Transcontinental

by Brad Cook

  “Baron.”

  “Hm… Perhaps it would be best to choose a name not tied to your past,” Ant remarked. “For emotional reasons. Pick something common.”

  Searching his thoughts, Leroy settled on one. “Marcus.”

  “That will work. Now choose a last name.”

  “Jackson.”

  “Very good, nice and common. And why have I found you wandering on the side of the highway today, Marcus Jackson?”

  “I…“ Leroy thought hard, but nothing came. He emptied his mind, and an idea sprung forth. “Momma got mad and made me walk home.”

  Ant grinned. “Do you have any ID on you, son?”

  A quizzical look on his face, Leroy waited for Ant to help him out.

  “‘No sir I do not,’ is the correct answer.”

  “You said not to call people sir.”

  “It might as well be a crime to not call an officer ‘sir.’ Just do it.”

  “No sir, I don’t,” Leroy repeated flatly.

  “Where do you live?”

  “Just off the next exit.”

  “Good answer. But suppose I offered you a ride.”

  “Thank you, sir, but it’d just make momma angrier.”

  “She does not have to know. Come on.”

  “She’ll know. She always knows. Look, I appreciate the help, sir, but I’ve done this before, it’s no biggie.” Leroy crossed his arms.

  “Very convincing,” Ant responded.

  Within a moment, the paper bag landscape rollicking past outside the boxcar turned brighter, paler, until the train was adrift in a creamy sea of sand.

  Ant noticed Leroy’s fixation and looked over. “The salt flats. That was fast.”

  “Yeah ‘cause you been asleep the whole time.”

  “Welcome to Utah, Marcus.”

  Chapter 6

  Salt Lake City, UT

  “I told you, I’m done waiting around.”

  “And what do you suggest? A brisk jaunt across the state in this heat?”

  Hours ago, their train had stopped outside Salk Lake City, and was promptly dismantled. The intense rays of the sun reflected off the salt flats, making them seem as blindingly white as well-lit snow. Beyond the station was an inlet of the Great Salt Lake, bluer and more beautiful than any water Leroy had ever seen. Beside the vacant sets of tracks, Ant and Leroy faced each other.

  “You go to the jungle, get stabbed, have fun. I’ma keep moving.”

  “As I previously mentioned, that was a fluke,” Ant stressed. “You will find it difficult to travel by train if you shun the jungle.”

  “Good thing I’m walking.”

  “Carrying the banner undoubtedly has its place, but in this weather it is a colossal waste of resources, I assure you.”

  “What’s that, hobo talk?”

  “Yes, actually. Riding trains is just the tip of the hobo iceberg.”

  Leroy marched along the tracks away from Ant.

  “The heat will wear you down, and then where will you go?”

  “The shade.”

  “I think you are making a mistake.”

  Turning back, Leroy said “The mistake is waiting around for something to happen. That’s not how it works.” He hoped he was right.

  Ant threw up his hands. “Suit yourself. This is your voyage, captain.”

  “Yeah, it is.” He stomped away.

  Ant trailed behind. “You realize you are headed straight for the city?”

  “Bound to hit another station at some point.”

  “Likely the Union Pacific Depot, which is rife with security.”

  “Then I’ll keep going.”

  “It will be long dark by then,” Ant contended.

  “So I’ll find somewhere to sleep.”

  “There is no jungle near the Depot, and it might be difficult to find another stripper with whom to lodge. This is the city of Mormons.”

  Seething, he felt itchy tingles on his ankles as sand rained from his shoes. It bugged him that Ant had a response for everything.

  “Just gotta keep moving.”

  “Right behind you, captain.”

  An hour later, Leroy was starting to think Ant had been right. It was frustrating how often that was the case. His insides were boiling. He couldn’t stop, though—there was so much further to go, still. So much further.

  Squinting, Leroy saw something curious a few hundred yards out. It was a bunch of old home appliances, some rusted and bearing designs of bygone eras, others ostensibly good as new, jumbled in an untidy heap. Strange thing to see in the desert, he thought, taking a mental snapshot.

  Ahead, the desert yielded to trees, then to small houses. Skyscrapers of the city preceded mountains that loomed even larger. It would take another hour until he reached the heart of the city, and then at least one more to get through it. That meant a lot more walking and sweating, and neither sounded appealing.

  If Ant was right, there would be no jungle until well past the city, and it would be dark by the time they reached it. He wasn’t sure which thought caused him more anxiety—having to stay at a jungle again, or not knowing when or where he would be able to sleep next.

  Ant had been surprisingly quiet since they’d left the station, which Leroy appreciated. The man was wise and interesting, but sometimes Leroy simply wanted silence. He could be easily overwhelmed.

  Glancing back, Leroy almost hoped for a second that Ant wouldn’t be there, but he was, along with that familiar smile, more strained than previously. Maybe he really was giving up control. Suddenly, Leroy felt the full weight of responsibility on his shoulders. How could he possibly get himself safely from Utah to Florida? It seemed insane to even want to try. So much could go wrong.

  Too much. It was too much to think about. He needed to put the thought out of his mind and just keep moving, so he did.

  “Break time,” Ant said as he lowered himself onto a covered bench by the road. He wiped his forehead with a cloth from his bag.

  “No time to stop,” Leroy urged.

  “I need some water.”

  “So drink and walk.”

  “I am not a teenager, Leroy.”

  “You said I’m in charge. I say we go.”

  “You go ahead, I will catch up.”

  Leroy faltered, then sat beside Ant. He didn’t like being in charge.

  “Or you can give an old man his five minutes, then we can continue.”

  Though he was itching to keep moving, Leroy leaned back and relaxed, grateful that Ant had forced him to stop. A break was probably a good idea in the long run. He finished off a water bottle from his bag, then pulled out the other, which was empty, too. He hadn’t realized how low he was.

  “We gotta stop at a store. I’m outta water. And starving.”

  Ant handed his bottle to Leroy. “I would imagine there are plenty beyond the city. Have you given any thought to where we might sleep?”

  “Can’t think about that right now. We’ll deal with it when we get there.”

  “That really is not the best strategy, but I trust you to figure it out.”

  It dawned on Leroy that as captain of the voyage, not only was he responsible for himself, but for Ant, as well, and the weight of responsibility magnified to bone-crushing levels. He wished he could just go back to sitting on the couch at home watching TV, comfortable in the knowledge that his mom was just out getting drunk. He found himself nearly gasping for air.

  “Are you okay?” Ant asked.

  “Yeah, yeah,” Leroy wheezed, and sucked in a raspy breath.

  Though it wasn’t yet setting, the sun was getting lower by the minute, and they weren’t even in the city yet. Maybe they should’ve just gone to the jungle like Ant had said. Leroy regretted leaving the station, until he realized that not a single train had passed by in the time they’d been walking. They’d probably still be sitting at the jungle, had they stayed. Leroy was glad they’d made some progress from walking, and felt his decision was at least somewhat justified.<
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  He took a long pull from Ant’s water bottle, then handed it back. “You about ready to go?” he asked, still breathing hard.

  “Well, I am getting there. Another minute, perhaps.”

  Leroy was getting antsy when a rattling made him look left. A city bus rolled up the road, then stopped in front of them. The doors slid open. The uneasy feeling of heading off to school arose in him.

  The driver, a bristly mustache dominating his upper lip, watched with an impatiently inviting gaze. Leroy turned to Ant, who snatched his bag and leapt up. “I hope you have change for a twenty,” Ant said.

  Leroy followed.

  * * *

  Leroy didn’t know much about Mormons, but they sure knew how to construct a building. He’d gawked at the Salt Lake Temple in all its gothic glory—the spires stabbing at the sky, the intricate designs for the brick medium, the way everything seemed to flow upward. It was effective. It made him feel something… he didn’t know what, but something.

  The rest of the city was a stark contrast: a handful of vanilla office buildings, their only hint of personality imparted by the mountains in the distance. The temple had stuck out like a pile of fridges in the desert.

  It was all he’d been able to think about since they passed through downtown. He’d snubbed Ant’s few attempts at conversation in favor of unfettered observation. It was annoying and kind of weird how often he’d asked about Rehema, and Leroy was starting to suspect Ant was asking for himself rather than the sake of finding her.

  The bus deposited riders at various stops until they were the final two riders and the city was behind them, blocking out the setting sun.

  “What is the plan, captain?” Ant asked in the seat across from Leroy.

  “Can you not call me that?”

  “Sure thing, chief.”

  He glared at Ant. “Find a store, then sleep somewhere.”

  “Somewhere that is not the jungle.”

  Sitting up straight, Leroy said “Right,” but doubt loomed large.

  The bus came to a squealing standstill, and the driver threw the lever to open the door, then looked up at them in the rear-view mirror. “Arcadia Heights. Last stop,” he grumbled through his mustache.

  Ant waited for Leroy to go, then followed him off the bus. They were past Salt Lake City, but Leroy could still see the Temple in the distance, lit up like a castle at Disneyland. He’d never been, of course, but there’d been plenty of commercials to tease him with the image.

  “We had better get going,” Ant said. “It may be a long walk.”

  Leroy agreed, and they trekked on. The walk was far from long, though; within ten minutes they’d come upon a twenty-four hour superstore. Leroy expected the greeter to confiscate or at least make them check in their bags, but the old man waved and smiled as they passed.

  “That’s weird, letting us keep our bags,” Leroy said.

  Before he’d finished speaking, Ant made a sharp right turn and hoisted his bag onto the customer service counter. He regarded the woman and said “May I keep this here until we finish shopping, please?”

  The woman smiled and consented, and Ant urged Leroy to give up his bag, as well. He wasn’t sure he wanted to, though; he didn’t like the idea of some random people thumbing through his things.

  “I gotta?” he asked.

  “There is no rule that you must, clearly, but I would advise it.”

  “Why?”

  “If we retain our bags, they have cause to accuse us of shoplifting.”

  “Sir,” the woman intervened, “We strive to make your shopping experience the highest priority at this establishment. If you’d like to keep your bags, you go right ahead.” She gave them a firm, friendly nod.

  “I appreciate it, I truly do.” Ant turned to Leroy. “Hand it over.”

  “She said I could keep it.”

  “Do you think it wise to take the risk in your current situation?”

  As Ant and the woman stared at him, Leroy realized it was more trouble than it was worth to keep the bag. He swung it onto the counter and relinquished it to the woman, wondering why Ant made it such a big deal.

  They strode out toward the warehouse of groceries, then Leroy abruptly turned and ran back to customer service, calling out to the woman, who was headed toward an office in the back. “Hold up, ma’am!”

  Startled, she whipped around.

  “I gotta see my bag for a second,” Leroy said.

  The woman returned, scowling a moment before she corrected it into a smile, and handed him the bag. Leroy pulled out a wad of paper, from which he extracted their cash. “Might need this if we aren’t shoplifting,” he deadpanned. Her stare was blank. “Sorry, that was a joke.”

  Leroy pocketed the cash as he jogged back to Ant. “What’s on the list?”

  “You tell me.”

  “If it’s up to me, we’re leaving with ten pounds of gummy bears.”

  “While that sounds toothsome, somehow I fear it inadequate.”

  “What about that hobo iceberg? Anything about food in there?”

  “True hobos will eat nearly anything, as many of them lived through the depression and probably had to at some point, but they are rare these days. Cracker John is the only one of whom I know. I digress, though,” Ant said as they turned down the first aisle. “Good traveling food is anything cheap, light, or nutritious, but preferably all three.”

  Proud of himself for having packed appropriately at the outset of the journey, Leroy nodded. He was smarter than he acknowledged, sometimes.

  Ant reached for the most colorful bag of bread on the shelf. “Wonder Bread and peanut butter is my first choice. It is cheap, it provides protein, and a little goes a long way. You see, it turns to paste and sits like a lump in your stomach, taking hours to digest. Very efficient. Well, technically inefficient, I suppose.”

  In the next aisle, Ant grabbed a jar of peanut butter.

  “I love peanut butter.”

  With a sidelong glance, Ant said “I doubt the sanity of those who do not.”

  “Get crunchy.”

  “You know, the type of peanut butter a man prefers says a lot about him.” Ant switched the two bottles. “Creamy people like it safe, routine, whereas crunchy people are more adventurous, and like to mix things up.”

  “So you like crunchy?”

  “I enjoy both,” Ant smiled.

  Leroy surveyed the shelves, eyeing everything delicious he could, but shouldn’t get. A hundred bucks of Pop-Tarts sounded pretty tempting.

  Ant glanced up as a man walked past the end of the aisle.

  “What else?” Leroy asked.

  “Anything easy to cook via fire, such as canned food or soup.”

  “Cans aren’t light,” Leroy said as he grabbed a big bag of trail mix.

  “I can make an exception when chili is involved. Get it?”

  Leroy rolled his eyes, cradling cans in his arms as they stalked the aisles.

  “So you can crack a pun but I am prohibited? I protest!” he said, throwing a hand into the air with his pointer finger extended, then became distracted. “Vitamins,” Ant said as he grabbed a bottle, “are essential.”

  With that, Leroy was whisked into a memory of Rehema in which the two of them sat eating macaroni from paper bowls at his little table, much too small for her, so her knees poked out to the sides. She had asked if his mom gave him vitamins, and explained how they’d make him strong and healthy. She’d split her own vitamin and given half to him, laughing as he crinkled his face at the bitter taste. Later that night, he’d asked his mom if he could have vitamins so he could grow faster. “What, I ain’t feedin’ you enough?” she’d snapped.

  When the effect of the memory wore off, Ant was already headed to the next aisle. Leroy caught up and Ant placed the bottle of vitamins atop his already full arms, then grabbed a gallon of water. “We can reuse this.”

  “No way I’m carrying that, too,” Leroy stated.

  “I think I can manage
.” Ant peered over his shoulder, eyes narrow.

  “Anything else? Probably shouldn’t spend too much.”

  “I have toilet paper, mouthwash, a lighter, wet wipes, a blanket…” Ant said. “Do you have any extra clothes in your bag?”

  “Nope. Should I?”

  Ant led him over to the clothing section, to front of a rack of boxers, briefs, and underwear. “Take your pick.”

  “Underwear?”

  “Hobo or not, one should have clean undergarments.”

  “Does underwear say a lot about a person, too?”

  “More than you know.”

  Ant pulled a pack of white t-shirts off of a rack. Then, Leroy saw something catch Ant’s eye, and his gaze followed.

  “What d’you keep looking at?”

  “I believe we are being followed.”

  “Why would anyone follow us?”

  “They likely assume we are going to shoplift, perhaps because of your comment earlier, or because of our color. You cannot joke like that.”

  “No way they took that seriously.” Leroy scanned the shelf, completely lacking confidence in what he had just said.

  “You would be surprised. The illusion of safety is but a one-way mirror.”

  “That third bag from the left.” Leroy shifted the items in his arms and pointed at a pack of briefs, and Ant picked it off the shelf. “Remind me why we didn’t just get a cart?” he said, trying to keep his mind off the fact that he was apparently being watched.

  “Who needs a cart when you have a perfectly good teenager?”

  They hauled their loot toward the front of the store, where long lines formed at the few open registers amidst the bevy of closed ones.

  “Twenty registers, and they got three open.” Leroy sighed and stepped into the line without the screaming baby, without the the two-cart, six-person family, but with an elderly woman in a scooter.

  Ant didn’t follow. “We can pay at customer service, where our bags are.”

  Almost giddy, Leroy hopped out of line.

  “You’re gonna break your back carrying all this stuff.”

  “I have been backpacking for a long time. I am inured.”

  Leroy piled the items onto the counter and the woman rang them up. Given Ant’s suspicion that they were being monitored, Leroy found it hard to look her in the eye, and she seemed to feel the same.