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Chapter 2
Someone hammering on the window woke me up. The sun was so bright, I couldn't see at first. Then my eyes adjusted. It was a kid, a boy about 12. He was looking through the glass and yelling something about a naked lady. He pointed upward.
I waved him away and opened the door.
"Mister, you better get that naked lady out of here before folks start coming by," said the kid.
I looked where he was pointing. Cherry was sitting on top of the cab, buck naked, in one of them yoga positions — lotus or whatever. Her eyes was closed and she seemed to be in a trance.
"Jesus, Cherry," I said. "What the hell you doing up there?"
She opened one eye and gave me a little smile. "Getting well," she said.
"Well, damn. Get well with your clothes on, for Christ's sake," I said. I turned to the kid. He was grinning.
"She's real pretty," he said. "I've never seen a lady naked before — except my sister, once, back when I was little. She was 14."
"Well, quit looking at this one," I said in as stern a voice as I could muster. I wasn't really angry. I was glad Cherry had recovered enough to climb atop the truck. They say Di-Clones are hard to hurt and heal fast. I guess it's true.
She had gotten down onto the hood. I held out my arms, and she jumped into them. It was wonderful to hold her, but she cried out. I guess her ribs was still sore.
While Cherry got dressed, I asked the kid where we could buy food.
"You don't need to buy it," he said. "My mom will fix you something. I live right up the road."
"You sure?" I asked.
The kid nodded. "She likes to meet strangers. We don't get many."
So the kid climbed into the truck and sat between us and introduced himself. His name was Tim. I drove till he told me to stop, in front of a neat little brick house. There was a flower garden on one side of the front yard and a big elm tree on the other. The only thing didn't look nice was a rusted out pickup in the side yard. I could see it hadn't been driven in a long time.
The kid raced up the steps to the front porch and yelled, "Mom, we got company." A really pretty young woman with curly brown hair came to the screen door. She had a twinkle in her eye.
I said, "Good morning, M'am. Your boy Tim said it would be okay if we came over. I hope we're not intruding."
The woman laughed. "He's not my son, he's my kid brother. Here's my mom."
Another woman joined her at the door. The mom was good-looking, too. I guessed she was about 40, nearly as old as me.
"We can pay for a meal," I said. "And if there's a market nearby, we'd like to buy food for the road."
"Yes," said Tim's mom. "There's a market in town. But you don't have to buy a meal here. We're happy to have you. My name's Mary, and this is my daughter Elsie."
They were real nice folks. If there was a mister in the family, no one mentioned him. We sat in a little breakfast room while Mary and Elsie prepared lunch in the kitchen. There was a needlepoint on the wall that said, "You have a friend in Jesus."
They asked us all about ourselves. I said there wasn't much to tell: I was a truck driver, and Cherry was my cousin, who was hitching a ride to Memphis.
"Memphis," said Mary, joining us at the table. "I really don't think you ought to try to get to Memphis with things so unsettled. Plus, I hear there's a nest of Vandals up ahead, near the bridge over Duck River."
"My boyfriend says they ambushed a semi just east of the bridge," said Elsie. "The Federals showed up late, as usual. Thing is, the Vandals all live in Hickman County; it's not like they're some mysterious gang from outside."
"Elsie's right," said Mary. "The sheriff there won't do anything to stop them, but the Federals ought to. They know where these savages live — towns round there like Only and Spot and Bucksnort.
"Bucksnort?" I said. "A driver I know told me it's a great place for trout fishing."
"You bet," said Tim. "My dad used to take me there." Then he got quiet.
No one said anything for a while, then Mary said, "My husband was killed last year. Fell asleep while driving up from Mississippi late one night."
"Gosh, I'm real sorry," I said. I glanced at Cherry. She looked sad.
Mary and Elsie went into the kitchen and came back with two trays full of sandwiches.
Mary said, "We've got egg salad, we've got ham and cheese, and for Tim we've got peanut butter and mayo."
Cherry wrinkled up her nose. Tim saw her and said, "No, it's good — really."
Mary poured us all lemonade.
We ate for a while and said nothing. I hadn't realized how hungry I was.
Finally, Tim said, "So, do you ever go fishing?"
"No," I said. "I can't recollect ever fishing. Or hunting."
"Didn't you do any sports?" he asked.
I tried to think, but nothing came to mind. "I guess not," I said.
"What about your dad. Didn't he teach you any sports?"
Mary said, "Tim, I don't think you should pry. Daniel is trying to eat."
I was glad she stepped in.
After lunch, Elsie said she'd like to walk with us into town, if we had time.
"I could give you a ride in my truck," I said.
"No, I'd like to walk, if it's okay with you."
I said sure. Cherry decided to stay at the house and rest, but Tim wanted to tag along.
The town didn't seem in all that bad a shape. At least half the houses were occupied. We passed a drug store that was open for business. Tim saw a friend inside and left us.
Elsie said there was a technical college, too, and a cannery. The aluminum foundry had closed, but there were still a fair number of small employers.
"Mom says Dickson isn't really all that much worse than it was before — ." Her voice trailed off.
"You finished high school?" I asked.
"Yeah," she said. "In May."
"You gonna stick around here?"
She frowned. "I guess so. I mean, my family's here — and not just my Mom and Tim. I've got a grandmother here in Dickson and an aunt and uncle over in McEwen. And my boyfriend."
"What's he like?" I asked.
"Blow jobs," she said in an exasperated voice.
"No," I said. "I mean what kind of person is he."
"Oh," she said, blushing at her mistake. "He's very smart and pretty athletic. Not handsome in the usual sense, but I like his looks. It's just — "
"Just what?" I asked.
"Well, like I said, he keeps wanting oral sex. And I don't like doing it, and I'm not good at it."
We looked at each other for what seemed a long time.
Then she came up to me, put her hands on my cheeks and kissed me softly on the mouth. Her lips were incredible.
She stepped back, turned and started to run away, but I caught her wrist.
"Look," I said. "I don't know how you are at blow jobs, but you sure know how to kiss. I mean it."
She was blushing again. "We better get back," she said.
"I thought you were going into town to buy something," I said.
"I lied," she said, dancing ahead of me.
# # #
Cherry slept in the house, on a sofa in the living room. I slept in the truck. I was scared to be in the house with Elsie. I wanted to fuck her in the worst possible way.
In the morning, Mary fixed us breakfast. An older man, a neighbor around 70, joined us.
"Jesse knows all about traveling in this part of Tennessee," Mary explained. "He'll give you some tips."
Jesse sat down at the table and unfolded an old road map.
"Mary's done told you about the trouble in Hickman County. Well, I just heard on the Federal radio that the police have cleared that stretch of I-40, so you can feel safe about staying on it all the way to where you cross the Tennessee River, and about 30 miles beyond that. It's Jackson where you're almost sure to run into trouble — not from Vandals but from the Federals themselves." He looked up at me like he knew I was planning to break the law and he was trying to ignore it.
"So my advice is to get off I-40 here at State Road 22." He pointed to the map. "There might be a sign that says Parkers Crossroads or Huntingdon, I'm not sure which. Anyway, head south on 22 to State Road 100, which'll take you to US 64, which'll take you right into Memphis. You got a heck of a lot better chance of making it that way than by trying to get through Jackson."
"Any towns along the way where I can get hydro?" I asked.
He scratched his chin. "Well, maybe in Henderson. It's on 100. You'll go right through it."
I thanked him and Mary and asked about Elsie.
"She's sleeping late this morning," said Mary. "Had a late date with her boyfriend last night."
I nodded sympathetically.
"And Tim," I asked.
"Here I am," he said, coming down the stairs. He was still in his pajamas.
"Come on out and let's check out the truck," I said. I showed him the whole drill, everything on the company's checklist and twice what I usually do.
Then it was time to get moving. I got in, rolled down the window and called Cherry. She was on the porch, hugging Mary.
I glanced up at the dormer window above the porch. There was Elsie, pretty as a picture. She blew me a kiss. I could almost feel it.
"Did you understand what that old man was saying?" Cherry asked, as we rolled out of town.
"Sure," I said. "I-40 to State Road 22 to State Road 100 to US 64 to Memphis, capital of the Republic of Memphis and the place where I pick up 60,000 F's, the balance they owe me. Then we have a party, and I wait around til I get another truck."
She seemed deep in thought.
"You think you can get there on those back roads?" she asked.
"Of course I can," I said. I was getting annoyed. If the road that had taken us to Dickson was any indication, state roads might be in better condition than I-40, maybe because hardly anyone used them anymore. On the other hand, my maps showed only Eye Roads, so I was a little worried about getting lost. In the old days, drivers had positioning satellites and CB radios and cell phones and shit like that. All I had was a compass.
What I couldn't figure was why Cherry was nervous about getting lost. I mean, it wasn't like she had an appointment anywhere.
# # #
We made it through Hickman County okay; not a Vandal in sight. And we made it across the Tennessee River okay. It was beautiful. Cherry said she wished we had a camera. After a while, I saw a sign for State Road 22. A cop came up beside us, gave me a look, but then he sped ahead as I turned off of I-40.
Two Federals were parked at the crossroads of 22 and 100. They wanted to know what we was carrying and where we was headed. But when they noticed Cherry, I decided to take advantage of the distraction.
"I'm headed to Nashville," I said, "but first I'm taking my girlfriend here to see her mother. She lives in Henderson. It's not far, is it?"
The cops got to arguing about how far Henderson was, and Cherry, God bless her, chimes in and says, "Can't we get moving? I've gotta pee."
The cops laughed and waved us on.
I swung onto State Road 100 feeling more optimistic than I ever had in my whole life.
# # #
Actually, we did stop in Henderson. There was an old-fashioned gas station with pumps for gasoline and diesel, and soft drink machines and a pay phone on the front porch. I'd heard pay phones were making a comeback, what with the cell system pretty much destroyed. But I didn't expect to see one in Nowheresville, Tennessee. Cherry said she wanted a Coke. I went inside and asked about hydrogen.
"Okay, you have to pull around back," said the guy behind the counter. "We keep it in a building back there. But we only got one can left."
"That's okay," I said. "One can will get me where I'm going."
When I went outside, Cherry was just hanging up the phone.
"Who the hell did you call?" I asked.
"No one," she said. "It rang and I answered it and whoever was on the other end hung up."
I wrestled the can of hydro onto the fuel trestle and hooked up the hose. My back hurt. I told myself I was getting too old for this line of work.
We drove another 30 miles, all the way to US 64. I kept expecting to run into cops or military or at least a sign saying, "Welcome to the Republic of Memphis. Please watch your speed."
Nothing. It was as if all the talk about secession and even war was just a bunch of rumors started by folks with nothing better to do.
But after a while, as we was passing through a little town named Laconia, a local sheriff's car pulled out from in front of a grocery store and started following us. Then I noticed there was someone behind him, in a black SUV like they had in the old days.
The SUV pulled into the left lane and sped past both the sheriff's car and me. Then he hit his brakes, right in front of me. I swerved left to miss him, then cut back to avoid going off the road. I cut back too hard, and I knew right away I was in trouble. It was like all in slow motion, the truck jackknifing and the SUV heading off the right shoulder. The sounds seemed slow-motion, too — Cherry screaming, the siren behind us blaring, the crunch as the trailer broke loose and cut into the back of the cab.
Then everything got quiet. I took a deep breath and looked at Cherry. She was white and trembling but unhurt.
I opened the door and helped her out. Her door had buckled from the impact of the trailer.
The SUV lay on its side in a shallow ditch beside the road. The driver was climbing out. I didn't know whether to go over and help him or punch him in the face. Two deputies approached me. One had a gun drawn.
"Put your hands on top of your head," he said.
"What the fuck!" I said. "You saw what happened. This son-of-a-bitch cut in front of me and hit his brakes. He caused this whole goddam mess."
"Shut up," the deputy said. "Check him out," he told the other guy.
The second deputy patted me down, then told me to turn around and put my hands behind me. What choice did I have?
As they cuffed me, I saw Cherry walk over to the SUV and talk to the driver, who seemed dazed. She sounded real angry.
Atta girl, I thought.
Then the SUV driver pushed her aside and walked up to me and the deputies. He was a lean, mean son-of-a-bitch with a big jaw and the eyes of a psycho. One of the deputies said to him, "You want to take over now, Michael?"
Michael didn't answer. Instead, he punched me in the stomach. I fell to my knees. He got in back of me and kicked me in the kidneys.
"That's enough," screamed Cherry. "You're gonna hurt him."
"Fucking-A I'm going to hurt him," said Michael. "Bastard ran me off the road."
"What else could he do?" Cherry said. "You stopped right in front of him. He was trying not to run over you."
"Michael, you really fucked this up," said the deputy with the gun.
"Shut up, Sam," said Michael. "We got the load. We can get it rolling again. All we got to do now is finish off this putz." With that, he gave me another kick.
"Not so fast," said Sam. "I said I can handle a rig like this, but only if it's in working order. And I don't know yet if this one can be fixed. You keep this guy alive until we know what we're dealing with."
Well, that was a relief. It cheered me up so much, I made the mistake of speaking. "The problem is the right rear tractor wheels," I said. "They — ."
Then, whomp! I didn't get to finish. Something — probably Michael's boot — slammed into the back of my head.
# # #
It was dark, and I was lying in the road. The two deputies and Michael had been joined by another man, evidently a mechanic. They had flashlights and were studying the tractor.
"You okay?"
I started. It was Cherry. She had been sitting behind me.
I rolled over. "Yeah, I guess so," I said. There was hardly any light, but she looked beautiful. She had her arms around her legs and her head lay on her knees.
"I'm sorry it's ending like this," she said.
"Yeah, well, shit happens."
"You're not a bad guy," she said.
I said, "Of course I'm not a bad guy. The bad guys are over there, fucking around with my truck."
Michael came over and shined a light in my eyes.
"So you're alive, Hot Rod. That's good because we may need you."
"Go fuck yourself," I said.
He got ready to kick me again, but Cherry stood up and held him back. Damn she was brave.
"Okay, okay," he said. "Get in the Avalanche. I'll get Sam and Bobby to haul Hot Rod into it, too. Then we'll go find someplace comfortable to spend the night."
They had gotten the SUV out of the ditch. Cherry got into the front seat. The deputies got me up on my feet and shoved me in back, then they got in, one on each side of me. Michael was still outside, talking with the mechanic.
"It didn't have to be this way," Sam said. I thought he was talking to me, but the other guy, Bobby, said, "Look, he's in charge of this operation. The buck stops with him. We get paid no matter how bad he screws up."
Michael got in and handed Cherry a screwdriver. Then he turned the ignition. The motor started up with the kind of rumble you get with gasoline. Hydro's a lot smoother.
"There's an abandoned Econo Lodge six or seven miles from here," said Sam. "Me and Bobby been using it as our base. Three rooms are furnished, and we got a generator."
"How about a refrigerator?" said Michael. "You got a refrigerator full of food, because I'm fucking starved."
"In fact, we do, Michael," said Sam. His voice was full of fake cordiality. "We got a refrigerator, and we got two six-packs of beer, half a leftover pizza and a package of hot dogs, uncooked. We got everything you could possibly ask for in our hospitality suite."
"Shit," said Michael. "I hate these kind of operations."
They didn't ask me to eat. I sat on an unmade bed in a dark, cold room, feeling sorry for myself. They had taken Cherry with them. God knows what they were doing to her.
My hands was still cuffed behind me, and they had looped a rope around the chain between the cuffs and tied it to a leg of the bed. It wasn't easy, but I managed to lift the bed and slide the rope from under the leg. I was now free to get up and walk around. But so what? They had locked the door, and even if I could get it open, how far would I get, on foot and not able to use my hands?
I heard yelling outside. Then the door to my room opened, and Michael said, "Let there be light." And sure enough, the lights came on. They were low-watt, but they were bright enough for me to see that Michael had a gun in his hand. He came in, and Cherry and Sam followed.
"Michael, I don't like this," said Sam.
"You just don't have that killer instinct," said Michael. "That's why you'll never get far in this organization. You should take lessons from Princess."
Then he pointed the gun at me and said, "I have the killer instinct. I kill bugs and puppies and humans and semi-humans. I kill what gets in my way, what's inconvenient. And you've become inconvenient, Daniel. That's your name, isn't it?"
I nodded.
"You see, Daniel, our team of superbly trained technicians has your truck working again, so your services will not be needed. I advise you to think pleasant thoughts. They'll be your last. Think about your childhood: riding ponies, toasting marshmallows, jacking off, whatever you did as a kid."
Funny, I didn't feel scared, just kind of pissed off. I always hated anyone asking about my childhood. I couldn't remember shit about my childhood, and I sure as hell didn't want to die listening to this prick talking about it.
He put the muzzle of his pistol about a foot from my face. It was a nickel-plated Coonan .357, a real nice looking gun.
He pulled the trigger, I flinched, there was a click. No bang, just a metallic click. He pulled back the slide and tried again. Another click. I could tell he was getting annoyed.
"You looking for these, Michael?" Cherry asked. She held out her left hand and opened it. Five fat copper cartridges gleamed in the weak light.
"Bitch," Michael hissed. He reached for them, but she jerked them back and raised her right hand. I saw the pistol just as it went off. Damn, it was loud.
Michael staggered backward, then crumpled to the ground. She fired again.
I figured this was my opportunity. I charged Sam and butted him in the belly. "Come on," I yelled to Cherry.
Just then, Bobby appeared in the doorway. I charged him, too. He grabbed me and we sort of wrestled, if you can call wiggling around with your hands behind your back wrestling.
Then something hit me in the back. It didn't hurt all that bad, but I could tell it did some serious damage. My heart started doing flip-flops, and I felt like my chest was going to explode. My last thought was, I hope Cherry gets away.
Chapter 3
"Poor son of a bitch doesn't get it," said the doctor, reviewing the tape of his interview with Daniel.
"What, that's he's a Di-Clone?" asked the cop.
"Yes, that — and the fact that she isn't."
"No," said the cop. "She sure as hell isn't. Way too smart. This is the fifth truck she's helped hijack. Everybody's after her: us Federals, three trucking companies, Topaz. Hell, even the police in Memphis want her — one of the haulers she ripped off is based there. And there's big money involved. SotoHaul, where this poor schmuck works, is offering two million F's. She's burned them twice."
"Think you'll catch her?"
The cop popped a stick of gum in his mouth and started chewing. He said, "One of us will. She's living on borrowed time."
"And then?"
"If we catch her alive, we'll torture her until we find out who she's been working for. Then we'll bring her before an Emergency Procedures Court, convict her and fry her ass."
The doctor folded his arms and frowned. "Seems a waste," he said. "She's quite gifted, in a way."
"Yeah, right," said the cop. "Her 'gifts' are costing a bunch of taxpaying companies millions of F's, and it's cost four drivers and two cops their lives — along with a couple of her accomplices. She deserves the hot squat. Of course, that's just my opinion. Now, I'd like to get yours, as a doctor. Should I tell him?"
"Daniel? That his girlfriend is a master criminal?"
"Yeah, and that he's a Di-Clone."
"Absolutely not," said the doctor. "He's been through a lot. That screwdriver penetrated his heart. He was technically dead for several hours. Besides, he hasn't had much of a life, and he doesn't have much to look forward to. Why spoil it?"
"Because he's a fucking freak," said the cop. "I hate this whole cloning thing."
"I see," said the doctor. "So you'd rather full humans drive trucks across hostile territory, or put new roofs on houses, or clean out septic tanks. Maybe you'd like to volunteer — or maybe one of your kids would like a job like that."
The cop was going to protest, but thought better of it.
"Thanks for your help, Doc," he said. "I'll let you know when we catch her."
"Glad to be of assistance," said the doctor. He rewound the tape, put it back in the file drawer and scribbled on a note pad.
He stopped at the nursing station and handed the note to Esther. She was new to the third floor. A real knockout.
"It's for Daniel K., in Room 306," he said.
He was walking away when she called out and ran up to him.
"Is this a joke?" she said. Her face was red.
"Not at all," he said. "If you can't handle it, I'll find someone who can."
He waited for her answer.
She looked down and said softly, "No, I'll do it."
He whistled a jaunty tune as he strolled to the elevator. It was the first time, in twelve years practicing medicine, that he had ever prescribed a blow job.
THE END
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