Sam added, “If you do start carrying a weapon, remember only a shot to the brain will stop a zombie.” The other men nodded before they returned to their families. Sam and JR sat and were served by a young waitress who looked totally confused and fearful.
A quick stop at the Phillips 66 gas station for diesel put them back on the road at two.
Sam said, “We should be in Liberal Kansas within three hours. Highway 83 goes all the way to the border, about sixty miles north of Minot, North Dakota. We’ll be on it at least all day and some of tomorrow. And once we hit North Dakota the road is mostly four lanes.”
JR noted, “Almost all the people passing us are in motorhomes or cars or trucks pulling camping trailers. Why are you driving so slow? And do you think all of them know about the zombies?”
“I’m driving 55 MPH because if anything happens to our equipment, we’re stuck wherever it breaks down. It can’t be replaced; I don’t have that much money. The camper makes the truck top heavy plus the weight of it and the trailer add to the stopping distance if there’s an emergency. I won’t risk being in an accident just to get to the border a few hours or half a day sooner. As for traffic, I suppose someone finally told the masses the zombies are real. It’s about time the government stopped restricting the media and let them tell the truth. If they’d done that months ago, we wouldn’t be in this mess today. Now, if you don’t mind, tell me about yourself, who are you?”
For several minutes, JR stared blankly out the window at fence posts they sped past. The rain had stopped before they left the Home and Farm Supply, but the sky remained mildly overcast. A stiff breeze blew from the southwest causing a wave effect to ripple the ripening wheat stalks. As time clicked by Sam wondered if she was ignoring his question.
She considered how much she should tell the stranger. “My parents had four daughters, two older than me and one younger. We were all tall and have black hair . . . had black hair, and Native American features and complexions. When my younger sister was born, I was two years and three months. My dad said they couldn’t afford any more kids, so he got a vasectomy. He wanted a son badly and quit trying to get one; but he didn’t give up completely. One of my aunts gave my next older sister some plastic cars and trucks for her fourth or fifth birthday; I don’t remember which. Mavis never played with them, but I did. She liked Crystal’s Barbie and fought and cried to play with it. My dad saw me play with the rolling toys instead of the dolls I had. So . . . I became the surrogate son he didn’t have. I learned to hunt and fish and shoot and race motorcycles and work on engines and play baseball and basketball and football and run track events. I was drinking beer before I was fifteen and learned to do whiskey shots with him and his buddies out in the garage. Mom complained loudly and frequently. She said dad and his friends were a bad influence on a young girl, and they’re why I cuss too much. By the way, I was glad when you picked up the ten cases of beer and two cases of Wild Turkey bourbon at the gas station.” She nodded and said thanks again.
Sam smiled and reached to the disc player when David Frizzell and Shelly West finished ‘You’re the Reason God Made Oklahoma’, he turned the volume from low to off. “Did you get the small scar on your chin on a motorcycle?”
“I like that album, Any Which Way You Can. Why’d you turn it off?”
“Because I’d rather listen to you right now; I’ll turn it back on when we finish talking. As far as we have to go, you’ll hear it plenty because it’s my favorite album. Your scar?”
“I got that playing quarterback for the Wolverines.”
He glanced to the right and stared at her. “I’ll be damned. I remember you. You were good. Fast and agile. I saw all the home games last year and remember the win over the Stillwater Pioneers when you played most of the game. The betting odds put the Wolverines down by two touchdowns with the starting quarterback playing. When he was carried off the field, I thought the game would be a rout; I almost left then. I couldn’t believe the pounding you took to win by two TDs.”
“That was a tough win. Their offensive line was big, strong, and fast. They beat the shit out of me. They did everything they could to knock me out of the game. Being female didn’t cut me any slack either. In fact, I think they thought I’d cave easier than a guy would if they pounded me hard. That thought pissed me off and made me more determined to win.” JR shifted in the seat and chuckled. “I was black and blue all over the next morning. My
