Volume One: The Road Out
Chapter Five
Verse One: Peyote Diner
Harley tried to keep his gaze on the
road, but found he kept looking at the gas gauge as the needle bobbed
well below the 'E' on the dashboard. Harley knew from long experience
that he had maybe a mile and half before the Cricket stopped moving.
Harley had been driving non-stop using Maia's dreamy directions for
the last seven hours straight. He was exhausted from the driving, the
lack of sleep, and the managing of three comatose and occasionally
prophetic companions who were more than a little difficult to manage.
Maia had not recovered from her experience at the Spider Stones, but
had managed to give directions in a similar way to Marion and Fitz,
although both of them had fallen mostly silent- save for murmured
bits of conversation that suggested that they were fighting for their
lives in the Shadowlands.
Harley listened to the checklist of
challenges and goals in his head, and knew that he and his companions
had long ago run out of options and were now about to run out of gas.
And he couldn't carry all of them.
With a little less than a mile of road
before cricket called it a day, Harley saw a sign for food and a rest
stop, about a thousand yards down the road. Harley nodded to himself.
He could make it.
"We're close and he's looking for
us. We're close." Maia slurred from the passenger seat.
"We are close," Harley
agreed. The cricket coughed and rattled in a dangerously hollow
manner, " No, no no. Don't let me hear the sound of an empty
tank until I pull into the parking lot. You keep going. I only want
to hear good sounds. Okay, I'll settle for not bad sounds. Not bad
sounds are reasonable."
The cricket lipped over a gentle rise
in the land and Harley saw the diner. an ugly aluminum sausage of a
building, lay prone, crumpled on the side of the highway, looking
very much like a oversized soda can dropped by some monster truck.
The walls had been brown or orange at some point, but now were faded
almost past taupe or eggshell, just this side of completely fading to
white. The dinner had no glass left in any of its windows, instead
bug screens kept out the insects, but let in the baking heat and the
sand that blasted in courtesy of the winds.
Harley felt the acceleration go spotty
and he realized that the cricket was officially running on fumes. He
was briefly grateful for how empty this abandoned stretch of highway
was as he coasted the cricket into the empty square of dirt that
served as the parking lot for the diner. he wasn't going to be able
to reposition and so parked by letting the the cricket roll to a stop
at the very edge of the packed earth. Harley then set about walking
each of his companions into the diner.
Stepping into the diner, the smell hit
Harley like a wet mop to the face. The diner stank of alcohol and old
carbohydrates baked onto various surfaces by the arid climate. The
diner smelled like the worst way imaginable to try and cure a
hangover. Inside the diner, the sound of flies trying to breach the
bug screens was deafening, an army of tiny hand drills pounding on
aluminum walls.
The diner was nearly empty, one figure
lay slumped in the shadows provided by the back corner stall near the
fire exit, the figure's gender was anybody's guess. The only other
figure in the diner when they entered was a waitress who looked as
though the fifties had fossilized and left her with no knowledge that
time had passed her by. Her face was buried under a layer cake of
makeup that cracked in the least flattering places and even from the
door way the smell of perfume that should have been given a decent
burial was overpowering.
There was a poster visible on the wall
by the slumped figure depicting a young Keanu Reeves and advertising
“The Matrix Revolutions” as the paper clung to the wall in what
was clearly a losing battle.
The figure in the shadows ignored
Harley as he half walked and half carried Marion, Fitzroy and then
Maia into the diner and sat them in a booth. The waitress however;
watched him intently with the suspicious disapproving gaze of a third
grade teacher watching children play inappropriately on the swings.
Harley would have left them in the cricket, but he couldn't see the
van clearly from within the diner, and Harley hadn't managed to feed
any of his companions much more than an occasional mouthful of water
since they each went catatonic. Once the three sleeping beauties were
slumped over the table, Harley walked to the front counter. He opened
his wallet and was left with a realization that he could eat or he
could get gas, and that was contingent upon a gas station being
within walking distance.
The waitress didn't say anything as
Harley considered his options, instead just staring at him. He looked
back at the table where he'd deposited the others and sighed to
himself.
"Can I get four waters, something
soft like oatmeal, and your cheapest lunch meal?" He asked
carefully.
"Why?" the waitress asked in
an off key voice that dripped suspicion.
"The water and oatmeal, because
it's easier to feed somebody else something soft. And the cheapest
meal, because I'm also out of gas." Harley said trying to keep
his voice as matter of fact as possible, as though travelling with
four catatonic invalids was just what he did on a normal random day.
"I've seen those kids before,"
The waitress said, "On the news."
Harley's mind raced. He knew what she
meant. He really didn't want a confrontation. Reasonable options
seemed to evaporate. She wasn't somebody he was comfortable using
violence or coercion to silence. What could he do? Lie? Maybe. Lie
big?
"No you haven't," Harley said
as dismissively as he could manage, "And it's insulting to act
like everyone with Down's Syndrome looks alike."
The waitress stared at Harley, her
expression daring him to blink.
"They don't have Down Syndrome,"
she said at last, "They're drugged. You're those kidnappers. And
you've drugged them."
Harley's stomach dropped to the floor.
* * *
Special Agent Bridger had followed the
trail. Little snippets of information. People who had reported seeing
the aging cricket van the boys were driving, strange reports of weird
events that Bridger couldn't make match the flavour of the case.
Everything led him out of the city and down through Linwich Crossing
and onwards. Bridger had driven without stopping for any breaks
besides investigation in the hopes of catching the kidnappers or
whatever they really were. He knew that he was officially acting
outside his authority. But Day's neighbour was now missing as well,
and her apartment looked like bomb had hit it. Everything about the
case tasted wrong and Bridger was going to find out what the missing
ingredient was or die trying.
His gaze registered an aging cricket
van parked or abandoned at the edge of a roadside diner parking lot.
Bridger slowed and pulled in to the diner's parking lot.
* * *
Harley quickly tried to gather himself.
He noted the waitress had a name tag and quickly addressed her by
name, "Henrietta, this isn't anything like what it looks. You've
seen the news, You've recognized the kids. That's obvious. But then
you should also realize that both me and the other guy at the table
are supposed to the kidnappers. So why would he be drugged too?"
"Maybe you got in a fight over who
gets the ransom money." She said without changing expression as
Harley scanned the room for inspiration. He suddenly noticed that in
addition to the movie poster, the diner was also decorated by several
posters for events, lectures starring Xander Smith: the conservative
conspiracy blogger and Daniel Egger: the liberal conspiracy author.
And Harley hit on an idea.
"Did you know from the news that I
used to work for Salt's data company, the one under investigation
right now? Did you notice all the weird things about the
investigation? Didn't seem like it doesn't add up?" Harley was
grasping, having not been able to watch the news reports himself,
hoping the woman was as much as conspiracy nut as the posters on the
wall suggested and hoping she could complete the picture in her own
mind.
"You mean like how Darius Salt
disappeared right after this started?" She asked.
"And don't they usually
investigate the spouse when somebody is murdered?" Harley asked,
his voice picking up speed, "Why didn't they do that?"
"Yeah," Henrietta said, her
face softening, "That is weird."
"you want the truth?" Harley
said, pushing his voice to sound authoritative, "My friend at
the table stopped Salt from abusing his wife and kids at the
bookstore where my friend worked. Salt got him fired. And less than
three days later we are running for our lives from guys in suits and
sunglasses, Salt's wife is dead, his kids are missing and we're
accused of kidnapping them. We don't even find the kids until we bump
into them on the run. And now, we're all they've got. So we
kind of are kidnapping the kids, but only because they told us that
their dad killed their mom and wanted to use them in some kind of
ritual sacrifice. What would you do?"
Henrietta's eyes widened as Harley
finished speaking, "So what's wrong with them, then?" She
asked quietly as she pointed at the table.
Harley mentally gauged what he could
tell her, "I don't know. Maybe you're right and they're drugged.
We've run into government agents enough times that we might have been
hit with something. But they've been going out one at a time. I might
even be next and then we're dead in the water. But I've got two kids
on the run from their murderous father and I have to try to keep them
safe and not run into them again."
Henrietta looked over to the table
again and then gasped, "You've run into them right now!"
She said in obvious horror.
Harley looked out the window and saw a
man in a dark suit and sunglasses walking towards the diner. Harley
recognized the man but couldn't remember the name, "That's the
agent who questioned us when the kids first went missing, before we
even bumped into them."
Henrietta looked at Harley and then
back to Maia and Fitzroy and then out the agent approaching. She
shook her head.
"No New World Order is winning on
my watch. Hide them in the back, I'll send him on a wild goose
chase."
Harley ran for the table as the agent
marched towards the front door.
