D. Schmidt - They Ate the Waitress?

“You’re not going to a work camp,” he explained. “I arrested your fiancée, so I figure you have every right to be mad. I’m not pressing charges.”

“If you’re not taking me in,” she said worriedly, “what are you going to do?”

“We’re going for a drive.”

He threw her over his shoulder and carried her to his car. He grabbed her money pouch, shoved it in his pocket, and dropped her roughly into the trunk. She looked embarrassed and angry, which was very difficult to do at the same time. Not quite as tricky as “terrified and bemused,” but still challenging, as far as facial expressions go. “Get comfortable,” he laughed. “You’re going to be in there for awhile.”

Nick drove for hours, the LSD a nice distraction from the endless wall of billboards. Finally, he arrived at the Canadian border. He flashed his manhunter’s badge and was allowed to pass without his car being searched. Normally, the Canadian border guards would have checked the trunk for drugs or illegal aliens or Sasquatch hunting gear. There was no American border patrol, but the Canadians checked people leaving the country as well as entering. It was an attempt to keep Canadian addicts from traveling to the territories to buy the few drugs that were still illegal in their homeland. It also cut down on the number of Canadian entertainers fleeing to Hollywood.

A few miles past the border, he stopped for fuel and supplies. He threw a water jug and a heavy, tan bag in the backseat and continued on. As he traveled north, the temperature dropped, eventually becoming cold enough that the car’s computer switched on the heater.

He parked in the grass at the side of the road and dragged the bag from his backseat. He emptied the bag on the ground, mixing its contents with water. “And now, we wait.”

Nick yanked Faith out of the trunk and placed her on her feet. He pointed to a large, gray lump on the ground. “That’s fifty pounds of cement. Your passport’s in the center. If you want back across the border, I suggest looking for a wheelbarrow.”

He hopped back in his car and headed for home. As he passed the Canadian border, he wondered if the four hundred mile walk back to Vancouver would give Faith time to rethink her life and her relationship with Gordon, or just make her really, really pissed off. “Either way, I’ll at least have the weekend to myself. Thank god. I’ve had enough of these weirdoes.”

He pulled his transmitter from his jacket pocket and tried to contact Sophia, but there was no answer. His transmission was forwarded to her video mail. “Sophie, hi,” he said. “I suppose you could be in the shower, or you could be ignoring me on purpose. I’m not sure which. If you get this message, trans me back. I think I’m finally ready to talk.”

His tolerance level was so high that Faith’s LSD was already wearing off. He fumbled in his glove compartment for a bit, eventually coming up with a tin full of sugar cubes. He placed one in his mouth and felt it dissolve into sweetness and light.

The sky was filled with butterflies.

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- D.N. Schmidt

Copyright © 2019 by D. N. Schmidt

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