Louis Collins: A Post-American Odyssey

Chapter 111

Louis sat with the wind blowing through the open bed and the road humming through the metal. He watched the trees go by and felt Angelique’s arm beside him.

“Talk to me,” Angelique said, her voice low against the wind and engine.

“About what?”

“Anything.”

He looked at her. “You think I am going to have a breakdown?”

“I think you almost died three days ago. And you saw someone get executed this morning. And you are on the back of a truck heading deeper into a country that wants you dead. So, yes. I think you might be having some feelings.”

He laughed once. “I’m fine.”

“I didn’t ask if you were fine. I asked what you were feeling.”

He didn’t answer right away. He watched the trees blur past.

“Mad,” he said at last. “I am mad at Barlow. He could have trusted us. My father would have paid him twice what Hargrove offered. He could have been set for life.”

“Some people can’t trust,” Angelique said. “Because they expect betrayal. So they betray first.”

“He should have trusted us,” Louis said again. “We saved his life.”

“People don’t always see it that way.” Angelique shifted, settling more comfortably against the backpacks. “And now he’s dead. And we are still alive.”

“But I still can’t believe none of us saw it coming. We let our guard down because we thought we were safe.” He shook his head. “That was stupid.”

“It was human. Besides, he was a smuggler. He was good at pretending. And we wanted to believe.” She paused. “Don’t punish yourself for that.

“I won’t.” He looked at her. “But we could have been captured or killed if Savannah hadn’t noticed. She saved us.”

“Yes, she did.” Angelique watched him and smiled. “We are lucky she was alert enough while the rest of us were busy enjoying ourselves.”

“Very lucky.” He watched the road ahead curve past a stand of young birch. “We forgot we were still in enemy territory.”

She put her hand on his knee. “We won’t forget again.”

He looked away from the road and at her. Her hair was pulled back in a messy knot, and several strands had escaped to whip across her face in the wind.

“What about you?” he asked. “How are you feeling?”

“Alive,” she said. “And ready for this to be over.”

“It won’t be over when we get out. And I no longer know when it will be.”

“I know.” She laid her head against his shoulder. “But one step at a time. First Kentucky. Then the next place. And the next.”

“Yeah.” He looked up at the sky, a bright blue without clouds. “One step at a time.”

They drove in silence for a while. Then Louis sat up, adjusting the backpacks behind him.

“So,” he said. “Last night.”

She smiled against the wind. “It was certainly memorable.”

“Was it too much?” he asked. “For you.”

“Louis,” she said, sitting up too. “If it was too much, I would have stopped it. Or left.”

He nodded. “I know. I just worry.”

“About Donya?”

“About all of you.”

“I’m okay.” She moved closer, her thigh pressed against his. “It’s not how I pictured things would be. But nothing about this is. And I care about all of you. So I’m okay.”

“I love you, Angi.”

“I love you too.” She squeezed his knee. “Even if you are a magnet for disasters and orgies.”

He laughed.

“You are going to be a great queen,” he said.

“I am going to try.” She watched the road. “And you will be a great king. Even if you don’t want to be.”

“I’m not king material.”

“No,” she said. “That’s why you’ll be good at it.”

He looked at her. “That doesn’t make sense.”

“It does. You think you are not perfect, so you will be careful not to be a tyrant. You think you are not all-knowing, so you will listen to your advisors. You know you are mortal, so you will try not to be reckless with other people’s lives.” She met his eyes. “Your father thinks he is already king. You know you are not. That is the difference.”

He was quiet for a long moment.

“I am still going to make mistakes,” he said.

“Of course you will. So will I. But we will fix them together.”

He nodded slowly. “Alright.”

She smiled at him. “Good.”

He leaned his head against her shoulder and closed his eyes. The wind whipped past, carrying the smell of pine and damp earth. He dozed for a while. When he opened his eyes again, the truck had stopped beside a strip of trees.

He heard Wade’s voice from the cab. “Five minutes. Stretch your legs, piss if you need to. Keep it quick.”

Gladice stepped down from the passenger side, stretched, and grimaced at the heat. Savannah walked past the truck and into the trees without looking at anyone. Louis climbed down after Angelique. Willa came to the rear bumper.

“Still good?” Louis asked.

Willa nodded. “No tracking signals. We are clean for now.”

“I mean you.” He smiled and embraced her.

She leaned against him. “I’m fine. Just tired. And worried.”

“Me too.”

She looked up at him. “But I’m also glad to be alive.”

“Me too.” He kissed her forehead.

Willa left his arms as Gladice came toward them with two bottles of water.

“How much money is left?” Gladice asked.

“One hundred and seventy thousand euros,” Willa said. “Minus the fifty thousand we’re going to pay Wade after he drops us off. We should save the budget from now on.”

Louis nodded. “We will.”

“Good,” she said. “Because I have a feeling we will need it.”

Gladice sighed dramatically. “Fine. No more champagne until we are safe.” She gave one bottle to Angelique. “Drink. Both of you.” She drank from her own bottle and wiped her mouth. “We don’t need dehydration.”

Angelique drank and passed it on. Louis took it. The water was warm already.

“You can take the front,” Gladice said to him. “It’s cooler.”

“Thanks.” He drank and passed it back.

“Do you want to sit in the cab, Angi?” Louis asked.

“No. I’m fine here with Glads. We will have some girl talk.” Angelique smiled.

He smiled at her. “Alright.”

He kissed their cheeks before he climbed into the passenger seat.

The cab was hot and stale until Wade started the engine. Louis closed the door and watched Gladice settle in the truck bed beside Angelique. When the truck started moving again, her hair lifted in the wind.

“How are you holding up?” Louis turned to Donya in the back seat.

“I am… alright,” she said. “It’s a lot to take in.”

“It’s a lot for all of us,” Willa said. “But we are getting through it.”

Donya nodded. “I keep thinking about Barlow. I can’t stop seeing him. I keep thinking, what if he had not made that call? He might still be alive. And we might still be going to the coast.”

“He made his choice,” Savannah said, her eyes fixed on the window. “And he paid the price. End of story.”

“He was a person,” Donya said. “He had a life before he met us.”

“So did we,” Savannah said. “And we want to keep them. He tried to take that away from us.”

“I know. I just…” Donya trailed off. “I’m not used to this kind of violence. I pray that Allah will forgive him.”

“He probably needs it,” Savannah said.

Wade glanced at him.

“Where we’re headed is about two hundred miles from here,” he said. “We have to stay on back roads.”

“How long?”

“Six hours, maybe more. Depends on the road.”

“Alright.” Louis leaned his head back. “Just get us there.”

Wade nodded and pulled onto the county track. He drove with one hand low on the wheel and the other near the gear shift. They crossed into Kentucky without a sign. The road changed often: pavement, gravel, sand, then mud. They saw no one else. The radio stayed off, and no one spoke for a while.

“I assume the family we’re meeting is from the same church as you,” Louis said after a long silence.

“They are,” Wade said.

“And they will take us in just because your wife called them?”

“Yeah.” He shifted gears. “Brother Nicholas owed us a favor.”

“What kind of favor?”

Wade looked ahead, his face unchanged. “We showed them the light when they were lost.”

Louis nodded and left it. When he looked back, Willa and Donya were asleep in the rear seats. Savannah stayed awake, one arm on the window frame, watching the road. The road carried them north through empty country.

“Nicholas does not open his place for strangers,” Wade said after a while. “He will expect you to stay quiet, keep to yourselves, and not cause trouble.”

Louis rested one arm on the door. “Understood.”

He dozed and woke with his head against the window. He opened his eyes and saw Barlow’s face just before Savannah pulled the trigger. He blinked. The road was still there. Wade’s hands were still on the wheel.

Wade said, “Not far now.”

Louis looked out. The road had narrowed again. They turned off the main track at a break in the fence beside a crooked mailbox. The lane dipped toward a farmyard. A two-story white house stood beyond the yard, with a side porch, a mudroom door, and a lit kitchen window. A large patched barn stood to the left. Beyond it were a smaller horse barn and a fenced paddock.

Louis stepped out of the cab when Wade stopped. A man stood at the edge of the barn’s shadow. He looked late forties or early fifties, broad-shouldered and compact, with dark blond hair cut short. His work shirt was buttoned at the throat despite the heat, the sleeves rolled once. His hands were heavy. A rifle rested against a fence post within reach. His face was hard without giving much away.

Wade got out.

The man looked at him. “Ruth stayed?”

“Yeah.”

“Good. And these are the ones who need hiding?”

Wade nodded. The man looked past him to Louis, then over the others climbing out of the truck. He studied Savannah longest, his eyes moving from her face to her hands and back again.

“You didn’t mention one of them was a negro.” His voice was calm.

“Didn’t matter,” Wade said.

The man looked at Louis. “You are in charge?”

Louis walked forward, stopping ten feet away. “I am.”

The man nodded once. “I am Nicholas Nowak.”

“George Harris.”

Louis opened his backpack and took out the bundles of cash. He set them on the hood. Wade came over, counted off half, and pushed the rest into a separate stack. When he was done, he carried the second stack to Nicholas.

“Ruth asked me to make it right,” Wade said.

“Tell Ruth I said thank you.” Nicholas tucked the money into a bag on the fence rail. “Take care of yourself, brother.”

Wade nodded and turned back to the truck. He got in, started the engine, and drove away without another word. Nicholas watched until the truck disappeared beyond the bend. When the engine faded, he turned toward the house.

“Come inside,” he said.

They followed. The screen door opened, and a woman stood in the kitchen light. She wore a plain dress under an apron, her hair pinned back tight. One hand was dusted with flour, the other held a dish towel. Her eyes moved over the strangers and then Nicholas.

“They are here,” Nicholas said.

“Can see that.” She looked at the bags. “I’m Rita. Set those in the pantry. There’s room.” She paused. “And wash your hands before supper.”

They went in. Louis set down his pack with the others. Willa kept one bag close until Nicholas’s eyes moved toward it. Then she placed it with the rest. Savannah washed her hands last and kept a little apart from the others.

A long scarred table stood in the center of the kitchen. Then a girl came in from the back door carrying a basket of eggs. She stopped when she saw them.

For half a second Louis knew her. Then he saw the differences. She had pale blond hair pulled back from a soft oval face, loose strands falling around her cheeks. Her eyes were light green. She looked eighteen or nineteen, but the way she held herself made her seem younger. She stood still for a moment, then hurried toward the counter. Her shoulders drew inward before anyone spoke to her. The name came before he could stop it.

Jennifer.

He blinked. She was not Jennifer.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. Her voice was low and fast, the word almost tripping over itself. “I didn’t know you were here.” She turned to her mother. “Sorry, Mama. I can put these by the sink.”

Louis had not moved. Angelique had. Only slightly. Her eyes went from the girl to Louis and away again. Gladice noticed anyway. She leaned one hip against the counter and looked down.

Rita said, “Put them there, Cherish.”

Cherish crossed to the counter and set the basket down with both hands. It nearly struck a bowl. She caught it in time, flushed, and whispered another apology.

Nicholas said, “My daughter.”

Cherish glanced up then, first at her father, then at the strangers. For an instant, she looked at Louis. She looked nervous, but she did not miss his stare. Then she looked down. His hand had closed around the back of a chair. He let go.

“Louis,” Angelique whispered.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Gladice breathed once through her nose.

“Take seats,” Rita said. “Supper will be ready in a few minutes.”