Busted Flush

Political Science 301

Walton Simons & Ian Tregillis

HIS BUTT WAS SORE from getting bounced around in the back of the truck, but at least they were getting far away from BICC. Zane, the last of Niobe’s babies, was keeping them camouflaged, but the kids apparently didn’t live more than a few days and Zane might not be around much longer. The truck was stacked full of packages, and it was stuffy and cramped inside. In spite of the gas shortage, some things still absolutely, positively needed to get there overnight.

Drake felt the truck turn and slow, then stop entirely.

“If he opens up, do we stay or go?” Drake asked.

Niobe took a moment, then softly replied, “We get out.”

He heard footfalls on gravel moving around the side of the car to the back, then the door opened. The driver stood on the right side and lit up a cigarette. Niobe gave Drake a gentle nudge. He sidled quickly and quietly past the man and into the driveway of what turned out to be a county courthouse. They moved far enough away from the truck to be out of earshot and checked their surroundings. It had the look of a small town, with few buildings taller than two stories, even in what appeared to be downtown. Drake spotted a water tower and squinted to make out the print on its metallic tank.

“I know this place,” he whispered. “We’re in Pecos.”

“Well, that’s something,” Niobe said. “Now we just need to figure out where we’re going.”

There were few people on the streets, and even fewer cars on the road. A number of the locals had obviously decided bicycles were a good way to get around, as a half dozen were in plain view.

Drake eyed a nearby bike and tugged at Niobe’s shirt. “Come with me and have Zane keep us covered.”

The trio headed over to the bicycle and Drake snatched a backpack from its wire rack. Niobe gave him a disapproving look, but when Drake fished out a plastic water bottle, her expression changed to a smile.

“You have some first,” she insisted.

Drake took several deep gulps. In spite of being lukewarm, it was the best water he’d ever tasted. He handed the bottle to Niobe and checked out the rest of the contents of the backpack. The big find was a knife, which might come in handy. The other stuff inside was a bust, and included a shirt, sweatpants, and a copy of Aces! magazine.

Niobe suddenly looked at Zane, panic on her face.

“Not now,” Niobe said, looking around frantically. “Please.”

A champagne-colored Ford Taurus was pulling out of the parking lot of a hardware store across the road. Niobe pointed to it and dragged Drake toward the car at a near run. She held her remaining child to her chest.

An instant later the Taurus disappeared, but not its driver. He swiveled his head, then grasped frantically for the unseen door latch. Finding it, he leapt out of the car and sprawled onto the parking lot. The car popped back into view and Niobe jumped in behind the wheel of the slowly moving car, Zane still clutched to her. Drake didn’t need to be told what to do. He ran around to the passenger side and got in. Niobe set Zane on the seat between them and backed out. The man pointed with an open mouth at his car.

“Go right,” Drake said. “Head east on I-20.”

They weren’t far from Pyote, from home. Drake didn’t believe it was blown up. The people at BICC were all liars, so why would they have told him the truth about Pyote?

Niobe looked down at Zane, tears starting in her eyes. He puddled out on the seat as Niobe was reaching for him.

“I’m sorry,” Drake said, knowing how sad losing her kids made Niobe. “We’d never have gotten away without him.”

“No,” Niobe said, and then she was quiet.

Drake didn’t know what else to say so he kept his mouth shut. An idea occurred to him and he started taking the backpack apart. First, he pulled out the laces. They were still in pretty good shape, not brittle or frayed. One of the laces was slightly longer than the other, which was ideal for his purpose.

He cut a rectangular piece of leather from the shoulder strap and carefully bored a hole in either end with the point of his knife, then trimmed the sides so that the remaining piece of leather resembled an elongated octagon. After working the laces through the eyeholes in the leather, he tied them off and created a loop at the end of the longer lace, just big enough for his finger.

“A sling,” Niobe said when he showed her the finished product. “You ever used one before?”

Drake shrugged. “Made one as a kid, I mean a really young kid, but I didn’t use it much. I’m going to practice getting good at this thing. You’d be surprised how far and fast you can toss a stone.”

Without Zane, they’d have to be much more careful about the people from BICC who were after them, for sure. More careful about everything.

Clouds hid the moon and stars, making it hard to see anything, but Drake knew where he was going. They’d hidden their stolen car behind a small rise. By now the cops were looking for it and it was getting low on gas anyway. Drake placed his feet carefully as they scaled the hill. It would be easy for one of them to stick a foot in a hole and twist an ankle, or worse. A broken bone and it was over. They’d be captured for sure. He wasn’t sure what they’d do to Niobe, but it wouldn’t be good. Drake they would probably kill. He remembered the tone Justice had used when they put Drake in the high-security wing. Like he was going to death row.

“Almost there,” Niobe said, balancing herself with a hand on the dried and dusty ground.

Drake dug in with his feet and hands, using the last of his strength to make it to the top of the hill. Then he collapsed into a sitting position, head down, panting for breath.

“Drake, look.”

He raised his head and looked at the horizon. The sky was glowing red and orange, like the aurora borealis but in the wrong color. Drake knew what it meant. It meant it was true. He was a murderer. He’d killed his own family and everyone else in town.

Niobe put a hand on his shoulder.

“Leave me alone, okay?” He shrugged her hand off his shoulder. “Don’t . . . don’t touch me.” He collapsed to his knees, staring at the fire on the horizon where his home and family had been. Maybe it would go away if he just kept looking at it.

The glow continued to flicker across the night sky.

Maybe Justice and the rest were right. Maybe he did deserve to die. Drake closed his eyes. He beat the ground with his fists, sending dirt and sand flying. He’d never believed in hell, but now he’d made one. His family was there, and his friends, pretty much everything he’d ever known. Drake stood and started walking toward the distant glow. It was where he belonged, in hell with everyone else.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, pulling him back. “Drake, I’m sorry, but we need to get going if we’re going to find shelter before dawn. We can’t go that way.”

Drake did not have the strength to fight her. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Wordless, he turned away from the blazing ruin that had been Pyote, and didn’t look back.

Drake stumbled. Niobe caught his arm, steadied him. “Easy, kiddo,” she said. “I got ya.” She gave his arm a little squeeze before letting go.

He shuffled off like a sleepwalker. His body was going through the motions, but his mind was elsewhere.

She wished she still had her children. Drake needed Cameron, her piebald little healer, whose touch erased pain in its myriad forms. Or Gabriella, with her electric blue hair and infectious laughter. Or even Wynn, who sealed away one memory with every paper crane she folded. But they were gone, reduced to stains and memories before Niobe met Drake.

Niobe and Drake followed the contour of the hill until they found themselves standing at the edge of what appeared to be an arroyo. It stretched into the darkness to both left and right. She hoped it was shallow, so that they could cross it directly. She was too tired for detours.

Niobe pulled Drake a few steps back from the edge. “Here. Let me climb down first.”

She crawled backward on her hands and knees. Gravel scraped her palms and dirt packed itself beneath her fingernails. She moved until her ankles dangled over the edge. First her ankles, then her shins, then her knees. She was perched with her waist on the edge of the arroyo when her feet sank into soft sand.

“We’re in luck. It’s shallow.”

Drake needed her help to climb down. His legs were too short and he was moving like a marionette with tangled strings. Random, purposeless.

The poor kid was slipping deeper into his own head. Probably reliving memories of Pyote. She wondered if he’d had a large family. Drake’s file at BICC had been scarce on biographical details.

“Wait,” she said, when he trudged off again. “Let’s take a break.” The sand shifted as she sat down, making a depression where she could rest her tail. The sand was damp beneath the surface. It made the seat of her sweatpants clammy, but this was still the most comfortable she’d been since leaving BICC. “Oof. This feels nice. I could lie down right here.”

Drake plopped down unceremoniously, as though a capricious puppeteer had cut his strings altogether. He mumbled something.

“What’s that, Drake?”

“Might flood,” he said.

“We’ll get going in a minute. Just need a breather.”

Niobe knew he was right. He’d warned her about flash flooding in the desert. It didn’t take much for a rainstorm to spawn a deadly gullywasher. But she had larger concerns at the moment. She scooted closer to Drake. Sand trickled into her sweatpants.

“How you doing, kiddo?”

His shrug was so minute as to be almost invisible. She nodded in companionable silence.

A gritty breeze ruffled his hair. It dusted them with ash, traced new patterns of moonlight and sand along the soft bed of the arroyo. She hoped Drake didn’t notice how the wind from Pyote smelled like soot.

She couldn’t see his face; a cloud bank had swallowed the moon. Maybe it was time to get out of the arroyo.

“You know, Drake, there was a time when I hated my power and I hated myself for having it. It just hurt so damn much. But I eventually realized that if I didn’t have my power, I’d miss out on lots of happiness, too.”

He pulled away from her. “I’m not happy about what I . . . about what happened.” His shoulders shook freely now.

“No, no, of course not. I’m not saying that. All I’m saying is that sometimes it takes a while to understand the full extent of these things. I used to think that my power was useless and cruel. But it isn’t. We wouldn’t have made it this far without my children. You see?”

“Nothing . . . good . . .” Drake struggled to force the words out between sobs. He fell against Niobe, pushed his face into her shoulder. “. . . killed them . . .”

He stopped holding everything in. Finally.

She held him while he cried. The moon set. He cried. The clouds thickened. He cried.

It didn’t rain.

Drake was tired from their cross-country journey, but the thought of the BICC and cops on their trail kept him going. He’d done some practicing with his sling when they stopped to rest, but hadn’t come close to hitting what he was aiming at. He was determined to get better at it, though.

They were near Wink, but the blazing remains of Pyote from the previous night were still etched in Drake’s mind. Niobe decided they should move only after dark. Without Zane, a chopper could sneak up on them too easily, given how little cover there was. Tonight they weren’t going any farther, though. Niobe had twisted her ankle earlier and it was still pretty swollen. She’d picked an area of scrub not far from a farmhouse for them to hide out in. It was a moonless night and she’d already crashed out. Her heavy, even breathing annoyed Drake, since he dreaded going to sleep. The dreams didn’t come all the time, but they seemed more real now because he knew they were true.

Drake couldn’t do much about most of the things that were making him miserable, but he had a plan for getting some food. A hope, anyways, if he was lucky; he was due in that department. The nearby farmhouse was a two-story job, which meant the bedrooms were almost certainly upstairs. There hadn’t been a single bark to indicate the presence of a dog, since a pooch would have killed his plan altogether.

Moving as quietly as possible, Drake headed toward the house. There was a chain-link fence around the yard and he walked around it, looking for an alarm sign. Nothing. He struggled over the fence and plopped down on the other side, then crouched and hurried toward a shingled wall. Drake gathered himself for a moment and took deep breaths. The reality of breaking into a house was a little scarier than he’d thought it would be. He walked slowly to the back door, noting that there was no food bowl there. No dog for sure. Drake grasped the cold, metal handle on the screen door and it turned with a click. He crept up the steps and let the door close behind him.

Once inside, he took time to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. There was a single doorway leading into the house proper. He spotted a refrigerator directly on the right. Excited as he was, Drake waited a long time before opening the fridge door.

A rush of cold air from inside the refrigerator ran over Drake, but he hardly noticed. He grabbed a carton of milk and set it on the floor. This was the closest thing to happy he’d been in a long time. He closed the door and took a gulp of milk.

The beam from the flashlight caught him flush in the eyes. “Hold it right there, Mr. Thief.” If the shotgun hadn’t told Drake the man meant business, his voice sure enough did.

Drake raised his arms over his head. “Don’t shoot, mister. I was just hungry.” His heart was thumping in his chest.

The man turned on the kitchen light. He was old and had more hair in his bushy beard than on his head. He set the flashlight down on the kitchen counter. “Well, son, you can get food at a restaurant or a supermarket. My house isn’t either one.” He kept the gun leveled at Drake.

“I didn’t mean anything. Just let me go and you’ll never see me again.” Drake pointed at the food he’d left on the floor. “Want me to put it away for you?”

The old man shook his head. “You go sit over there.” He nodded toward the breakfast table.

Drake did as he was told.

“I’ll get the county sheriff out here. He’ll give you something to eat. And plenty more besides.” The old man moved to the doorway Drake had come in through and picked up the phone from a handset mounted on the wall.

“Please.” Drake started to feel . . . wrong. He tried to control his fear, push it deep down into his gut. It was going to happen again and there was nothing he could do about it.

“Put down the phone, or I’ll blow your head off.” Drake recognized Niobe’s voice. His panic went away. “Get down on your knees and set the gun down behind you,” she said.

Drake saw that Niobe had only a piece of pipe in her hand, pressed against the back of the old man’s head. If the man turned around it was game over. But he didn’t. He knelt and set the shotgun down.

“Find something to blindfold and tie him up with,” Niobe said, then mouthed “no names.” Drake understood.

Minutes later the man was bound and his eyes covered with a bandana.

“I’m cooperating,” the old guy said shakily. “No need to do anything stupid.”

They carried him into the next room, out of easy earshot.

It was a bedroom. Niobe took care not to brush the man with her tail, and to keep it hidden behind her back in case he could peek under the bandana, while she and Drake half lifted, half pushed him onto the bed. Mostly they pushed; Drake was too short and too weak, and her bad ankle wouldn’t let her take most of the weight.

Drake panted quite a bit from the exertion. The kid needed to eat some vegetables.

The exertion worsened the throbbing in her ankle. She whispered in Drake’s ear. “Check the bathroom. Try to find some painkillers. Aspirin, ibuprofen, whatever,” she said. “But leave any prescription bottles alone.”

He went. Niobe stayed behind, keeping an eye on their prisoner. Thanks to Drake the Feds would have a new lead on their location as soon as this man freed himself.

They needed help. She considered propositioning the man. It would obliterate their attempts at anonymity, but with luck her children could more than make up for that.

And then she realized she was thinking like Pendergast. Children as tools, means to an end. Never. Never.

Then again, Drake didn’t have a chance if she didn’t have another clutch soon.

She argued with herself, hating herself from both sides, until she noticed the computer on the desk in the corner. A beige box and a small monitor, with little brown smudges on the mouse and keyboard from years of use.

“Do you have an Internet connection here?”

The man on the bed was silent for several moments. He realized she was talking to him. “What?”

“Does your computer have Internet?”

“Now why the hell would I want that?”

Niobe slumped against the wall. For a moment, the briefest of moments, it had felt like they actually had hope. With an Internet connection, she could have sent a message to Michelle, could have begged her for help.

She roused herself, fearing what it would do to Drake if he witnessed her despair. She went through the closet. This, more than anything else, made her feel like a true burglar. But until Niobe had another clutch, they needed better disguises.

The man on the bed heard her rummaging through his things. “Take anything,” he said. “Just don’t kill me.”

Niobe said, “We won’t hurt you. I promise.” She rummaged through the closet. “We’re not here for your money or valuables, either.”

She found a skirt that fit. It was sized for a full-figured woman, which was perfect for hiding Niobe’s tail. She wondered where the man’s wife was. Then she saw the jewelery atop the dresser, one gold band and one diamond ring, next to a wedding photo of a smiling couple. The groom was a younger version of the man trussed up on the bed; the bride was a zaftig brunette. One corner of the photo was draped with a black velvet band.

“I’m truly sorry for your loss,” said Niobe.

“Gather up whatever food you want to take and put it in a garbage bag, then wipe down everything else you touched with this.” Niobe gave him a handkerchief. “Hurry.”

Drake quickly grabbed bread, cold cuts, cheese, some bananas, and a few other items like matches and the flashlight. After putting his loot into the bag, he dutifully wiped down the fridge door and chair for prints.

Niobe gave him a stern look and jerked her head toward the back door.

“What in the world did you do that for?” she asked, once they were safely outside. She was limping noticeably.

Drake shrugged. “I was hungry. I just want to try and feel normal again. Food helps. At least, it used to.”

“I understand. Let’s get as far from this place as we can before morning. Those knots are tight, but he’ll get out of them eventually.”

“Found these. They might help.” Drake jingled a set of car keys.

“Good boy,” she said, extending an open palm. He reluctantly dropped the keys into her hand.

They headed over to the garage and swung the creaky doors open. Inside was a beat-up blue Suburban. Niobe unlocked the driver’s side door and let Drake in. She inserted the ignition key and turned it. The engine made a feeble effort at turning over, then died.

“Out of gas,” she said.

The air went out of Drake. “This is Texas. How can people here be out of gas? There’re oil rigs everywhere.”

“Looks like we’re still on foot,” Niobe said, easing out from behind the wheel. “Wipe anything in the car you touched and let’s get out of here.”

Drake used his shirttail to do as she asked. “Are you okay to walk?”

“I’ll be fine.” She started off again, slowly, Drake at her heels.

He felt like there was a bottomless, black pit ahead of them somewhere in the distance, waiting to swallow him up. When the time came, Drake wasn’t sure he wouldn’t just walk right in.

Drake’s skin was bright red from panhandling all morning. Niobe stayed hidden—the Feds had their descriptions plastered everywhere—so her sunburn was milder. She watched him from the shadows of an alleyway, where she sat on a trash can, trying to ignore the pain in her ankle.

The plastic shopping bag jingled when he set it at her feet. They’d fished it out of a trash can in front of the Walgreens around the corner. Now it was heavy with coins.

“Got a few quarters in here,” he said.

Niobe fished through the bag. Mostly pennies. And a few paper clips. And lint. And gum wrappers. But here and there, sunlight glinted on dimes, nickels, and quarters. She counted out a couple of dollars.

“Good job.” Niobe handed him the coins. He looked to be on the verge of heat stroke, the poor kid. “Why don’t you go into the store and get an ice cream sandwich and some water. It’s air-conditioned in there.”

“Want me to get you anything?”

“Nah. I’m good,” she lied. “Enjoy the ice cream but don’t wander off, okay?”

“Yeah. I know.”

She waited for him to disappear around the corner before taking up the bag and walking to the far end of the alley, where the shadows smelled like urine and worse things. The coins were heavy. The handholds in the plastic dug into her fingers.

The bag jingled again when she set it down in front of the crude cardboard shelter under the fire escape. It was basically just a refrigerator box, but the bundle of rags inside was a man.

“Hey,” she said. “I’m back.”

The man sat up. His face was streaked with grime. He picked at his hair. “You again. What’d you bring me?”

Niobe nudged the bag with her toe. “There’s a little more than four dollars in here. That’s ten dollars, counting the six I gave you yesterday.” Which meant sticking around here for an extra day, she thought. A day better spent on the move.

When he didn’t say anything, she continued. “That was our agreement, remember? Ten dollars.”

The homeless man hunched over the bag and picked through it rapidly with two fingers, like an inexpert typist. “Lotsa pennies. Can’t do much with pennies.”

“Please,” she whispered. We won’t last much longer without this. Every second wasted in negotiation made her nervous. Drake would come back soon and she didn’t want him to know about this. He’d feel guilty about it.

The man’s gaze flitted between the bag full of change and Niobe’s face. She tried to angle her body to keep the worst of her acne in the shadows.

The man grunted. “ ’Kay.” He motioned Niobe to lie down in his nest.

“I—I can’t do it that way.” She playfully waggled the tip of her tail at him. The look in his eyes made her worry that he’d back out, and she regretted the vain attempt at bonhomie. But he shrugged, and relented.

After that, they worked out the mechanics quickly enough. He breathed with his mouth open, grunting in short little bursts. It smelled like he had a rotten or abscessed tooth. Niobe prayed it was his only health problem, and that if he was an addict, he wasn’t using needles.

She jumped to her feet as soon as she felt the first egg forming. Her erstwhile partner rolled over, cleaned himself on his bedding, and didn’t stir after that.

Trash cans rattled as she doubled over in pain. Her ovipositor widened and deposited the first egg under the fire escape. She already had the names picked out. Avender, Aubrey, and Abernathy, for boys; Agatha, Akina, and Allie for girls.

Another egg followed the first. Only two children this time around: a smaller than average clutch. Maybe they’ll be twins, Niobe mused.

She felt the first tickle of consciousness, a tentative hello at the world, as the eggs hatched.

Momma? thought Avender.

Ave, my darling! Give me a kiss.

Momma, he thought, I don’t feel very well.

Niobe’s heart felt like it had been punctured with an icicle.

No. No, no, no no no no no. Not now.

Avender popped out of his egg. The boy was slender and beautiful, covered in fine golden hair, though missing one hand. He took a step toward his mother. “Mom,” he said. “I lo—” It trailed off into a gurgle. He toppled over, clutched his stomach, then melted.

His sister Agatha also drew the Black Queen.

Niobe was still crying beside the puddles when Drake returned.

West Texas was the platonic ideal of hot, arid desolation. No people, no cars, just scrubland and dirt. It felt downright post-apocalyptic. Which, given what Niobe had seen of Pyote, wasn’t so far from the truth.

They’d been walking since before midnight. A band of pink on the eastern horizon limned the gray sky; sunrise in the offing. The nascent day felt bright as noon to Niobe’s dark-adapted eyes. When she stumbled over a snag of sagebrush or a dry streambed, it was from exhaustion.

They walked through a field, parallel to the highway but roughly fifty yards away, so that they wouldn’t be seen. Not that it mattered—they hadn’t seen a car all night.

Water sloshed in the near-empty bottle when she went to take a swig. Dawn twisted through the thin plastic, forming a little hourglass-shaped spot of light on Niobe’s blouse. Two swigs left, at most.

She called ahead to where Drake trudged through the field. “Here. Finish off the water.”

He didn’t stop, didn’t slow down.

“Hey, Drake. I’m talking to you.”

The only sound from Drake was the scraping of his tennis shoes on hard-packed soil as he stepped around a creosote bush.

Niobe raised her voice. “You could have the courtesy to pretend to listen. I’m trying to help you, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Drake was becoming increasingly sullen. He’d withdrawn into himself again. They hadn’t spoken about it, but clearly the Black Queen clutch had demolished his hopes.

Hers, too. She’d keep Drake alive as long as she could, though without help that wouldn’t be long at all. In the meantime a little cooperation would have been nice. Maybe even a “thanks” now and then.

The bitterness receded as quickly as it had washed over her, leaving in its wake a profound shame. She hoped it was exhaustion making her feel this way. Resentful. Irritable. Or maybe she wasn’t as maternal as she liked to think.

She picked up her pace, drew even with Drake after a few strides. “Drink this,” she said, holding the bottle under his nose.

“Yeah. Okay.” She studied him while he unscrewed the cap and drained the bottle. His sunburn didn’t appear to be getting any worse. They’d swiped a tube of aloe vera lotion and some SPF 45 sunscreen from the farmhouse.

Something twinkled on the horizon. Then it disappeared. Then a flash and another twinkle. It came from where the highway receded into the distance.

“Car coming,” she said.

Drake shrugged. He tossed the empty bottle aside. He knew better than that—they might be able to refill their bottles, if they got lucky. He was giving up; the decision manifested in countless little gestures, actions, evasions.

She examined the glint on the horizon. For all she knew, it was a cop or state trooper. But this death march was killing them just as surely as SCARE would. Sleeping in ditches all day, walking all night . . . It had to stop.

The car was closer now, a rapidly growing blob of red and silver visible through the haze. It was still the only car in either direction.

“Stay here,” she said. “Keep yourself hidden.”

Niobe took a deep breath, then half jogged across the field to the middle of the two-lane highway. Her ankle screamed in pain, but she ignored it as best she could. She stopped, facing the oncoming car.

Drake hunched down behind a bush. He called, “What are you doing?”

“We need a ride.” The white-noise hiss of tires on asphalt reached her ears. Niobe swallowed, trying to keep the anxiety out of her voice. “Stay hidden, Drake.”

She could see it more clearly now. A rounded, burgundy-colored thing bearing down on her. No lights on top, though with Niobe’s luck it would probably turn out to be an unmarked cop car. Or SCARE.

Niobe raised her arms, palms out, toward the approaching vehicle. The car’s shape became apparent in the rapidly closing distance. She recognized it from television commercials she’d seen back at BICC. A gas/electric hybrid. That makes sense, I guess. The question was whether or not the driver could see her.

The car didn’t slow down. She waved her arms.

Closer. Louder. Niobe clenched her eyes shut when she could hear the whine of the engine.

The road noise lessened, the engine relaxed. Niobe cracked one eye open. The car was rolling to a halt.

Sunlight glare on the wide windshield prevented Niobe from seeing inside the car. She waved, tossing out thanks as she trotted over to the driver’s side.

The window slid down with the whirr of an electric motor. Niobe got a strong whiff of clove cigarettes.

“Thank you so much for stopping,” said Niobe.

“By Crom’s beard! You scared the daylights out of me.”

Niobe had no idea who “Crom” was supposed to be. But that wasn’t the odd thing about the woman behind the wheel. Not compared to the fur-lined chain-mail bikini, the crimson-colored cape, and the axe sitting on the passenger seat. The bikini did not complement the woman’s figure.

“I . . . uh . . .” Was that a sword on the backseat? Niobe wondered if heat stroke had scrambled her brain.

“What brings you out here, noble wanderer?”

“Huh?”

“Nah, never mind. Need a ride?”

“Yes. Badly. Please.”

“It’s traditional to just stick out your thumb when you’re hitching.”

“We’ve been out here for hours. There aren’t any cars to hitch rides from.”

The woman raised her eyebrows. “We?”

Damn. “Yes. Me and my friend.” Niobe waved at Drake, motioning him to join her. “We ran out of gas money back in Wick,” she improvised.

“You’ve been on foot since Wick?”

Niobe nodded. That much was mostly true, anyway.

The driver stuck her head out the window. She gave Niobe the once-over, then the same for Drake.

“You guys have been on foot too long,” she said.

“Tell me about it,” said Niobe. “Please, may we ride with you? Just for a while?”

Niobe had never imagined that the clunk of electric door locks could sound so sweet. She felt like crying. “Thank you. Thank you,” she repeated.

Drake hurried over. Niobe opened the back door for him. He wrinkled his nose at the cigarette odor, but it didn’t stop him from scrambling inside.

“Next stop, Barbarian Days,” said the driver as Drake buckled his seat belt.

Niobe and Drake exchanged a silent look. Barbarian Days? He shrugged.

It sounded like some kind of festival. Well, that explained the outfit. Niobe held the axe in her lap when she buckled in. It was plastic.

The driver raised her window. She clicked the air-conditioning up a notch. The car was surprisingly silent when they pulled away, causing Niobe a moment’s disorientation when the landscape outside the car started to slide past them. She had never ridden in a hybrid.

“You getting enough air back there, kiddo?” Niobe turned, looked over the seat. Drake’s eyes were closed.

She slumped down in her seat, tempted to drift off under the caress of chilled air. It felt like heaven. The upholstery stank like a cheap bar, but at least her feet could rest.

“I’m Mandy,” said the driver.

Niobe blurted out the first name that sprang to mind. “Yvette,” she said. She motioned toward the backseat with a nod of her head. “That’s Xander, in back.”

“So,” she continued. “Barbarian Days.”

The driver smirked. “Never been, I take it.”

“No.”

“Lots of people there. Maybe not so many nowadays, with the oil crisis.” She paused to light a cigarette.

“It hasn’t stopped you,” said Niobe.

“Most of the time I work behind a desk, processing medical billing for an insurance company. Three days out of the year I can strap on a cape and become Red Sonya.”

Niobe nodded, unsure of what to say next. The driver dragged on her cigarette, then tapped ashes into a tray affixed to the center console. It hung over a charging cradle holding a cell phone.

Mandy saw her gazing at the phone. “You can use it, if you’re wondering.”

“I . . . Thanks. Again. It would be a huge help.”

Niobe pulled the phone from the cradle, careful not to knock down the ashtray. She thumbed through the menus, thinking. Who could help her? Did she even know any telephone numbers?

No. But she did know a few e-mail addresses.

“Mandy? Where exactly is Barbarian Days?”

“Cross Plains. Birthplace of the late great Robert E. Howard.”

Michelle—Help, please. I’m in danger. Please come. I’m in Cross Plains, TX.—Niobe.

Niobe wasn’t accustomed to using such a tiny keypad. Thumbing out the e-mail to Bubbles took a long time. But after she finished, she thanked Mandy again, closed her eyes, and slept.