The road was straight and flat, nothing but snow and the occasional band of baby trees breaking up the landscape. I picked up my phone and scrolled through the messages that had accumulated while I'd been fighting for my life on Pax before the phone had inevitably exhausted its charge and died.
Besides the spam they were all from Meredith. Quite a few of them were from before I'd fallen through the gate. Drunk me had been ignoring her messages most of the time, too.
After our parents had died, she'd tried to push herself into my life and become some kind of alternate mother to me. I wasn't having it then, and still wasn't feeling any different. I knew her too well. With Meredith, her caring and empathy was a thin, unconvincing layer over her burning need to control everything around her. I'd kept her at a distance for good reason. Some weak, vestigial sense of loyalty to my family kept me from cutting her out of my life entirely.
The messages were familiar. She'd ping me to "check in" or "catch up." If I didn't respond quickly enough, she'd follow up. The tone of her messages gradually shifted from annoyed to angry. I chuckled, having seen the pattern before. These messages were weeks old. She must be frothing at the mouth about now.
The phone didn't have an Internet connection and I didn't particularly want to reply anyway.
Meredith can wait. Not knowing exactly where I was and what I was doing for a few weeks won't kill her. Probably.
I set the phone back down and returned my full attention to driving. The road was still arrow straight, an empty black line through white snow.
Marty woke up as the weak winter sun began to peek over the horizon. He snorted and rubbed a hand through his hair before looking over at me.
"How long have I been sleeping? What time is it?" he asked.
"Just after 9 am," I said.
It was then he noticed the collection of snack foods nestled on the bench seat between us.
"What's all this? Were you a fat kid before you went all Conan?"
"It's hard to explain. Transcendent Flesh has given me a new appreciation for this junk. I've got supercharged senses now, even taste."
"Okay, that's great for you, but I don't want candy for breakfast. Can we pull over and get some real food?"
The highway signs had been telling us we were approaching La Ronge, which was pretty much the last major city before we got into the true wilds of the Canadian north. It had been nothing but farms and forest for the last few hours.
"Sure, we can do that. We'll need to get gas anyway. I don't know what it's going to be like after we pass La Ronge. There might not be a lot of gas stations."
A few minutes later I spotted Carly's Diner and Gas, and pulled off the highway into the parking lot. There weren't many people here this early, just a collection of beat-up pickup trucks with a car here and there. All of them were covered in salt and road grime. I parked the truck beside the restaurant. We'd gas up after Marty had eaten.
Chapter Sixteen: At Carly's Diner
THE DINER WAS RUNDOWN but comfortable enough—an old school layout of a counter with stools and booths along the walls. It was old enough that I'd bet it hadn't been done ironically, or as part of some kind of "retro" refit. About half the booths were full, and several grizzled old men sat in a group at the counter, nursing coffees and talking.
Marty and I sat in one of the booths. The red vinyl seats were cracked and worn, but the tabletop was clean enough. A large, middle-aged Native woman with her long black hair tied in a ponytail came over to take our order. Her features were sharp and her eyes a very dark brown.
"Hey guys, I'm Shawna. What can I get you today?" she asked.
I looked to Marty, not feeling even a speck of hunger.
"I'll have two fried eggs, bacon and toast plus some coffee, thanks," he said.
"Just coffee for me, Shawna. Where's Carly?" I asked.
"She's in Florida now. Retired," she said and smiled. "She sold this place to my dad fifteen years ago now. I'll be right back with your coffees."
She left us, going behind the counter to pour our coffee.
"I like this place. The family-run spots are always better than the big chains," Marty said, looking around.
A group of four men came in the front door. They were dressed like almost everyone else in the place—thick parkas, jeans, and boots. All but one of them had long black hair. The odd man out was the biggest of the four—heavily muscled with his hair buzzed close to his scalp. His nose had clearly been broken once or twice as well.
"Shawna, the usual for us, eh?" the one with the buzzcut shouted as they picked out a booth on the opposite side of the diner.
"Hold your horses, Ricky, I'll get there," she yelled back.
Shawna brought us our coffees a minute later. Black gold in simple ceramic coffee cups. Marty added a lot of cream and sugar to his, while I sipped at mine slowly. It was different than Theo's had been, but the tastes were still complex and multi-layered. I'd never expected drinking a cup of diner coffee to be a sensual experience.
The four men across the restaurant were loud and boisterous. The usual seemed to be just coffee. Shawna served them but didn't talk to them for long. She had been much friendlier to us than she was to them.
Marty's breakfast arrived and it did look good. With all of the junk I'd eaten during last night's drive, I was
