The gate to the highway opened and the car in front pulled away. Jack edged next to the booth as the gate came quickly down again.
Jack knew that Christie had paid all the necessary fees weeks ago, so there should be no problem.
Still, he felt a bit of a chill when the guard, an automatic rifle slung over his shoulder, stepped up to the window.
Odd position for a cop to be in. This slight air of suspicion.
“Hi, folks. How are you doing today?”
Making small talk. A technique. Sometimes Can Heads could look normal, almost act normal. But if you talked to them, if you chatted to a Can Head, you’d know damn fast.
Shit, you could even sense it—or even smell it on them, on their clothes, on their breath. You’d see a stray red dollop marking their shirt.
“Going on a vacation, eh?” The guard flipped through the papers.
“Yes,” Christie said, smiling. The guard had lowered his head to get a good look inside. “Our first with the kids. We’re going to the Paterville Family Camp. In the mountains.”
The guard nodded, now looking right at Jack. “I hear it’s nice up there.”
Jack had trouble engaging in the chitchat, this little routine the highway cop had.
Could flash my badge, Jack thought.
Cut this short.
“Have there been any reports?” Jack said. “Any trouble, on the way up?”
The guard laughed as if it was a silly question.
“No. Nothing for weeks. Been real quiet. I think we got them on the run. In this state, at least. And you got a good steel-mesh fence, electrified all the way up there. I wouldn’t worry.”
The guard scanned the back of the Explorer, checking out the children.
“You have a nice vacation,” the guard said, backing away.
He went back to his booth and opened the gate. The two guards to the side, rifles at a 45-degree angle, watched the operation carefully. The gate moved up slowly. Then Jack gave the guard a nod, and pulled onto the entrance ramp.
They were on the Thruway.
Heading north, to the mountains. Their vacation had, Jack felt, really begun.
11. In the Backseat
Simon looked out the window. His parents sat so quietly. Usually they talked.
But now—just sitting so quiet.
He turned to look over to his sister. She had her nose in her book. That’s what Mom always said, You always have your nose in a book.
Simon didn’t like to read. Mom tried, and the more she tried the more he hated it.
Kate loved it.
He looked out the window. No one else on the highway. So empty, Simon thought. And the fence… he knew that a fence surrounded where they lived. He’d seen that lots.
But this tall fence with its curled wire at the top seemed much taller.
And every now and then… a sign.
Big red letters.
Simon read the words.
WARNING! THIS PROTECTIVE FENCE IS ELECTRIFIED.
The fence was electric. Why was that? Were the bad people on the other side? Is that why it had to be electrified?
He wanted to ask his parents.
But instead he just kept looking out the window.
As the car sped down the empty highway, as one sign after the other rushed by, Simon finally picked up his plastic men.
There was danger ahead for his action figures. They’d have to climb, then fight something big and evil.
But Simon didn’t know exactly what yet.
“I’m hungry!”
“Can’t you… shut up?”
Christie reached over and touched Kate’s knee. “Kate, no ‘shut ups,’ please.”
Christie watched Simon turn and make a face at his sister.
Gonna be a long ride, Christie thought.
“And Simon—no faces.”
“Mom, can you please make him stop? I want to read my book and not have him whining about food!”
Christie saw Jack raise his head to the rearview mirror. “You guys chill. Want to watch a video?”
Christie knew that was no solution. The two kids never agreed on a video. Sometimes it seemed as if Kate liked being defiant. She still enjoyed the big animated movies from years ago as much as Simon.
Contrary, thought Christie. She just likes being… contrary. Must be an age thing, a brother-and-sister thing.
Some kind of thing.
At least I get to experience what families have always experienced on vacation road trips.
One of the reasons people always looked forward to coming home.
“Okay, you two. How about food? We have some PB&J in the cooler. And those lemon drinks you like.”
“Yuck. I don’t like that stuff,” Simon said.
As if forced to agree, Kate added: “Me neither. Nothing else?”
“Some of that fruity yogurt too… different flavors…”
Christie knew that wasn’t a crowd-pleaser either. The yogurt had been invented using soy solids. And the supposed fruit? Clumps of color and artificial sweetener.
At least the PB&J used some peanut butter. So they said.
“Go on… it’s a long trip. Eat a sandwich. And just think of the great food we’ll have at the camp. Real food, hm?”
She saw the two of them look out the window, almost at the same moment.
As if looking out at this road, they didn’t really believe her. Real food? Something they had at home—what, once a week? Maybe less? The rest of the time it was all the manufactured stuff. Nutritious enough, so they said.
But how long could people eat that and not begin to miss real food, real taste in a way that almost ached?
“Kate, could you dig out a few sandwiches? A couple of drinks?”
Kate slowly turned away from the window and the highway outside.
She nodded, and then reached into a cooler sitting between her and Simon.
Sandwiches appeared. Then drinks in curved plastic bottles, lots of color.
“Want something, Mom? Dad?”
“No thanks,” Jack said too quickly.
Christie shot him a look as if to say this might have been a time for some food solidarity.
We’re in this together.
“Sure, honey. I’ll have one.”
Though Christie wasn’t hungry.
It didn’t taste very good.
She took the sandwich and smiled at Kate. Simon had already unwrapped his sandwich, half of it gone.
Couldn’t be too bad.
Christie gave her daughter a pat on the knee.
As if to say, I depend on you. And thanks.
She turned back to the front and waited just a few seconds before unwrapping her own uninviting sandwich.
Which is when she saw something black, sitting squarely in the center of the far-right lane, just ahead.
12. Rest Stop
Christie turned to him.
“What is it?”
It took only seconds for Jack to recognize the debris on the road: a large, curled piece of black tire tread. He slid over into the left lane.
He looked at the chewed-up tire as he drove by.
“Someone blew a tire.”
Nobody said anything for a minute.
Then:
“Someone blew a tire?” Christie said. “You make it sound like it’s an everyday occurrence.”