Chapter 27 - Part I

                                    

                                          
                   
                          
PART III
                          
The Promised Land
                          
THE SOUND OF THE HEATER kicking into high gear woke Mannie. Both his companions still slept. He pulled the Ranger uniform on. It smelled funky; he'd better get it washed soon. He snuck out and found a house attached to the back of the motel. In the kitchen there were some eggs in the fridge. He tossed together a quick scramble, grabbed some plates and salsa and then returned to the room. Jess brushed her hair and BeeGee sat playing with her cell phone.
                          
"Here's some grub." Mannie offered the skillet around. "If anybody wants it."
                          
The smell pulled them all to the table. They ate heartily. Mannie pushed back his chair. "Like to get an early start," he said, uncertain that they were free of pursuit.
                          
They continued up the Devil's Highway into Utah. The mountains in the distance showed a distinct snow-line. So they would hit snow. Good thing they'd gotten chains. Mannie had always found it funny that most cars in the ditch when it snowed were 4X4s with overconfident drivers. For now the road continued straight, dry and long, with only a sign marking the crossover into Utah.
                          
Monticello, with its pole buildings, Quonset huts and mini-storage, ended their trek on the Devil's Highway. They headed north on US 195 toward the Great Salt Lake.
                          
Red rock formations swept higher, big and majestic into the stark winter sky. Snow covered most of the ground. Here and there scrub brush rose out of the skiff of snow. The red rocks formed impressive arches. They got out for a stretch at one—vivid like a giant had drilled a hole out of the ridges of the plateau. Beyond the red rocks, white-capped mountains peeked through.
                          
Mannie's optical beauty circuits had shut down somewhere back near Green River. The country was stunning, but he wanted the drive to be done. The beauty that pulled him onward as fast as he could go was his daughter. Thoughts of potential redemption tangled with the possibility of rejection. Lizzie had every reason to hate him, but maybe in this fucked up universe, getting to know her was the silver lining.
                          
They stopped as little as possible: Moab for gas, Wellington for lunch. Mannie felt worn out, but he wanted to get close to Salt Lake City by nightfall.
                          
As dusk fell they pulled onto the Veteran's Highway I-15 near Provo. As they passed under the University exit to State 189, detour signs appeared on I-15. He ignored them and kept going until large orange pylons forced them off the road and toward downtown Provo. It reminded him of strategically placed damaged tanks that had forced a convoy off the road in Afghanistan.


                          
"Maybe there's a bridge out?" Jess suggested.
                          

 "Maybe." He drove slow toward Provo, against the warnings in his gut. The memories of the concussions of explosives and the screams of friends dying were compelling. He wanted to forget that there was a big plastic bottle of vodka in the back. Let go the ghosts. Almost immediately they saw people, witless eyes stared at them. Dog-people. They scattered into the shadows as Rubi drove by.


                          
Past the turnpike exit Mannie saw a portable building, like a guard house to a military base, complete with two men holding M-16 light machine guns. The older one, gray-hair, crew-cut and peaked cap neatly atop his head, looked like he'd been doing it his whole life. He stood with the practiced ease and erectness of a life-long military man.
                          

 Mannie slid Rubi to a stop next to him, noting the insignia and the name on his blue uniform. "Evening. Captain Foote?"


                          
"Evening." He got Mannie's implied question. "Yes. I really am Captain Foote." His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "Where'd you get the Jeep, son?"
                          

 Mannie hated being called son. Something about the soft southern assumption of superiority. "Government issue, Sir. I'm a Ranger at Amistad Reservoir.


                          
"You're a long way from home." The Captain leaned in and looked over Jess and BeeGee.
                          

 "Yes, sir." Mannie tried to give him a pleasant smile. Just answer his questions.


                          
"You on official business?"
                          

 Mannie hesitated "No, sir." The truth would serve.


                          
"Are you ladies accompanying this man voluntarily?" The captain's rifle was where they could see it.
                          

 Jess gulped. "Yes, sir. He's my best friend's dad." She jerked her head at BeeGee. "We saved her from her drunken husband."


                          
"Hold it." BeeGee glared at Jess. "I didn't need saving."
                          

 Mannie turned to look at her pleading with his eyes.


                          
"But they didn't kidnap me neither," BeeGee continued with a wry chuckle. "I'm here of my own free will."
                          

 The Captain stepped back and the barrel of his rifle pointed down. "All right." His frown softened. "Where are you headed?"


                          
"Salt Lake City, Captain." Mannie kept his voice respectful. "Is there a bridge out north?"
                          

 "A bridge?" The Captain looked for a moment like he wasn't going to answer, but he did. "No. We're bringing people into the city. We got a man with a plan. There's food and shelter and medicine. What's in Salt Lake City you're interested in?"


                          
"My teenage daughter, sir." He ought to understand that. Give him a little more. "She's traveling from the Seattle area."
                          

 "That's a long trip." The Captain's frown returned.


                          
"Yes, it is," Mannie agreed. "How can I get back to the highway?"
                          

 "I'm afraid you can't. You need to continue on this way." He pointed toward the city. "There'll be an escort in a minute. Once you get logged in, you can put in a travel request."



                          
"Captain, with all due respect. I've done my service. I was in the first Gulf War and then Afghanistan. I am retired." Mannie set his jaw. "I have a seventeen-year-old daughter who is counting on me to meet her in Salt Lake." He slid Rubi into reverse. "I'm heading north."
                          

 "Not right now you aren't." The Captain placed his hands on the door as if he could stop Mannie with his strength. "We can't have people running loose, possibly spreading disease."


                          
"I came through San Antonio," Mannie said in soft, measured tones. "They've declared martial law." His hand slipped toward the Sig pistol. "Captain, I am going north. You don't want me going through your city, then I'll head back the way I came and avoid your roads. My daughter is 17 and I haven't seen her in 14 years. I thought she was dead. She thought I was dead. Are you going to shoot me?"
                          
;