She pushed stray hairs off her forehead. With the morning haze gone, a cool breeze blew off the highway.
Coming from the north.
“Yes. There are things to be scared of. I guess that’s what I’m saying. And I’m scared. For me. For them. You, too.”
Jack nodded.
He shook his head at what Christie was saying. Maybe if she had seen how close the attack had been …
Would she still think that they should continue with this trip?
She didn’t move her eyes from his.
One idea became even more clear to him: what Christie feared for them all—about their life—was as great as her fear of the Can Heads.
“So, we go on?” he said.
She nodded.
Could be, he thought … no other incidents ahead. The road north safe and secure. The camp the safest place on earth.
Or maybe not.
Either way, he saw that Christie felt strong enough that she would brave the unknown.
It was
“Okay. We’ll go on.” He laughed. “Have to find someplace up the road for them to pee. They don’t go in there.”
“An adventure, you said, right?”
“Sure.”
Jack didn’t say he agreed with Christie. Because he didn’t. But he understood.
Now he reached out and took her hand.
“Let’s go, then. Simon’s gotta pee.”
Together they walked back to the car.
14
North
The question came just as they passed the multicity jumble of connecting highways of what was called the Capital Region.
Albany, still the capital of New York State, was considered to have the best defenses of any major city. Families relocated there to take advantage of the superior policing and protection.
The real reason that the Albany-Schenectady area remained safe, Jack guessed, was because no state wanted to risk losing its capital. No one talked too much about the handful of states where that had already happened … places like Lansing, Michigan, that had been hanging on by a thread, even before the outbreak.
But here, the intersection of the Thruway and the Northway was heavily patrolled.
Multiple checkpoints, occasional choppers gliding overhead, gleaming tall turrets along the road with expansive views of the area for miles.
The city area compact and all access points secure.
As to what happened in the surrounding areas, the once-farmland rolling north to Cobleskill and beyond?
Who knew?
A question—Simon’s question—made Jack smile.
“Dad, are we there yet?”
Classic, he thought. Some things never change. He started to answer but Kate was too quick.
“Right, genius. We’re
“Kate,” Christie said. Usually a word from Christie was enough to get Kate to back off her sarcasm.
Simon chose to ignore her.
“Are we, Dad?”
“Well. Look up here.”
He tapped the GPS. Service was so intermittent as to be nearly useless. Now it came to life.
“Shows where we are—”
“Which is in a car, driving—duh!”
Christie turned to the back and gave Kate “the look.” Not for the first time, Jack though. Things could get interesting as Kate got older.
Wanting freedom in a world where that simply wasn’t possible anymore.
“Kate, can you ease up? Please?”
In the rearview mirror, Jack saw his daughter shake her head and then look out the window.
“So, Simon, you see … this is where we are. On this map. If I make it all smaller…”
Jack touched a button on the side and zoomed out from the screen. “There you go. We stay on this highway for a bit, for another hour or so, until we’re in the Adirondack Park.”
“Then we’re there?”
“Not exactly. Got to take a country road to get to the Paterville Camp. Bet it’ll be interesting.”
His question answered, Simon nodded.
Interesting? What would it be like when they left the highway? All the reports showing no problems ahead did little to reassure him.
If the Can Heads could break through the Thruway’s fence, then what could be happening in the small towns that dotted the way to Paterville?
“You okay?” Christie said to him.
They hadn’t talked much since the rest stop. As if letting time go by would somehow make what happened less real.
“Yeah. Fine.”
“I can drive.”
Jack laughed. “I know you can.”
“Don’t know why you always need to drive.”
Yeah. Why was that? he thought. The need to feel in control?
A cop thing? Something he inherited from his rigid-as-steel father. Someone who didn’t believe women should do—or could do—much of anything but cook and clean and raise the kids.
“If I get tired, I’ll let you know. I’m good now.”
“And your leg. Long time to sit.”
“That’s fine, too.”
That was a lie. Sitting in the driver’s seat, in the same position, had produced a growing ache near his wound. He guessed that when he got out of the car, his limp would be back, at least until he loosened the muscles and wrapped up the area again tight with an Ace bandage.
The leg was better. Not perfect, though, and never would be.
Christie reached out and gave his other leg a squeeze, midthigh. Gentle, teasing.
“Good. Just remember, I’m here if you want a break.”
“Gotcha, boss.”
They drove on.
* * *
