“It looks like things are back to normal,” Justin marveled. “The Zones are probably running low on food supplies.”
“Perhaps they called off the RedDead Alert,” Dean said somewhat relieved yet vigilant. “How we doing on petrol?”
“Uh, enough to get us there,” Justin said. “I think.”
Worst-case scenario, they’d be riding the bikes to the bunkhouse, which would turn into a two-day trip and greatly reduce the amount of supplies they could haul. They’d just have to play it by ear.
“Say, look at all those trucks getting off the exit.” Dean zoomed in. “That’s a service station up ahead.” It was a good thing they had thought to wear those god-awful baby-blue scrubs.
“Hey,” Justin said, “see if there’s any official paperwork in the glove compartment.”
Dean rummaged through the glove box. He flipped through a clipboard of paperwork. A plastic credit card fell to the floorboard. He held it up to Justin.
“Woo-hoo!” Justin exclaimed. “Government employees don’t need ration cards.”
“Alrighty then. See if they sell gas cans.” They could siphon the van’s remaining gas and transfer it to the pickup.
Justin pulled up to an empty gas pump. “I’ll go inside. I gotta pee.” He slipped on a blue HAZMAT cap. “How do I look?” He held up the clipboard with a stern look on his face.
Dean chuckled. “Like a professional.” Hope we aren’t pushing our luck.
Dean sat in the van and tried not to arouse suspicion by looking over his shoulder every time a vehicle pulled up to the pumps. From his view, it looked like Justin was chatting up the clerk. Easy now. His butt cheeks tensed tighter.
Justin came out with a bag under one arm and two ten-gallon jerrycans. Well, what d’ya know? The kid had hutzpah.
“You buy up the entire store?” Dean jabbed.
“I got us dinner and breakfast. The clerk let me charge the junk food, and he didn’t even charge me for the extra cheese and jalapeños. Oh, and the market is scheduled to open tomorrow. Anyway, I told them we’re on Zoat patrol and need extra gas to monitor the border. I even bought some Cokes.”
Dean’s stomach curdled at the thought of extra jalapeños as he released the gas cap latch. “Fill ’er up. Along with the cans.” He wanted to hit the road. They were dead meat if an Enforcer scanned the stolen van’s plates.
Justin merged between a convoy of truckers while Dean studied the map. Ah, a frontage road. It would take them to the far west side of Stanwyck’s property. From there, they could sneak to the bunkhouse after sunset.
Dean grabbed a hotdog smothered with runny nacho cheese sauce, picking out the jalapeños. The ice-cold Cokes were the kicker. “Guess they got one of the plants running.”
“Ye-ah, the Elites can’t go without their pre-apocalyptic addictions,” Justin garbled with a mouthful.
Dean savored the moment while he tried his hardest not to wolf down the two hotdogs and a bag of Gold Star potato chips, despite the bout of indigestion bound to avenge him.
The miles flew past. And they hadn’t run into any trouble. When they turned onto the frontage road, the sun greeted the horizon in a burst of golden-tinged clouds. Afraid Stanwyck’s men might spot them, Dean suggested they park behind the maintenance building next to the irrigation ditch.
“Let’s get our bearings straight while we have daylight,” Dean said. “Once it’s dark enough to see the lights in the big house, we’ll drive the pickup to the backside of the bunkhouse.” He certainly wasn’t looking forward to siphoning the remaining gas from the van and sneaking to the pickup. In the dark.
Last State better have taken care of the dead-heads. They needed a long winning streak to pull off this foolhardy scheme, he hinted to the universe in the off chance someone up there listened in.
Chapter 8
Twila Lewis woke up so excited she could hardly stand it. Had it just been a vivid dream, or was it for real? She couldn’t wait to tell Mommy. “Mommy, are you awake?” She gently nudged her.
“I’ll get up in a little bit, sweetie.” Mommy rolled over to her other side.
Bummer! But Mommy needed to rest, or she’d be grumpy all day. She and Uncle Luther had been working hard and had to take turns guarding the house since Grandpa Dean and Justin had gone to the Zhetto Market.
Ella had promised to help, but the baby kept her busy and tired. Twila gently knocked on Ella’s door. No answer. She needed to talk about her dream. This very minute! Uncle Luther wouldn’t understand. He stubbornly refused to accept his metaphysical side. Besides, he thought she was coo-coo most of the time. But she loved him anyway. One day soon he would understand . . .
Twila crept back to her room to put on the boring boy’s clothes she was supposed to wear. Then she took care of her bathroom stuff. One of the new rules since living together in the big house was to get dressed, wash her face, and brush her hair before going downstairs.
She wedged the rubber-pluggy thingy into the sink’s drain and then poured water into the sink from one of the plastic jugs they kept in the bathroom. At least she didn’t have to brush her teeth until after breakfast. Oh please, oh please, no more pancakes.
She hurried downstairs to Uncle Luther. He made the perfect uncle because he gave the best hugs, the kind that tingled her heart chakra with happiness. She liked to pretend Mommy’s friends were her very own special soul-family.
After all, Mommy wasn’t her blood-mother; she was her soul-mother. Dean was like a grandpa, and Ella was like an older sister. As for Justin, she still wasn’t sure he liked her. He was sort of scared of her. But, he was trying—to
