Coming into Knoxville, she looked up as they reached the Tennessee River, looking out over the water as they crossed the bridge. On the road from Asheville, especially after the exit to Gatlinburg, they’d seen more and more nonconvoy traffic joining into the mix of cars and trucks on the roads. Even midmorning, they slowed surrounding traffic a bit coming into the Asheville Highway exit.
“We’re, like, coming up on the end of the convoy up here at Volunteer Park,” he said as they pulled off the interstate. “You’ve been a pretty cool passenger, you know? You’re, like, totally welcome to, you know, hang out with me all the way up to Cincinnati, man. You won’t, like, technically be a guard or anything, but, like, with no convoy dudes to maybe narc on me to my boss for having a passenger, it, like, doesn’t really matter anymore. I can always say I dropped you off in Knoxville, you know?”
The parking lot was freshly paved and recently painted, and large enough to accommodate about twice as many vehicles as the present convoy. The park had a couple of ball fields, vacant in the middle of a school day, and, surrounded by a handful of cedars and well-tended flower beds, a brightly colored playground where a few mothers watched a gaggle of toddlers and small children swarm over the climbing gym and slides. Two of the little girls, in shorts and T-shirts, one with wispy child-blond hair and the other with tangled light-brown curls, were busily building a sand castle in a sandbox shaped like a giant turtle.
“So, like, if you need to take a leak or anything, you might want to hurry and get in line before the bus unloads, you know?”
When Reefer spoke, she jumped slightly as if for a moment she’d forgotten where she was, looking at him blankly as he continued, “It’ll only take me a couple of minutes to check out from the convoy list and get my deposit back, and then we can, like, really make up some time. Gotta have the convoy for safety but, damn, it’s slow.”
He shooed her out the door and as she hurried across the parking lot to beat the rush, she saw him walk off towards the circle of drivers gathering around the convoy master.
The restrooms were in a strictly utilitarian cinderblock building, but there was a whole line of them. Having beaten the bus, she didn’t have to wait. Never miss a chance to eat, sleep, or pee goes double when you’re female — at least for the last bit.
She checked her reflection in the mirror. The perm was, as expected, holding up well. Contacts were fine, but she’d want to take them out and clean them tonight. Nail polish was chipped and needed a touch-up — bad.
She got back to the van before Reefer did, so she sat down on the back bumper and took out the rose nail polish. She made her hand shake very slightly to keep the inexpert effect going. When he got back a minute or two later, they were already dry.
Back in easy wireless range, she downloaded another couple of novels while he checked his tanks. “I’ve got one stop downtown, you know? We can, like, grab some food in Lexington.”
“I was surprised you sold off any of your stock in Asheville. I mean, wouldn’t they pay more in Chicago? I know what I’d pay for live blue crab in Cincy, if I could find it.”
“Oh, well, like, they would. This dude, I make the detour because he’s a friend, but he pays Chicago prices just like anybody, you know? The rest of the way, I call ahead when I know about what time I’m coming through, and, you know, if they want any they meet me at an exit and make the buy. But really, almost all of it goes all the way there. If it weren’t for the big money stock trader and banker dudes, there just wouldn’t be enough demand to pay for the route.”
As they drove into downtown on I-40, the view of the Knoxville skyline made a nice change from farms and mountains, even blurred as it was by a gentle haze of smog.
“What’s with the giant microphone?”
“Huh? Oh, like, you mean the tower with the ball on top? Yeah, man, I guess it does look a bit like an old-timey microphone. It’s way pre-war. It’s, like, left over from some prewar ‘World’ something or other, you know?” He pulled onto 158 and headed for the riverfront
“Oh. That’s kind of neat. Where’s your friend’s restaurant?”
“Oh, like right on the river. Awesome place, got a dock and everything.”
“Is there something wrong with my eyes, or has everything gone suddenly orange?” Once they turned onto West Cumberland, the streets had suddenly sprouted big orange streamers and balloons with a silver atom symbol blazoned on them. They drove under a large orange banner that spanned the street, proclaiming “AntimatterFest ’47!” Another welcomed them to historic downtown Knoxville, “Birthplace of the Antimatter Age!”
“Aw, man!” he groaned. “I forgot! They go, like, totally nuts for this thing. Parking will just be hell.” He scratched his head and thought for a minute. “Can you drive?”
“Oh, sure… Why?”
“Well, like, these people will jump all over my butt if I even think about double parking on the street, here.” He waved a hand casually at the pedestrians, about half of whom were wearing orange beanies with revolving silver atom holograms overhead. “Geez, like never combine a consumer electronics town with a dorky festival. Antimatter fireworks and everything. Totally bonkers,” he said, shuddering.
The light in front of him turned yellow and he slowed down and stopped behind the cars in front of him.
“Switch!” He slammed the gearshift into park, hit his seatbelt release, and was out the door, yelling, “Don’t take off before I’m in the back, man!”
She snapped her jaw shut and scrambled over to the driver’s seat, grabbing the door he’d left open, adjusting the seat, and checking her mirrors as he yanked the back of the van open and squeezed in between his tanks, shutting it behind him.
“Uh, like, I need to get some stuff out back here. Hang a left at the next light, and a left onto West Main. Just, you know, keep going around the block for a little while. Please?”
She restrained the impulse to laugh as he lurched around in back, avoiding the tanks, unbolting a false panel, stubbing his toe, yanking a couple of vacuum-sealed bricks of familiar dried vegetation out of the cavity, and fumbled with the false panel, trying to get it back in place with the van in motion. Finally, he got it and sighed, grabbing his backpack and shoving the packages in the bottom, covered by clothes.
“Okay, now don’t turn this time, straight, farther up now, turn down this side street. Yeah, like, perfect. Okay, pull in beside this one, see the blue loading sign? Okay, stop right there.” He grabbed his PDA and punched in a number from memory. “Hey, Pete, guess who, dude? Yep, like, in the flesh. On your loading dock, dude. Like, now. Well, I would have called ahead, but, like, I was busy trying to avoid all these people on the streets, you know? Oh, there you are…” He hung up as a short, fat man in a white apron rushed out and yanked open the van doors.
“Geez, Re — Mister Jones, you know I only take delivery of the crabs here, I haven’t had time to get Joey in place, he’s still here, my reputation, I can’t afford to get caught. This is not good, Mister Jones.”
“Look, let’s get this shit under cover. You would have been at more risk sending Joey out with all these people around and you know it.” Cally smiled secretly to herself as some of her ride’s surfer accent fell away.
“Awright. This time. Come in and grab a bucket. I got lots of extra customers today and I can move a few more of these. Who’s she?”