He expected Art to make some joke — one of the dozen or so quips people always made when they met someone from a different branch of the services. Instead Art just said, “Uh-huh.” His eyes didn’t leave Chapel’s, though.
“They need a car,” Ralph explained. “Just an old beater is okay. But they’re friends of mine, so don’t cheat them.”
“Huh,” Art said.
“Ralph tells me he’s been working here two years now,” Chapel said, to fill the void in the conversation. “It was really good of you to give him a shot.”
Art shrugged. “Works hard. That’s what I want.” He broke his gaze, but only to stare at Ralph for a long time. “Cars,” he said finally. Then he took a deep breath and let it out again. “Okay.”
He headed down an aisle between two mountains of truck tires. The stink of rubber was overwhelming, and it wasn’t helped by the stagnant water that had collected inside the tires. “Art’s a genius,” Ralph said. “He can fix anything. Used to work on a nuclear submarine, keeping the engines going. Now he’s got more than a hundred people working for him here, most of them vets or people who were down on their luck. If you screw up, you get fired on the spot, but if you do what he says, he treats you right.”
“Only rule,” Art called back, without turning his head.
Beyond the tires lay a landscape of partially intact cars. A small legion of men and women were busy either stripping pieces off the vehicles or screwing parts back on. A few of the cars looked like they were in drivable shape, though most were just held together with primer and duct tape.
Art stopped in front of one that had definitely seen better days. The quarter panels were dented, and rust had set in where the paint had chipped away. The radio antenna was about a foot and a half shorter than it should have been, and none of the four hubcaps matched any of the others. The inside looked like it had been vacuumed recently, though, and the windows shone as if they were brand-new.
Art put a hand on the hood and closed his eyes, as if he were communing with the spirit of the car. Then he opened his eyes again. “It’ll run. You guys drug dealers?”
“No,” Chapel affirmed.
“Mafia, or somethin’?”
“No,” Chapel said again.
“Eight hundred, with tags. Tags are good.”
Chapel glanced at Julia. He knew they didn’t have that kind of money. He’d come out here with Ralph because he’d known that stealing another car was a bad idea. Wilkes would be looking for any reports of stolen vehicles now, anywhere within fifty miles of Pittsburgh.
Art must have thought he was hesitating because of the car’s condition. He pointed at another one, which had fewer dents. “Sixteen. Worth it.”
“If we could afford it,” Chapel began, but Ralph touched his arm with his claw.
“These are good people, Art, but they’re kind of broke.”
Art considered this for a long time. Then he tilted his head back, so his hair shifted out of his face, and announced in deep tones, “Poor people gotta drive, too.”
“I’m going to cover them,” Ralph said. “I don’t have much in my bank account, but I’ll work for free for three weeks and make it up to you.”
Art squinted hard at Ralph. His lips pursed.
Ralph nearly stammered under the pressure. “Four weeks,” he said.
Chapel shook his head. “Ralph, you don’t have to—”
Art squinted harder.
“Six.”
“Looks like,” Art said, his face relaxing, “you got a car.” Then he started walking back toward the office.
They watched the junkyard owner go until he was out of earshot.
“Man,” Ralph said, “that guy’s sharp.”
Chapel shook his head. “Ralph,” he said, “this is incredibly generous of you, but we can’t accept it.”
“It’s no big deal,” Ralph said. “Top and Dolores will feed me, and I’ve got a guaranteed bunk at their place. I might have to buy a few less video games.”
“Those games are your therapy,” Julia pointed out.
Ralph laughed. “I have enough already. Though I’ll tell you what.” He turned and reached over and grabbed Angel’s hand. “You come back some time, and we’ll beat that panzer together, okay?”
Angel looked confused. “Are you asking me out on a date?”
“She meant to say yes,” Julia said.
It was a clear, bright day, perfect for driving long distances. Something Chapel hadn’t done for a very long time. The beater might look bad, but it had a decent motor under its hood and it purred along, gobbling up the blacktop. Chapel drove fast without actually speeding, overtaking big rigs and the occasional tractor as the road unrolled before them, heading west through endless stretches of grass and trees and low, gentle ridges. The car had no air-conditioning and no radio. The latter wouldn’t have mattered much anyway, since Julia kept her window rolled down, one arm out in the rushing air, her outstretched fingers weaving up and down like the spread wings of a gull.
He looked over at her, a big grin on his face, and saw her smiling back, her eyes hidden behind chunky sunglasses, rivulets of red hair sweeping across her cheek, now her eyes, now getting in her mouth so she had to sputter it out, which made him laugh. Which made her laugh.
It just felt so damn good to be moving, to be free. This was the America Chapel had learned to love as a kid, the wide openness of it, the size of it, the raw country all around him. Headed west with no real idea what he would find, the danger and the fear and every worry in his head not gone, necessarily, but put aside for a while, put on a back shelf where he could think about it later.
At some point he felt like having lunch, so they pulled into the immaculate parking lot of a welcome center, right inside the Pennsylvania line, and had hot dogs and soda. He perused a rack of road atlases and folding paper maps, found the one he liked best.
“When was the last time you saw one of these?” Julia asked, unfolding the map, following the major roads with one finger. “I always just use my phone, now.”
Which made him think about the fact they didn’t have phones anymore. That they were cut off, with no chance of calling for help if they needed it.
But he thought about that for only a second. He paid for the map with a couple of bills from their dwindling treasury. He followed Julia back out to the car while she tried to keep the map from fluttering open in the wind. He stopped for a moment and just looked out at the farmland that surrounded them on every side, flat and open, a backdrop for the white grandeur of the clouds, which dropped nothing but big, sharp shadows on the green of the land.
Then he got back to the car and found Julia leaning in through one of the rear windows. He came up beside her and saw Angel in the backseat, scrunched down as far as she could get, her arms wrapped tight around her knees. She wore a pair of sunglasses that covered half her face and a floppy sun hat pulled down over her hair. She hadn’t bothered to take the price tag off the hat.
“Are we almost there?” she asked.
“I’m afraid not,” Chapel said. “Angel — are you — are you all right?”
“Fine,” she insisted, a little abruptly. “Just drive, okay?”
“What is it?” Julia asked, with her best bedside manner. “Is something scaring you?”
“No,” Angel said. She sighed dramatically. “Just — you know. Trees. And the sky’s too big. And everything’s so far apart. I’m fine.”
Her tone made it clear she had no desire to talk about it further. Chapel stepped over to his door, then stopped to look over the top of the car at Julia. Neither of them spoke, but he knew she was thinking the same thing he was.