~

Chapter Forty-five

~

I got up when I heard Jam make his way to the little bull’s room. Day only hinted outside. I had no complaints to the comfort of the couch I slept on, and by midnight the temperature had finally dropped to a point a desert-lizard could survive it. Maybe it didn’t take me long to acclimate back to Range climate.

Seein’ firsthand what trolls sleep on in the mines, I figger Jam had a good night on the carpet. Maybe I’d ask him. Just to be polite. Mama always said those kinds of sympathetic questions are ingratiatin’. She assumed I’d want to come ’cross as sympathetic.

A toilet flushed down the hall and a few moments later a door opened. Jam walked past for the kitchen, I’d guess. A couple cabinets opened and closed, there was a flick, and the sound of water runnin’. As powerful as a yawn, made me have to follow Jam’s mornin’ routine. Should I remind him about the water?

When I joined him on the patio, Jam saluted me with a tall glass, mostly empty. He was heatin’ water in a pan on the grill. Looked like one side of the barbecue was gas. I hadn’t noticed that last night. Convenient not havin’ to muddle with charcoal, and the troll could have his tea makin’ simplified.

“Ya find tea bags?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “Didn’t want to get too nosy. I found this and stopped lookin’.” He held up his glass.

“Ya know—”

“We have pretty tough stomachs. So.” He lowered his voice by twenty decibels. “What was all that about last night?”

“Called food,” I said. “Know it wasn’t as crunchy as yar crickets.”

“No, not that.”

I of course knew what he meant. I just hoped he didn’t push it.

“She really didn’t want ya in a room alone with her pa.”

“So what about that route Asog talked about last night. Ya think it’s viable for us today?” That should get his mind off of Nuel’s thin’.

He sighed. Gave me a look where the eyes aren’t opened the same. I never know what that means. “The problem’s gas. Tough to fill up if there’s no pumps workin’ anywhere.”

Oh, yeah. Had that come up last night? He assumed Asog didn’t have a long-range EV. But I’d never heard of a seven hundred mile EV. Even in OMs. Ogre Motors has great engineers, but most everyone had settled, acceptin’ EVs would only ever be practical for the short haul, in the city.

Pa had screamed a million times, give or take over the dinner table, that hydrogen had always been the wise choice. But that people are stupid. He had built his own hydrogen-fueled car at one time. Never could get the folks at OM to buy in. Pa called it group think. Or was it political-think?

“Ya zoned out,” Jam complained.

“Ya say somethin’?” I asked.

He closed one eye and raised the opposite brow, that eye rollin’ up into his head. Should I ask what that meant? If anythin’?

Asog strolled out, wearin’ what had to be a bath robe-thin’. Pa, pretty certain, never owned anythin’ like that. Not very ogrish. I wouldn’t own one ’cause of that. I have great faith that my pa knows what’s best. A bull walks out of the bedroom fully dressed.

Unless it’s to chase coons out of the trash in the wee hours of the mornin’. Then just boxer shorts are acceptable.

We exchanged good mornin’s. Then Asog said, “What were ya sayin’ about regional airports?”

When did we say that? Oh.

“Ya know of any regional airports within our drivin’ range?” Jam asked.

Asog crossed his arms over his chest and grunted. “Would look it up if the Internet wasn’t dark.”

Was that a crack? I didn’t bring everythin’ down. I thought I made that clear last night. In the meantime, Asog lead Jam into the kitchen to show him his collection of teas. Nuel made her appearance a bit after they returned. She asked her pa if he’d help her with her shower. Evidently it’s a big deal with her bandage. I noted Jam’s face turned red. I have no idea why.

When they left, I stood like an idjit watchin’ Jam make his tea, like that’s rivetin’. I had to have somethin’ on my mind, but I couldn’t put my finger on it, but my hand was pullin’ my phone out of my vest.

“What? I’d just got a chance to lay down,” Ike muttered.

I told him he should have turned his phone off. He complained no one was willin’ to make a decision without his blessin’, which really sounded stupid to me. And what did that have to do with his phone?

“Ya never were good at delegatin’,” I said.

“Says the kettle,” he countered. “Did ya have a reason for this call?”

“I want ya to send me one of my helicopters,” I said.

He was quiet too long to be preparin’ to tell me, sure. “Ya have helicopters?”

“Ya said ya’d give me a fleet of warbirds.”

He laughed. “That was just to butter ya up.”

I argued that he had helicopters. That I’d seen ’em. He acted stupid. Knew of no such thin’. I threatened to kill him the next time I saw him. Rip his bones right out of his skin. He said, the warbirds are busy. I asked him since when are we at war. At this rate I wasn’t gonna get anywhere.

I handed my phone to Jam. “Talk to him. He’s got me too angry.” I turned and walked into the center of the backyard. Maybe it would be cooler away from the gigantic dragon-sized barbecue. It really wasn’t. I sat in the grass, maybe to wait to die. I could sit here and think about how much my wrist hurt.

~

Nuel

~

Showerin’ was a pain, but worth it. Came out feelin’ a bit rejuvenated, especially with the cold water. Helps to have someone with an extra hand to get the skirt up and the arms into sleeves. Pa turned a couple flavors of purple. Ya’d think he never saw me naked before.

Maybe not since I folded the girls into a triple D.

As I entered the patio, Jam had a few harsh words on the phone, but by the way he looked at it in his hand, face contorted into a vivid scowl, whoever he’d been talkin’ to had already hung up on him a long time ago.

“Warbird. Ike loved that word,” I said. “He’s not steppin’ up, huh?”

“He probably has a good reason,” Jam said. “Just ain’t gonna give the reason. Or he hates ya and his stupid cousin.”

I snorted a bit on the stupid cousin comment. That’s somethin’ I would say. Didn’t see it comin’ from Jam.

But Ike actin’ aloof irritated me. I motioned toward Kriz, asked what was up with him. Odd, sittin’ in the middle of the lawn. Jam gave me a knowin’ look, but I didn’t know what it meant. Maybe Kriz’ condition is creepin’ into my brain—his inability to discern expressions, that is.

I pulled out my phone. Icon indicated only thirty percent, darn it. My power bank was gettin’ low. too. I texted Ike, “Don’t be a pile of dragon pooh. Send us a helicopter.”

There was no response for a long bit, so we were just sittin’ down to plates of bacon, sausage, pancakes, and eggs when Ike responded.

“They don’t have that kind of range.”

I thought about that. Kriz had told me about the dozens sittin’ on the East Plain. I texted back, “From the East Plain?”

The four of us had full plates before he replied that they were no longer on the East Plain. Made me wonder where they might be. Pa scowled at me. Phones were never allowed at the dinner table. Kriz was scowlin’ at me too. I gave him a quizzical look, before I realized he’d never figger that out, so I asked him what he was thinkin’.

“The news on that wind-up radio says the South has blockaded the ports in the Northeast.”

Wow. I didn’t know they had that kind of resources. I waited to hear the significance of that for us.

“We get there, we could get passage home on a friendly craft,” Kriz said.

“Same problem as drivin’ to the East Plain,” Jam said.

“A hundred miles closer,” Kriz said.

The three bulls were lookin’ back and forth at each other now, leavin’ me out of the silent conversation.

Papa said, “I’ve been keepin’ the tank topped off, because of the troubles.”

Jam said, “Direct, we’d almost make it. But we’ll have to wheel either far north or south to avoid the drama goin’ on in the city.”

My mind couldn’t decide which side of the options they continued to debate was best. Stayin’ here would be the safest thin’, though with three ogre stomachs and a troll finishin’ off papa’s pantry, it would get uncomfortable soon. He’d already gotten a text that the tap water needed to be boiled, which is problematic for folk with no electricity.

With several million in the metropolitan area, there would be a lot of panickin’ very soon, one way or the other. Would Ike push the North into complete anarchy? Three days, maybe, would do it. Probably less. There would be no comin’ back from the repercussions. Might as well build a hundred-foot-tall wall between the North and North Plain. We’d need another thousand-year Covenant.