C. Box - The Highway

Not for long, he thought.

* * *

Out of habit, Pergram checked traffic ahead and behind him on the highway-there was none-before slowing and taking an unmarked two-track that wound through high sagebrush toward the mountains. Tiny pellets of snow rattled across the hood of the car and against his driver’s side window. Twisted fingers of forsaken lone sage scraped the undercarriage of the Riviera as he drove.

The old road took him through a narrow stand of old mountain ash trees and down a switchback slope. He crossed an ancient bridge constructed of railroad ties that sagged over a creek. Every time he drove the tractor over it he expected it to cave in, but it never did.

The trees cleared and he topped a rise and the old Schweitzer place was laid out in front of him. It wasn’t really a ranch because it had too few acres-maybe a thousand acres-to feed enough cows to make a go of it, he’d heard. But when crazy old man Schweitzer bought it in the early 1950s, ranching wasn’t his main priority. His thought then was to find a location that would withstand a nuclear war with the Soviet Union or Red China. That’s why he chose acreage with high mountains on all four sides far away from any population center that might be a target. That’s why he built the bunker beneath his house with three-foot reinforced concrete walls and ceiling. It wouldn’t withstand a direct hit, but humans inside could conceivably live through just about anything else. The air-filtration system was on its last legs but it still worked. They’d know when it failed when they found asphyxiated dead bodies inside. So far, though …

* * *

Just get your ass to the place as soon as you can.… Don’t be a moron.… Bring the tapes.

Pergram reran those words through his mind over and over again. Each time he did he got angrier. He wondered what that woman cop had said to Legerski to cause his reaction.

He remembered a time a few years before when his secret world was his and his alone. Before Legerski bullied his way into it. Before Jimmy joined them. Things weren’t perfect back then because he was always afraid he’d get caught. But he learned as he went along, got better and more cautious all the time. He’d never been arrested or even questioned. The only person who seemed to suspect him-and blab about it-sat in a ratty old easy chair with her fat feet up back at home. She didn’t know the extent of his secret life and would be shocked to find out. She just knew he was inherently rotten and she didn’t mind sharing that opinion with anyone who asked. Rick Legerski had asked, apparently.

Things were so much better before, he now realized. At least no one ever called him while he was sleeping and told him to get his ass anywhere. Or called him a moron.

No one, Pergram thought, had the right of status to say that. No one had the right to treat him like a simpleton, an idiot, a mouth-breather who would do what he was told and not question the reason why. Not unless they’d been through what he’d been through and done what he’d done on the highways. He was the one who had started this, he thought. He was the one who made it happen. He was the one who delivered the goods to people who not only didn’t appreciate it but started to think they were better and smarter than he was.

Pergram knew there were others out there on the highway, but it wasn’t like they were in some kind of club or association. They didn’t have a Web site where they could share videos or stories or tips. He wasn’t sure he’d even like meeting another one.

Once, at a bank of urinals in a truck stop out of Valentine, Nebraska, he’d stood next to another trucker who seemed to emanate a certain aura of familiarity. The other driver was pudgy and dark and had dead, ravenlike eyes. As he zipped up, Pergram looked over to find the man staring at him in an unexplainable knowing way. Pergram nodded and the man smiled slightly, then turned away and zipped up himself. They’d exchanged something, a common thread, but didn’t mouth a word to each other. Pergram just knew . He’d waited outside in the hall for the driver to come out. He wanted to ask him about methodology, tactics, disposal. But in the end, he chickened out. He was on the road south toward North Platte before the other driver came out of the truck stop and mounted up.

* * *

There was a small white house on the valley floor. Next to it was Legerski’s cruiser and Jimmy’s Jeep Wagoneer.

He parked next to Jimmy’s Jeep and climbed out of the Buick with the ammo cans from the seat. But instead of walking toward the sagging front door of the house he went to the side where there was a thick concrete abutment emerging from the ground.

He leaned over and grasped the steel handle of the door and pulled. It was unlocked.

As he went down the wide stairs, his rage suddenly morphed into absolute calm and he became the Lizard King without even willing it to happen.

10:02 A.M., Wednesday, November 21

Danielle sat with her back against the wall near the space heater hugging her bare knees close. Her eyes were wide open but she was in a world of her own. Gracie observed her closely but Danielle didn’t seem to know it or care. Danielle was silently chanting something, her lips moving in a kind of rhythm.

Gracie tried to figure out what her sister was chanting while she sipped on one of the bottles of water the man had tossed in earlier. Neither had eaten anything that was in the bag except for sharing a package of beef jerky.

Gracie said, “Danielle?”

Danielle didn’t look up, didn’t stop her mantra.

“Danielle, goddamn you!” Gracie shouted.

Her sister stopped murmuring and slowly looked over. Gracie had never cursed at her sister before that way, and it seemed to have penetrated.

“What?”

“What are you saying to yourself?”

Danielle’s voice was soft and hoarse. “I’ll never fall in love again. I’ll never trust a boy. I’ll never fall in love again. I’ll never trust a boy.”

“Got it,” Gracie said, alarmed. Then, “What does that have to do with anything?”

Danielle gestured to their surroundings, as if it answered the question.

“That’s not the problem,” Gracie said. “The problem is you won’t take any real responsibility, that’s what. We aren’t here because you care so much, Danielle. You blame this whole thing on the fact that you were trying to get to Justin and convince him to come back.”

“That’s what happened.”

“No, it wasn’t,” Gracie said. “We aren’t here in this place because you wanted Justin and you trusted him.”

“Please don’t blame me,” Danielle said softly. “I can’t take it if you blame me.”

“I’m not blaming you ,” Gracie said, wrapping the thin blanket over her shoulders. “But you’re not getting it. How about ‘I’ll never lie to my parents.’ Or, ‘I’ll always get my car checked out at the mechanic shop so it won’t die in the middle of nowhere.’ That’s what I mean.”

The vacant look returned to Danielle’s face.

Gracie said, “Or maybe, ‘I won’t put my little sister in danger ever again by being stupid.’”

“We’re going to die here,” Danielle said softly.

Gracie had no response. The situation they were in was too immense and horrible to think through. Twice in the last twenty minutes they thought they heard sounds from beyond the heavy door. Each time, they stopped talking and stared at it, terrified of it opening. Each time, nothing happened.

* * *

“It’s not like we have any weapons or what we could use as weapons,” Gracie said, looking around. The only objects in the room were the cheap space heater and the plastic chemical toilet Danielle refused to use. She wondered how long her sister could hold out before she slipped into madness. Danielle seemed perilously close to just … going away. Gracie thought that if she could somehow engage her sister, create a task-something to keep Danielle in the present-they might have a chance.