men's. The guards nodded, eying the military uniforms of the drivers warily. She looked up and saw Ore coming out of his office, a grim look on his ascetic face.
The camp itself resembled photos she'd seen of Nazi concentration camps, or even the American concentration camps where the Japanese had been imprisoned during World War II. Barbed-wire fences and large, stark buildings, guard towers, and klieg lights on tall poles left an impression on the mind. The movies usually didn't include the gray, sloppy mud and the sour smell, though.
She knew that most of the inmates were horrified at their first glimpse of the place. It always took a degree of happy talk to calm them down and endless assurances that this was only temporary, that they'd be moving on in less than ten days.
Balewitch nearly split a gut when Ore said, "You should see the look on the Jews' faces when we offer them a shower."
She and Dog got out of the truck and it drove off. It was amazing how quickly they'd gotten used to that. Well, she supposed it was easy when you were in no danger yourself.
"What's going on?" Ore asked them quietly when he got close.
Balewitch handed him a copy of the lieutenant's orders. He read them quickly and looked up at her, astonishment in his eyes. She nodded and he smiled slowly.
"This should speed things up nicely," Ore said with satisfaction.
"I assume that Ron hasn't neglected our other holiday camps,"
Dog said.
Ore shook his head in wonder. "I have no idea. Let's go ask him." He turned to lead the way to his office and the computer that still connected them to the mysterious "Ron Labane."
"Wait a minute," Balewitch said. The young lieutenant had hopped down from one of the trucks and was approaching.
"Sir, are you in charge here?" the young soldier asked, his boyish face crunched into an expression of concern.
Ore nodded and smiled. "Sam LaGrange," he said heartily, and stuck out his hand. "And you are?"
"Lieutenant Ron Goldberg." He gestured at the camp. "This place…" Words seemed to literally fail him.
"Yeah, it's pretty raw," Ore said. "But then it went up in an incredible hurry and it's just a temporary refuge. A staging area before these people will be sent on to Canadian towns and cities for a more permanent arrangement. As you know, the Canadians suffered less than the U.S. did."
The lieutenant still looked uncomfortable with his surroundings, but he was clearly making an effort not to show it.