The Journey is Our Home

by Kathy Miner

  Ed nodded, then disappeared into his tent, emerging a moment later with a small duffel bag. He lifted his hand to Piper as he headed for the creek. “I’m going to go take a bath, get freshened up for the mosquitoes.” He pointed his finger at her. “You keep clear, you hear? What’s been seen can’t be unseen.”

  Piper laughed and waved him off. A few minutes later, Owen followed suit, yawning and stretching, then following Ed down to the river. Piper added a few small pieces of wood to the fire and sighed deeply, feeling relaxed and content. A soft rustle and a croak in a nearby cottonwood made her smile before she even spotted the big raven.

  Loki was gazing down at her when she tilted her head back. His black eyes sparkled with uncanny intelligence and curiosity. He ruffled his glossy feathers and shifted on his branch, as if presenting his best side. He croaked again, cocked his head, then let out a low, throaty rattle.

  “You again. What I wouldn’t give to understand how she does this.” Piper shook her head and laughed softly, taking a moment to warm the bond-line between her heart and her mother’s. As before, the answer back was immediate and enthusiastic. She grinned at Loki. “Do you have any idea how awful this would have been during high school? Man, I dodged a bullet there.”

  Rosemary chose that moment to rush back into the clearing, startling Loki into flight. A few seconds later, Jack followed, his eyes fixed on the raven’s retreat to a cottonwood across the creek. He turned to Piper. “Is that who I think it is?”

  “Yep.”

  Jack laughed in delight. “How totally cool is that?”

  “Easy for you to say. You’re not the one with a living nanny-cam reporting your every move.” But she grinned back. “It is pretty damn cool. Do you suppose he flies all the way back home and reports to her? It’s been a few days since we saw him. He probably could have made it there and back to us.”

  Jack shrugged. “Who can say? Maybe he just gives her the information telepathically. Or maybe she can sense through his senses, like she does with the dogs. What I really wonder is how he knows where you are. I’m pretty sure he didn’t follow us from Limon. Does he have some kind of homing instinct that’s fixed on you?” He laughed again. “And you should see the look on your face.”

  Piper shuddered. “I’m trying not to let this freak me out completely, okay? How does he know where I am?” She got up and put her notes away. “This is just too creepy.”

  Ed and Owen returned, and Piper headed down to the creek to hustle through a chilly wash. Owen had already gone to bed when she returned, and the sun was nearing the horizon. Jack jogged towards the creek with Rosemary on his heels. Ed was sitting with his back to the fire, his shotgun across his lap, sipping a cup of what her nose told her was some of Verity’s herbal tea. He held the mug up thoughtfully.

  “I can’t even imagine the price a cup of real coffee would demand these days. I’d trade everything I own – except for Rosemary – for just one cup.”

  Piper smiled. “I know a lot of people who feel the same way. Maybe we should think about cultivating it, if it’ll grow in Colorado.” Then she grew serious. “Did Jack tell you about the house downstream, how Rosemary didn’t like it?”

  “He did. I’ll have my eyes peeled, don’t you worry.” He sighed. “It was lonely out there today, but I was glad we didn’t see anyone. I’ve never been afraid to meet strangers, but I sure feel that way now.”

  Piper just rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment. What could she say that offered reassurance or comfort? She felt the same way. She headed for her tent, eager now for the warmth and softness of her sleeping bag. They’d opted for single-person hiking tents, and as long as she focused on the mesh beside her face and not the proximity of the domed nylon roof over her head, it didn’t feel too much like a coffin. From a few feet away, she could hear the rumble of Owen’s soft snores, and she fell asleep between one breath and the next.

  She slept deeply until Owen woke her for her watch shift at 2:00 am. Keeping her eyes turned away from the fire, she, too, set a cup of tea to steep. Then she stepped carefully around the perimeter of their camp, pausing to listen every few feet, rifle cradled in the crook of her arm. She walked to a spot clear of the cottonwoods and surveyed the nighttime prairie. The stars were a breathtaking canopy overhead, and the moon was fuller than it had been on the way to Limon.

  “Waxing gibbous,” she murmured, remembering the old elementary school lessons. The constellations she’d been teaching herself during her time with Brody came back, and she located the summer triangle, the stars Deneb, Vega and Altair. From there, it was easy to spot the constellations that went with them, and she murmured their names as well. “Cygnus the Swan, Lyra the Harp, and Aquila the Eagle.”

  She indulged in a few more minutes under the stars before circling back to the fire the long way, listening, always listening. Once again, she was careful to keep her eyes averted from the fire when she picked up her mug of tea, preserving her night vision. She thought of some more ideas she wanted to add to her notes, but couldn’t risk adequate illumination to write, so she memorized them. It made her think of writing papers in her head while she waited tables in college, and the memory made her feel nostalgic in a way she struggled to define. The things she’d thought of as difficult back then – unreasonable paper deadlines, double shifts at work, moody roommates, unreliable project partners – seemed like problems from another planet now.

  When 4:00 am rolled around, she was tempted to just let Jack sleep. He, too, appeared to be sleeping dreamlessly, and she was wired. It seemed a shame to disturb him, but Martin’s voice sounded in her ear as if he was standing right next to her. “Don’t be an idiot. If you can’t sleep, rest. Lack of sleep makes you stupid, and stupid kills.” Piper sighed and listened to a man who was hundreds of miles away.

  Jack opened his eyes immediately when she spoke his name, then zipped himself out of his tent and stretched. Owen and Ed slept on, with Rosemary curled on a blanket at the foot of Ed’s tent. Jack’s eyes met hers, alert and clear. “Four o’clock and all’s well?”

  “Quiet as can be,” Piper confirmed. “Look, if you’re still tired, I’m wide awake and –”

  Jack held up a hand, stopping her. “If you can’t sleep, rest. Lack of sleep –”

  “Yeah, yeah.” Piper waved him off and headed towards her tent. “Martin and I have already been through all that. Goodnight.”

  She did sleep, to her surprise, and awoke shortly after dawn. The others had already broken down their tents and loaded their bikes, and she scrambled to catch up. While she completed her morning necessities, the men pored over the maps she’d marked, discussing how fast they could get to the day’s target destination if they avoided this city, took that route, turned here or turned there. Piper smirked to herself as she hurried down a cold breakfast. Men and road trips always boiled down to the holy grail of “making good time.” Some things would never change.

  They left while the eastern sky was still warm and rosy, and in just under two hours, paused to survey I-80 from the top of a hill. They shut the bikes down and removed their helmets, and in the sudden quiet, the only sound was the tick of rapidly cooling metal. On the interstate, traffic stretched in both directions as far as the eye could see. Here and there, piles of what might once have been people littered the road. Many of the vehicles appeared to have been ransacked, and some of them had been burned.

  “Where were they all going?” Jack asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “And what happened when they couldn’t get there? So many people. Where are they all now?”

  Piper hunched her shoulders and hugged her elbows, shaken by the stillness, the absolute silence. Ed reached to rest his hand on her shoulder, as she had done for him the night before, and she covered his hand with hers. Gratitude for the people she was traveling with overwhelmed her for a moment, made her blink back tears. She was so glad these good men were alive, and safe, and here beside her, instead of rotting in a car somewhere.


  They started the bikes and crept past the gauntlet. Piper concentrated on finding a path through the vehicles and tried not to look too closely at what they were passing, but images leapt out at her just the same: A woman’s still-bright blonde hair, draped over a steering wheel; a fading infant mobile, jiggling softly in the wind from atop a haphazardly loaded trailer. And worst of all, the teeth. Bright white, shining from the shadowy interiors of vehicles, or gleaming from a disintegrating human face on the tarmac. Her stomach was quivering by the time they were clear, her throat tight with the need to cry. They rode on for another hour, and she was back in control of herself by the time they stopped to siphon more gas, but she doubted any of them would make it through the coming night without troubling dreams.

  By noon, they were seeing signs of human habitation. They passed little towns that were completely burned out, and twice they passed barricades that had been erected across roads, with signs warning outsiders to “Stay Out.” Here and there, smoke rose from single homes or small towns. The towns got bigger the farther east they traveled, and in the mid-afternoon, they saw their first people.

  A woman and several children were working in a garden patch alongside a dusty country road. They straightened to stare at the approaching travelers, and one of the children, a boy of about ten, rushed to pick up a shotgun. He didn’t point it at them, but held it at his hip with the ease of long practice. Piper was trying to decide if they should stop when a man broke from the cover at the back of the field. He was also carrying a shotgun, and he half-ran to stand between his family and the road.

  “Move along!” he shouted, waving his arm to emphasize his words. “There’s nothing for you here! Just keep moving!”

  Piper nodded at the woman as they rode by and had to resist the urge to turn to check behind them. She felt like she had a target pinned between her shoulder blades. When they were well past, she stopped, sitting on her idling bike until the others joined her. Jack and Owen looked grim, but Ed just looked tired.

  “Guess that was the Nebraska welcoming committee,” he said. Rosemary, who rode between his legs with remarkable agility, chose that moment to bark sassily. It made them all smile. Ed ruffled her ears and kissed the top of her head. “Now that’s more like it. We appreciate it, girl.”

  They were only 20 miles from the Iowa state line when they stopped for the night, once again finding a small stream to camp along. This one didn’t have a name according to Piper’s maps, but it was a bright and bubbly little creek, and the soft music of the water was soothing. They had made good time and probably could have ridden on, but they would be crossing the Missouri River when they crossed into Iowa, and Piper wanted to get another look at her maps. Rivers, especially in this part of the country, would draw people.

  Ed was on KP this evening, and while he cooked up more eggs and vegetables, they all took turns washing up in the creek. It had been a long day, but Piper was nowhere near as tired as she’d been the day before. She added to her notes extensively while they ate, getting impressions and information from the others, describing what they’d seen and sensed in as much detail as she could remember.

  After Ed had washed up, they settled around the campfire, each occupied with the task of their choice. Ed brushed Rosemary’s scruffy coat, looking for ticks and burrs, then examined the pads of her paws. She sprawled happily on her back and basked under his ministrations, especially when they concluded with a tummy rub. Owen stretched out on the sleeping bag he’d dragged out of the tent, dozing before his watch shift, huge arms neatly folded on his barrel chest. Piper continued working on her notes, absent-mindedly humming along whenever Jack played a song she recognized on his guitar. She looked up when he strummed the opening chords of one of her favorite ‘80’s power ballads.

  “’Every Rose Has Its Thorn?’” She grinned. “I would not have pegged you for a Poison fan, Pastor Jack.”

  He kept playing, but shot a look at her out of the corner of his eyes. “I wasn’t always a pastor.”

  He went on to play and sing a more-than respectable version of the song, then segued into music by Whitesnake and Night Ranger. By the time he played Mr. Big’s “To Be With You,” Owen was sitting up on his sleeping bag, grinning and nodding his head along. Both he and Piper joined in on the irresistible chorus, making Jack grin broadly as he sang. Ed clapped and whistled when they were finished, and Rosemary joined in with excited barks, which made all of them laugh.

  Piper’s notes lay forgotten on her lap. “Jack, I had no idea you were such a talented musician. Why were you hiding it? Ah!” She pointed her finger at him. “You were in an ‘80’s hair band, weren’t you? C’mon, confess!”

  Jack rolled his eyes. “Piper, look at me and imagine me with long hair.”

  She cocked her head to the side and did so. “I can see it. Like, totally.”

  “Ha. Very funny. Now add a beard to that long hair, and who do I look like?”

  Piper squinted at him, not sure where he was going, and a loud guffaw from Owen startled all of them. “You’d look just like Jesus.” He grinned at Jack, and the humor on his face made him look years younger. “That’s it, isn’t it? You would look just like the picture of Jesus my grandma had hanging up in her dining room.”

  Jack pointed at him. “Got it in one. Not the image an aspiring rock-n-roll artist wants to project.” He looked at Piper. “So, yes. I was in a band. But I did not have the hair.”

  Chuckles rolled around the campfire, and Jack started playing again. Piper settled back happily as he played Aerosmith and Kix, then strummed into her all-time favorite, Extreme’s “More Than Words.” When he hit the chorus, she impulsively picked up the harmony. Jack nodded encouragingly at her, then stopped playing before the next refrain.

  “Hold on – let’s do it again. You take the melody line on the chorus, and I’ll take the harmony. Ready?”

  Piper’s face flashed hot. “Oh, my gosh, no. I don’t sing.”

  “Yes, you do.” Owen was looking at her, eyebrows raised. “You just did. It sounded really nice.”

  “I was just playing around,” Piper sputtered. “I don’t sing for real.”

  “You don’t have to do anything but carry the tune,” Ed offered his opinion. “Let Jack’s voice do the work. My wife and her sister used to sing together at family gatherings. My wife had a pleasant enough singing voice, but my sister-in-law could make anyone sound amazing. Just give it a try.”

  “It’s just us here,” Owen chimed in. “What happens at the campfire stays at the campfire.”

  “Okay.” She peeked at Jack, suddenly shy. “So just take the melody at the chorus?”

  He nodded and started playing again before she could scramble for another excuse. At the chorus, she sang the melody, softly at first, then with growing confidence as she heard how beautiful it sounded. Jack’s voice wove under hers, complementing it perfectly. They sang on, voices blending at first, then somehow fusing.

  Jack’s eyes were locked on hers, and the bond-line between them flared to a blinding rainbow of solid light. Piper felt something lift free in her throat and chest, and her voice rose to match that feeling. Tingles raced along her scalp and down the nape of her neck, then down her arms and legs. She felt like she was flying. She couldn’t remember, ever in her life, feeling so connected to another person. Or so aroused.

  Jack stopped playing, and total silence fell around the campfire. Then Ed burst into applause, whistling and stomping his feet, and Piper blessed his dear, oblivious heart. She couldn’t have spoken a single word if she’d tried.

  “Woo!” Ed hooted. “That was amazing! Heck, we’ll be able to sing our way across the country – forget trading that marijuana! Hey, do you know ‘Dust in the Wind?’ I love that song, though it is pretty sad, now that I think on it…”

  Jack stood up abruptly. “I, ah.” He gestured with his hand vaguely, looking anywhere but at Piper. “I have to…”

  Then he just turned and walked away from the campfire, st
ill carrying his guitar. Piper didn’t watch him go. She kept her eyes glued to the fire, struggling to calm her breathing, her racing heart. She was mortified. And exhilarated. A part of her she’d thought was dead was most certainly not.

  She looked up to find both Ed and Owen watching her, Ed frowning in confusion, Owen’s expression more difficult to analyze. “Well,” she croaked, and cleared her throat. “I’ve sure never sounded that good outside of my own bathroom before.”

  Ed laughed, and chatted on, clearly excited. “I’ve never heard anything like it! It stands to reason, when you think about it. Jack can – for lack of a better word – manipulate people with his voice. No offense, Piper, but I’ve heard you sing. You’re solid enough, but he made you sound like a million bucks.” He craned around. “Did he run to the john? I wonder if he knows any John Denver…”

  Piper was finally able to draw a deep breath. She peeked again at Owen, and this time, it was easy to see what he was thinking. He looked sad and happy at the same time when he nodded his head at her.

  “It’s going to happen, Piper. Get used to the idea.”

  NINE: Jack: Nebraska

  Jack stalked along the streambank, clutching his guitar to his chest with both sweaty hands. When he was well out of sight of the fire, he stopped, and tipped his head back. He was sucking wind like he’d just run a half-marathon, and he could feel his heartbeat on every single inch of his skin. Ten long minutes later, he had finally idled down to where he could think.

  What the hell had happened back there?

  He closed his eyes and groaned softly in the dark, feeling a combination of embarrassment and lust he could say with absolute certainty he’d never felt before. He’d sung with hundreds of people in his life, in church when he was a kid, during his garage-band days and beyond, in his ministry. And never, not once, had he experienced something like the connection he’d just experienced with Piper.

  “God?” He pleaded to the stars. “Could you, I don’t know, just give them all amnesia? Especially her? How am I supposed to go back there and face them?” He groaned again, this time in disgust. “For pity’s sake, Jack, what are you? Twelve? Get a grip.”