Chapter 15
“Are you packed?”
Impatiently leaning on the door of my bedroom, Taylor inspects my room as I gather my belongings. With an unmade bed and a mess of reports scattered about, I’m sure she’s inwardly cringing at my lack of military tidiness.
“Don’t judge me.”
Taylor puts her hands up. “I said nothing.”
“Yes, but you don’t have to. I feel the judgment from here.” I shove a pair of socks into my bag. “Twenty-four years of having my messes picked up is not going to be reversed in a matter of months. Besides, I thought we had more time.”
Slated for at least a three-week convalescence, Theia approved Taylor’s discharge from the hospital after only two weeks. That was two hours ago. Since then, Taylor coordinated our entire trip to Target Four and scheduled our departure.
“But, yes, I’m finished packing.” I pointedly zip the duffel bag and heft it over my shoulder.
“Did you brief Summers?” Taylor gives my room one last grimace.
“Yup. She has my schedule and shadowed me for three days. Delilah trusts her.”
“Do you trust her?” It’s still jarring to remember someone cares what I think, and that it matters.
I nod. “She’s much more qualified to do this job than I was. So, yeah, everything will be fine.”
“Okay. Delilah asked to see us before we leave.”
Together, we head out of my room and through the door to the shared office. Inside it’s abuzz as usual, my former desk surrounded by four soldiers in quiet conversation. Delilah notices us through their bodies and smiles sadly. “Would you give us the room for a couple minutes?”
When the soldiers turn to inspect who interrupted their time with the de facto region leader, they immediately duck their heads.
It’s odd to not be recognized as Luciana Piccolo, Region Leader’s Daughter.
Or even recently, as the prisoner of their most esteemed soldier.
Instead, these people see me as someone who helped them in a time of need.
People whose names I know and lives in which I am invested, in the small way I can be.
While there was some friction, especially with soldiers who grew up in my region, for the most part, I was treated fairly.
Once they’re gone, Delilah strides to us and places one of her hands on my shoulder, the other on Taylor. “I have auxiliary soldiers stationed along your route. Not technically my region, but if you need assistance, don’t hesitate to reach out.”
“Thank you for everything.” I place my hand on top of hers on my shoulder. “I hope we see each other again soon.”
“So do I, darling.” Delilah brings me in for a hug and gives me the last whiff of her cinnamon and citrus scent I’ll have for a long time. It comforts me and brings me inexplicable sadness. Delilah pulls back and tucks my hair behind my ear. “Take care of each other.”
“We will,” Taylor says, swaying from side to side. I know her leg is still giving her trouble, though she’d never admit it aloud. Without Mason, we will have to take care of each other. There is no one else.
“Good. Get going, girls. Be safe.”
Taylor snorts under her breath but gives Delilah a genuine smile before we part. A fancy two-seater sports car awaits us, engine rumbling with restrained power. We pack our gear and take off, leaving Lansing behind.
At first, I’m excited about the change of scenery.
We’ve been in Michigan so long I’m beginning to forget buildings are colorful, towns aren’t always dilapidated, and seasons other than “cold” exist. But as the hours drag on, the beautiful, untouched nature begins to play one note, over and over, ringing against my nerves.
The road stretches on forever, woven to the dark gray clouds on the horizon as far as the eye can see. Our route avoids Chicago and the remaining scuffles, meaning we get around danger but thrust ourselves into nothingness for hours. Hopefully, by the time we reach Reed, the MidCountry will be won.
Taylor clears her throat and disrupts my train of thought. “You and Delilah got close while I was away, hmm?”
Her asking a question without being prompted, and that it is about Delilah, startles me. “She made what little use of me she could.”
She glances at me, and then fixes her gaze on the road. “I see. She sang your praises so frequently in your absence, I thought her voice would go hoarse.”
“Is that so?” I reply, chuckling. “Well, the feeling is mutual.”
“I bet. She is one of the best people I have known in my life. I am glad you got to know one another.”
Our radio is off, not that I imagine we’d pick up any signals out here. We listen to the hum of the engine and the grind of gravel beneath rubber. Another hour goes by before she speaks again.
“Can you drive stick?” she asks suddenly.
I glance down at the knob between us, and recall long nights of flying down open roads in one of Papa’s cars, Derek hollering directions in my ear. Top down, wind howling above our heads as I drove us into oblivion. It feels like eons ago. Another time, another Lucy. “Yes, but it has been a while.”
“Good to know. You may sleep whenever you wish. I’m sure you’re tired.”
I’m supposed to be “keeping an eye out,” but Taylor is right, I’m exhausted. We’ve been driving for almost ten hours. I’m not sure how Taylor isn’t fatigued yet, but her constitution is as stubborn as she is. I turn off my brain and try to sleep to the lullaby of the road.
When I awaken, the car has stopped. My forehead is stuck to the passenger-side window, seat belt holding up my chin.
Sunlight pours in through thick trees, but the view out my window takes my breath away.
Quickly, I unbuckle myself and rush out the door, staring up at the most magnificent sight I’ve ever seen.
I glance around for Taylor and find her sitting on the roof of the car, legs dangling over the side.
Silently I climb up and plop myself next to her.
“It’s beautiful.”
Taylor looks over and nods, then turns her attention back to the monument.
Four American presidents, their images carved into beautiful pink-orange rock, the rising sun illuminating their stately faces.
People flocked here in times before the Rift; in fact, I imagine tourists from all over the world came to see this feat of engineering.
It’s been abandoned like most pre-Rift statues and historical locations.
Hiking to the mountain is impossible—the roads overgrown with nature and detritus.
As such, it’s never been blown up or defaced like many others, though it is deteriorating on its own.
Noses have begun to crumble, faces and heads covered in flora, giving these once stately visages the look of wild mountain men.
“I bet they never could have imagined this.”
Taylor tilts her head as she appraises the sculpture. “I never understood why these four men were chosen. A slaver, another slaver, a warmonger, and a tyrant. You would think they could have chosen less-problematic people. Or, perhaps, a single woman?”
I ruminate on the degrading stone features of the four men.
“I suppose it’s more about what they stood for than who they were.
Washington was their military might, Jefferson their intellectual ideal, Roosevelt their progressive passion, and Lincoln their heart and honor.
All of those qualities are essential for a functioning democracy.
But you’re right, romanticizing the past is dangerous.
It’s never a good idea to look too closely at your heroes.
Like pointillism, the beauty is in the distance. ”
Taylor bobs her head. “I wish I could have lived during their time, when government worked. Well, maybe not their time exactly. I would like to be able to wear pants. You know what I mean.”
“It wasn’t a great time to be a woman.”
She looks at me and smirks. “When is it ever?”
A cool morning breeze ruffles her hair and as she brushes it out of her face, the gesture brings my attention to the purple bags under her eyes. “Taylor, how long have you been awake?”
She glances down at her watch. “Ah, like thirty hours?”
“For fuck’s sake. Get in that car and go to sleep. You’re gonna drive us off the road.”
“I am not.” Her boots hit the gravel with a thump. “You should use the restroom while we are here. I don’t want to make any extra stops until we get to Montana.”
I avail myself of the pitiful nearby portable toilet in which I must do a squat over a distressingly discolored bowl, then return to the car, and to Taylor obediently sitting on the passenger’s side. I slide into the driver’s seat and buckle in.
“You know, you can die from lack of sleep,” I say,
“Thank you. Do you know where to go?”
“Second star to the right and straight on ’til morning?”
Taylor scrunches her nose. “I think you will find it difficult to navigate by starlight in the daytime, Lucy.”
“It’s how you get to—never mind. I can read a map.” I shake the paper taped to the dashboard. “I’ll wake you up in a few hours.”
A rusted forest green sign emblazoned with a silhouetted moose head signals our entry into Northwest territory.
Wyoming stands unguarded, flat squares of farmland for miles in any direction.
Nature has largely reclaimed these lands, with trees and wildlife encroaching upon this barely maintained highway.
I remain alert so I don’t drive smack into a woodland creature or sprawling tree.
I focus on the horizon ahead, and seek my future in it.
Does this blend of orange and blue hold anything for me?
No, I muse, because my future rests beside me, slumbering softly.
My life is in the hands of a beleaguered warrior with no real reason to care about my survival other than a commitment to duty.
There is more to it, though, and that scares more than the uncertainty.
The more scares me. The wanting of it, the having it, the losing it.
“Where are we?” Taylor asks, startling me in my seat.