Shannon was quiet at first, subdued, almost withdrawn, but she seemed to relax and open up the farther away from Juniper they traveled, first jumping into the conversation at odd and irregular points, then finally being drawn in.
Bill smiled to himself as he drove. God, there was nothing better than traveling. He loved everything about it. Not only did he enjoy seeing new and uncharted country, but, as he'd told Ginny last night, taking vacations together strengthened the family bond. The enforced intimacy of an enclosed car mandated greater interaction. In real life, Shannon had enough space of her own, enough opportunity for physical movement, that the boundaries of their relationship could be voluntarily controlled. But here, they were stuck with each other, could not get away even if they wanted to, and the traditional teenage distance she'd kept from them the past few years was gradually broken down, worn away. It was like she was a little girl again, a fully integrated member of the family, and that nostalgic familiarity felt good.
"How far are we from the border?" Shannon asked.
"A hundred miles or so."
"I've never been to New Mexico before."
He smiled. "That'll only be true for another hour and a half."
The smile faded on his face even before he'd finished the sentence. Ahead, on the desert hillside, he could see the clustered clinging buildings of Rio Verde and, dominating the landscape of the town, The Store. It stood amidst the older structures like a rocket among biplanes, drawing attention to itself, its recently constructed windowless facade and bright shiny sign looking exactly like its Juniper counterpart, calling to him, mocking him.
He said nothing, did not point it out or mention it, but Ginny and Shannon could not help but notice the building, and they were silent as they drove through the town, not speaking until they had gone some miles beyond it and the low mesas of New Mexico were in sight on the cloud-crowded horizon.
Sometime after two, they stopped for a late lunch in Socorro, eating at McDonald's, a mile or two from the Rio Grande.
Socorro didn't have a Store, but Las Palmas, the next town, did -- a huge, conspicuously expensive building situated between poor adobe farmhouses. The town could not have had a population of more than a few hundred, but the gigantic Store parking lot was filled. All of the vehicles, he saw as they drove by, were old and dusty, and the men and women trudging into The Store looked discouraged, whipped, beaten.
Like a conquered people, he thought.
But he said nothing, kept driving.
He'd made reservations for the night at a Holiday Inn in Encantada, based on a favorable description in the _AAA TourBook_. Encantada turned out to be a one-street town on a flat plain at the edge of a massive oil field. Following the speed limit signs, he slowed the car to thirty-five miles an hour as they entered the town limits.
Immediately, the hair began prickling on his arms and the back of his neck. Shannon was asleep in the rear, but Ginny was wide-awake. and she looked over at him, fear in her eyes. "Bill," she said quietly.
He didn't have to be told. He could see it for himself.
Everyone on the street was dressed in The Store uniform.
The men, the women, the boys, the girls.
"My God," Ginny said. "Oh, my God."
Bill said nothing, slowed to thirty. In the window of the town's lone gas station, the attendant was wearing a Store uniform. An oil truck driver, jumping down from his cab, was wearing a Store uniform as well, as were the diners at the cafй to which the trucker was headed.
At the far end of town, just past the Holiday Inn, was the intimidating bulk of The Store itself.
"We can't stay here," Ginny said. "We have to stay somewhere else."
Shannon awoke in the backseat. "What is it?" she asked groggily. She sat up, looked around. "Oh," she said, and was silent.
"We have reservations here," Bill said weakly. "They'll charge us even if we don't stay."
"Let them."
He thought of arguing, then got out his map. "I guess we can go on to the next town, see if they have any place to stay."
"And we'll go to the next town if we have to. And the next. We'll keep driving until we find a motel." She looked at him. "You've been driving all day.
We'll switch off. I'll drive for a while."
He looked at the dashboard. "We need to get gas, though. We're almost out."
Ginny nodded. "Fine," she said. "Let's get it and go."
But the Store-suited attendant at the station informed him that the tanks were empty and the truck hadn't been by yet. A shipment was supposed to have been delivered this morning, but there'd been some sort of mix-up near Albuquerque and the driver had radioed that he wouldn't be in until late.
"How late?" Bill asked.
The attendant shrugged. "Ten, maybe. Midnight."
"We're screwed," he told Ginny, walking back to the car. He explained the situation, and after a brief discussion, they agreed to stay that night in the Holiday Inn.
The motel itself was nice. There was cable TV, a heated pool, a Jacuzzi, and there was nothing sinister or threatening about any of it. But every window in the place had a view of The Store, and even the maids and desk clerks were wearing Store uniforms.
They locked themselves in their room, pulled the drapes, and had a dinner comprised of the snacks they'd brought along with them: Coke and potato chips, apples and pretzels. Ginny lay on one bed, Shannon on the other, and he sat in a chair next to the curtained window as they watched a New Mexico newscast, the national news, and a syndicated tabloid show.
They didn't talk about The Store or the town, commented only on the stories broadcast on television. Shannon went to take a shower, and Bill moved next to Ginny on the bed. She snuggled next to him. "I'm scared," she said.
"I know," he told her. He was scared, too, although he told himself logically that there was no real reason to be.
He changed the station when Shannon emerged from the bathroom, switching to a movie channel, and they watched a bad John Candy movie and then part of an even worse Chevy Chase flick.
Shannon had already crawled under the covers of her bed, and Ginny was about to go into the bathroom and take a shower herself, when Bill made a big show of standing, stretching, and looking at the clock.
"I'm going to go get some gas," he said. "I'll be back in a few minutes."
Ginny stopped cold, whirled to face him. "What?"
"I'm going to get some gas."
"You're not going out after dark," she told him.
Shannon pretended not to listen, kept her attention on the movie, and he walked over to where Ginny was standing. "What if there is no gas in the morning?" he said. "Are we going to stay here another day? The truck's supposed to come tonight. I'll fill up the tank and be right back."
"I don't like it."
He pointed out that the gas station was half a block away, between a Burger King and a 7-Eleven, in the opposite direction of The Store. "There won't be any problem," he said.
She looked at him, took a deep breath. "Make it quick."
He drove directly to The Store.
He'd been wanting to drive by ever since they'd arrived in Encantada, ever since he'd seen the uniformed populace, but he knew that Ginny would be against it and he hadn't even mentioned the idea to her. Now he drove into the huge parking lot and toward the entrance of The Store.
It was eerie, seeing the familiar building in these unfamiliar surroundings. He understood the corporate desire for uniformity, but there was something about the deliberately induced deja vu he experienced while driving through a parking lot he knew toward a store that he knew in a town that he'd never been in or seen before that was not only disorienting but disturbing.
It was after ten and The Store was closed. He'd expected to see a few stragglers, the cars of some late-working employees in the parking lot, but everyone must have bailed instantly because his was the only vehicle on the wide expanse of asphalt.