Jack pulled up to Rarity’s shop an hour later.
It had hurt her, opening the pastures for the cattle, but she didn't know how long they'd be out of town; she sure as hell couldn't count on feeding them while they were gone. At least like this, they'd manage by themselves, and her dog Winona would scare off coyotes.
Brushing that thought away she leaned her head back against the truck's headrest and shut her eyes.
This whole thing was fucked up. She didn't like that word, hated it as much as anything, but nothing else came close. This was fucked up, and if she stopped to think about how fucked up it was...
Giving that train of thought up, she opened her eyes and read over the gauges. Oil was fine, Mac had checked that before he left, but gas they'd have to stop for somewhere; otherwise, they'd never make it. The truck was reliable, but not the best on mileage.
Movement caught her eye.
Spike walked towards the truck, dragging a suitcase at his side with a backpack slung over his shoulder. The cab would be cramped with three people, but at least the truck bed would hold what they needed.
Jack had packed light for the trip. A couple of sandwiches, granola bars, clothes, a first-aid kit, a flashlight. She had the charger for her phone just in case she got reception, but she doubted anything would change.
In the distance came Rarity and Jack almost growled out in irritation. She had practically a train behind her—three bags, all on wheels, and another duffel bag was cradled in her free arm, alongside a purse. Jack bit her tongue as best she could as the two came closer to the truck. The tailor opened the passenger door and stuck her head inside. “Is there room in here for my baggage, darling?”
“Not unless ya want Spike ta ride in the bed.”
Rarity turned her head, ready to speak to Spike.
“Don't even think about it,” Jack warned. “Put yer crap back there.”
“Fine. It's on your head if my conditioner bottle breaks, however.” She shut the door and moved to the back, shaking her head.
“Thinkin' 'bout conditioner at a time like this...” Jack said to herself before pausing.
It was a lot like her, really.
At a time like this, she should be bawling her eyes out over her family. But... she kept going through the motions, automatic, like she was watching all of it through a sheet of plastic—she held a vague idea about the weight of the situation, but there was a degree of separation between Her and It. A numbness, like when you go to the dentist, and you get treated to some Novocain. You know you should be feeling something, and if you really focus, you almost can, but it takes a lot of work for it to happen.
Spike and Rarity finally joined her in the truck, and the door slammed closed with a sort of finality to it. With a turn of a key, the car roared to life, and they drove.
They rode the back roads east, taking the thin highway the locals nicknamed Highway 4. The hours vanishing in an instant as they all sat silently, absorbed in their thoughts. The only time words were exchanged was when they had to perform a group effort to remove the vehicles strewn about the road so they could pass. Finally, with dusk falling hard and fast, Jack let out a small cough.
“Try an' find a radio station,” she said.
Spike nearly jumped awake in surprise at hearing someone, but promptly took to tuning the radio, shuffling past dozens of dead stations, before a familiar voice greeted them.
“—ing a repeat of the news. At least, the news from where I sit. Coms are still shit. My co-host tried a cop car outside the station. We managed to get one man on the cop's line. He lost contact with everyone hours ago, so...” She clicked her tongue. “So I guess that ain't a good sign either if the cops are having this happen too. Could go all the way to the top. Anyway, the cop, right? He's coming to the station, so that's a plus at least, but...” There was another pause. “I guess that's it for a few, guys. Sorry. I'm not used to talking this much. I need a break. Stay tuned and remember: you're not alone.”
Loud electronic music began pumping out of the speaker. Jack listened for only a minute before turning the radio off and starting up a cassette tape. Johnny Cash crooned once more, this time speaking of being a bridge over troubled waters and Jack took to nervously tapping along on the steering wheel.
“We're gonna need gas soon,” she mentioned.
“Then take it by a station,” Rarity instantly said.
“Glad I have yer permission, yer highness,” Jack drawled back. “Was jus' mentionin' it 'cause I thought you'd throw a fit if I stopped.”
“Jack, on a good day, it's at least a six-hour drive there on the interstate. I expected at least one fuel-up.”
“Why aren't we taking the interstate?” Spike asked.
“Ain't safe,” Jack said. “Amount of cars, even here?” She shook her head. “We'd hit a pile-up in no time.”
“Pile-up or no, it won't matter if we run dry,” Rarity said.
They arrived at a station a half-hour later. Jack snaked through the abandoned cars at the lot and pulled up next to the pump.
“I'll go inside, one of y'all be ready at the pump,” she said, hopping out of the truck and shutting the door behind her.
“You think a clerk or something is...?” Spike asked, giving Jack an unsure look.
“No. But there's usually a switch by the register ta start up the lines.”
Spike seemed to retreat a bit into himself. He looked down to the ground, frowning. “We'd be stealing it, then.”
Jack looked at Rarity, and the woman laid a hand on the boy’s shoulder.
“Spike... we're in a situation where sometimes you have to compromise. I'd be abhorred to the idea normally, as would Jack, I'm sure. But making it down the road is too much of a necessity to not be willing to...” A thought came to her, and she reached into her purse, rummaging through it until she produced a billfold. From there, a checkbook.
“How's this?” she started. “If the owners return, they will have our payment.” She tore off a check and signed it in a curving, elegant gesture, then handed it to Jack.
“Y-yeah,” Jack agreed with a quick nod. “That'll take care of that.”
Spike frowned. “They're not coming back,” he said simply. He blinked and brought a hand to his eyes, close to crying, the weight of everything that had happened reduced to one simple sentence.
Rarity looked like she was getting ready to say something. She moved to the boy, putting a hand on his shoulder and bringing his head to her side. Jack, however, was the first to speak.
“Maybe not,” she admitted. Rarity stared daggers at her, but Jack didn't even flinch, instead morosely shaking her head and squatting to get eye level with the boy. “But ya heard the radio. There are some out there that never left. I think yer sis is one of 'em. So we're gonna put this check in there, an' we're gonna get ya to her. Okay?”
He sniffed, but finally calmed down and nodded.
“Okay.”
“Okay,” Jack said again and stood to her full height. “Go ‘head and get the pump ready. Rare an’ I’ll take care of this.”
“Are you just feeding him lip service?” Rarity murmured as soon as they turned to walk towards the gas station.
“The hell makes ya say that?”
“You can't reasonably be sure if the things you're saying are true—what if, when we get to capital, Twila’s not there. What then?”
The bell above the door rang out their entrance. The store was empty, hauntingly untouched.
Jack entered behind the register counter, flipped the switch, and sighed.
“We'll burn that bridge when we get ta it,” she answered, the tone of her voice leaving very little room for argument, closing the conversation before it could escalate.
Rarity looked around the store, the neat shelves lined with snacks, the shiny linoleum floors. She’d stopped at this gas station before. Everyone did once or twice, on their way in or out of Mansfield. What would happen to this place, she wondered. Would it stand forever deserted, optimistically waiting on visitors until its stock fell prey to rot and rodents? Or would it get sacked by someone in a few weeks, in a few days?
Jack touched her hand, rubbing lightly at her knuckles.
Rarity looked towards her, and found the farmer much closer than she was before, leaning forward with her forearms flat on the countertop so that the two of them were at eye level.
“Have you tried calling yer folks?”
Rarity looked down, bit her lip, shook her head. “No. They…” Her throat closed around the words. Jack touched her hand again, grasped it gently. “They texted me this morning. They’re out on a camping trip. W-were. Were, out on a camping trip.”
“They could still be out there.”
Rarity raised her eyes up slowly and met Jack’s. She chewed her lip thoughtfully at that, before muttering out a reluctant, hesitant, “Perhaps.” Though she made no effort to reach down to her phone and try to send through a message.
Jack glanced away and took a few steps about the place, looking over the wares.
“I’ll grab us some drinks. You go on out and keep an eye on the boy.”
“Yes. I’m sure Spike will be wondering what’s taking us so long,” she replied in quiet agreement and turned towards the door.
Evening faded into a dusky afterglow, leaving orange clouds swimming across the sky—cumulus, Spike told them, proud for a brief, fleeting moment at what his schooling had taught him.
Jack pulled off to the side of the road. With the amount of tossed aside cars and unfamiliar turns on the way, they had finally agreed to get some rest instead of pushing through the night. It was something Rarity was grateful for; the number of cars they had to move just to get to where they were now astonished her. Her muscles ached more than the result of any workout she had ever done, and though she didn't want to admit it, she could eat her weight in food.
Her stomach let its discontent be known, growling so loudly that she was sure it would be noticed.
Spike was dead to the world in the center of the cab, his head resting against Jack's shoulder with a weak, tranquil smile on his face. It was amazing how well children could handle things like this, she thought. Far better than adults. They were able to step back from the bad to find the good. Admirable, really.
A low snicker came from the driver's seat, drawing Rarity's attention away from the boy. Jack raised a brow, smirking.
“Fightin' a bear or somethin'?”
“What?” Rarity replied, tilting her head.
“Yer stomach.”
Rarity blushed, looking towards the front of the truck.
“Hey,” Jack quietly coaxed. Rarity could guess the jokes would come once again, so she rolled her eyes and looked to the farmer, unamused.
“Jack, must you—“ Rarity stopped.
Jack held out a shrink-wrapped sandwich. “Grabbed it at the station,” she explained. “Know it ain't foie gras or anythin', but...” She tapped Rarity on the shoulder with it until it was taken.
“Thank you,” Rarity said. She tore open the wrap and ravenously dug into it.
“Didn't know ya liked swiss an' turkey that much.” Jack faintly smiled.
“Hunger is the best spice.”
Silence came to the cab for a long, long while. Jack rested her head on her arm, looking at everything and nothing outside, while Rarity concentrated on her sandwich. Finally, Jack ran a hand over her face and sighed.
“We're goin' pretty slow, ain't we?”
“I suppose,” Rarity admitted, finishing off her sandwich and rolling the packaging into a tight ball. “But if we keep running into wreckage and vehicles blocking the road, we'll need our strength. It's better this way.”
“That's one reason.” She looked at Spike, saying nothing else.
Rarity caught on. “You think she isn't there?”
“I don't know.” Jack continued staring outside. “But if this ain't a time ta plan for the worst...”
“And if she's not there, then what?” Rarity revisited the question from earlier, giving a more stern glance to Jack this time, as if to silently say ‘you won’t weasel out of an answer this time’.
“Dunno.” Jack admitted, shuffling a bit awkwardly in her seat at Rarity’s glance until she could get more comfortable. “Capital might at least let us think things through. Mansfield's a dead town, so...”
Rarity's face changed from crestfallen at the thought of Mansfield being nothing more than a corpse, a shell of its former life, but she put aside the raw pain in her heart and wore instead a mask of utter seriousness. “No matter what, we make sure Spike's safe.”
“Goes without sayin'.” Jack tipped her hat over her face and leaned back into the truck's headrest. “Mmm.” She shut her eyes, already dreading how stiff she would be in the morning, sleeping like this.
“Jack?”
“Yeah?”
“Goodnight.”
“Yeah. You too, sug.”
It took a long while, but sleep did come, and with it, brief peace.