Jason Frost - Badlands

They approached the truck cautiously.

Paige peeked through the driver's window as she pulled open the door. She gasped, though there was nothing inside. "Christ," she sighed, shaking her head.

Eric hopped down from the truck bed. "What'd you expect to find?"

"I dunno. A body, I guess, like in those spooky movies. Somebody's always opening a door and a body's always falling out on them."

"Any sign of your father?"

"Like what? A coded note addressed to me pinned to the dash?"

"Take it easy, Doctor."

"Yeah, right," Paige said, climbing into the truck. "And quit calling me Doctor. You don't know what it's like to be called Doctor all the time. Even your friends introduce you as Doctor so-and-so, and everyone goes ohhh, like they expect you to solve their problems. I mean, people still ask me for medical advice. I tell them my doctorate's in physics and they say that's all right, do your best. Shit, you don't know."

"Sure I do," Eric said. "Meet Dr. Ravensmith, Ph.D., history. Also frequent dispenser of medical advice. Everything from cold sores to hemorrhoids. Mrs. Dietrich down the street stopped talking to me when I refused to prescribe Valium for her."

Paige looked directly at him. "History, huh?" She looked away quickly, a little embarrassed. During the past few hours traveling with Ravensmith, she'd been figuring him out, categorizing him. He didn't talk much, but when he did, he knew what he was talking about. He also knew how to move them quickly through the back roads and underbrush. They hadn't run into any other people, which meant that the flyers had worked in scaring off most of the area's inhabitants. But not Ravensmith. She stole another glance at him as he crouched down to look under the truck. He was handsome all right, even with that weird scar along his jaw and neck. He had a prime cut body, too. Not beefy like Steve's, a leaner, wilder musculature. Steve's looked like his had been developed in a gym; Ravensmith's looked like he'd gotten his chasing down coyotes. Still, she'd managed to dismiss him as just another ex-military type, cocky and bullying. Except for his single-minded drive to recover his son. That touched her. Now she finds he's got a goddamn history doctorate. Bastard wasn't easy to pigeonhole.

"History, huh?" she repeated.

"Yeah."

"Professor?"

"Assistant professor." He smiled. "But with tenure."

She stared into his eyes, noticing for the first time how penetrating they were. Even when he was smiling at you, he was searching, probing.

"So, Dr. Lyons," he said. "What shall I call you?"

"Try Lyons."

"How about Paige?"

She shrugged, flipped open the glove compartment. "Sure, OK. Whatever."

"Move over." Eric nudged her.

She gave him an annoyed look but scooted across the dirty seat while pawing through the mess of papers and used tissues that stuffed the glove compartment. "Dad hasn't changed. Still a slob."

Eric noticed the warm affection under the chiding tone, filed that away. Something to use later. He knew she had no intention of taking Tim back on the Columbia, that she was just using him. But he'd find a way. First, though, he had to find her father. And Tim.

"My God, I don't believe it," she said, reaching deep into the glove compartment. Crushed styrofoam cups spilled onto the floor. When Paige's hand reappeared, it was wrapped around a full can of Coke. "He used to drink at least a six-pack of these every day. We'd all sit around the breakfast table drinking orange juice and he'd be guzzling a can of Coke." She smiled fondly at the memory. "Told us if it weren't for cola he'd have been an alcoholic."

Eric looked at the can, felt his taste buds contract. He hadn't had a soft drink or a beer in months. Finding fresh water had been enough of a chore. "You going to drink that?" he asked softly.

"Are you kidding. It's warm."

Eric took it from her and carefully eased the pop-top open. He didn't want to do it too fast and have it all fizz out. He wanted every last drop. The top hissed, sprayed some warm cola onto his pants and across his hands. He licked his hands while waiting for the foam to die down. He leaned his head back on the seat and drank half the can in one swig. "Jesus, that's good."

She gave him a disgusted look. "Just don't belch, OK? I hate that."

He drank the rest of the Coke. Belched. "Couldn't be helped," he said.

Paige ignored him, continued rummaging through the glove compartment. "Nothing here. Mostly trash. Credit card receipts for gas, grocery lists, deck of cards, a Doonesbury cartoon book. Some tape cassettes of Judy Collins."

"No top secret documents to save the world?"

"Half a pack of Juicy Fruit. You interested?"

"Stale?"

"What's the difference? I'm surprised you didn't rip open the Coke can and lick the insides."

Eric said, "You haven't been here long enough to pass judgment on my manners, lady."

Paige flushed, her cheeks glowing red. She jumped out of the passenger side and slammed the truck door hard. The truck rocked. She marched all the way around the truck before standing in front of Eric, her face still a bit pink. She was breathing hard, her mouth a tight slit. Then she took a deep breath and closed her eyes. When she opened them again, it was as if a different person was staring out. "I'm sorry, Eric. I mean it. I know how I act sometimes, I mean I can see me making a fool of myself. Inside I cringe, but that only makes me charge ahead even harder. You're right, I tend to pass out judgments on people like I was sent directly from God. I don't mean anything by it. Really."

Eric said, "Does that mean I get the Juicy Fruit?"

She laughed. "Ladies first." She unwrapped one stale piece, shoved it in her mouth and began chewing. She tossed the rest of the pack to Eric. "Help yourself. Only I suggest kneading it with your tongue before chewing. Save your teeth."

Eric stepped out of the truck and looked around. "How far to the cabin?"

"Another couple miles. Three at most."

"Then the truck was coming from the cabin, not going toward it."

"Looks that way."

"It also looks like he had the truck loaded with some of his stuff. Got a flat tire here, but when he took out the spare, he found that was flat too."

"Typical of him to have a flat spare."

"Absent-minded professor, huh?"

"No, not really. Just didn't care much about the details of daily living. He didn't forget things, he just ignored them."

"Like his daughter?"

"No!" she snapped, the anger back. Then it was gone, under control. "No. Actually we were very close until I got into the astronaut program. Then we didn't see much of each other. Not his fault. He called every Monday, invited me to fly out just about twice a month, planned dinners with me whenever he was in D.C." Paige sighed. "I was the one who drifted away. So busy trying to make it on my own, proving I wasn't just the famous Dr. Lyons's daughter, that I, well, pushed us apart, I guess."

"When's the last time you saw him?"

"Over a year before the quakes. A year and a half."

"Well, from the looks of things here, whoever was driving this truck probably returned to the cabin. Maybe to look for something to repair the tire."

"Then why didn't they come back? Where did the stuff that was in the back go?"

"I don't know. Maybe he realized there was no place to go anymore. Figured he was safest staying home. Maybe he carried the stuff back or someone else made off with it. No way of knowing until we find the cabin."

"Then let's go."

"Just a second," Eric said, reaching back into the truck's glove compartment and grabbing the two cassette tapes. He stuffed them into his shirt pocket.

"You some kind of Judy Collins fan?"

"Sometimes. Only right now I'm just curious."

"About what?"