Light in the Barren Lands: Travail of The Dark Mage Book One (19 page)

James glanced in the rearview mirror for a second before returning his attention to the road ahead. “It’s not a cop car,” he replied. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Alright.”

The next of James’ challenges to present itself was a four way stop. He eased on the brake and slowed the car to a stop a foot prior to reaching the sign. Being the only one at the intersection, he immediately let off the brake and pressed on the gas. Another glance in the rearview mirror showed the car had caught up with them. It was an elderly couple dressed in their Sunday best.
Probably on their way to church,
he thought, despite the earliness of the hour.

As he drove through residential streets, he gradually grew in confidence. There was little traffic and by the fourth stop sign he was able to bring the car to an acceptable stop right at the line, then accelerate steadily and smoothly back to the speed limit.

Jiron and Jira were quietly talking, what they were saying was lost to him as his attention was firmly fixed upon the task at hand. The few odd words he did manage to overhear led him to believe Jiron was consoling his daughter with the thought of their inevitable reunion with her mother.

He kept going straight for as long as he could. Ten blocks after their initial departure, the road came to an end at a signal controlled intersection. This new four lane avenue was much busier than the one upon which he had been driving, though still not overly crowded. He waited for a rather long space to appear before making a right.

Old habits returned and he was quickly able to relax, his once white-knuckled grip upon the steering wheel becoming much less stringent. With the possibility of imminent collision growing less probable, James began scanning the sides of the road for any sign which would direct him out of town, such as to a highway or interstate.

When the sign directing traffic to take the next left for I-80 came into view, he merged into the left lane and then eased into the turn lane. “We’ll be out of town soon,” he announced.

Jiron patted him on the shoulder. “You’re doing a great job,” he said.

“Yeah,” agreed Jira from the backseat. “You haven’t killed us yet or anything.”

“Jira!” scolded her father.

James laughed. “That’s okay,” he told his friend. “I was pretty much thinking the same thing.”

When the green arrow appeared, James made the turn and soon located the sign for I-80 East. Once he pulled onto the onramp, he gunned it and soon had it up to forty as he merged into the early morning traffic. Continuing to accelerate, he brought his speed up to match that of the semi ahead of him then eased off and maintained a respectable distance.

A glance to his speedometer showed they were just under the speed limit which suited him fine. The fuel gauge said they had little over half a tank. He rolled his window down, stuck out his elbow, and sighed. In the rearview mirror Reno was quickly falling out of sight.

For the first time since returning home, James felt at ease. Heading into the morning sun, it felt as if all their troubles were being left behind.

Chapter Eleven

________________________

Miles fell behind as the sun rose. I-80 made its way up into the Rocky Mountains, a mountain range that split the United States in two. The car made the climb with little difficulty, allowing James the opportunity to gaze out over the many vistas by which they passed. The occasional waterfalls coming off the higher elevation were but icing on the cake.

Shortly after midday, the need for gas forced James off the freeway and into one of the many small clusterings of service stations and curio shops that were so frequent along America’s major roadways.

Pulling into the first station he came to, he stopped alongside the pumps at the station’s outer island. No police cars were in the vicinity for which he was grateful. The only other vehicle getting gas was an old hippie van with four teenagers.

“There should be a restroom inside,” he said. “Better take advantage of it while we can.” Then to Jira he said with a grin, “No knife fights this time.”

“Not to worry,” Jiron assured him, “She’ll come in with me.”

James was about to object that such a move would draw undue attention, then realized that many parents did just that with small children when in unfamiliar surroundings. “I’ll fill up the tank then buy some food before we leave.”

“Ice cream?” asked a hopeful Jira.

“Oh, I suppose so,” replied a grinning James.

She squealed in glee.

As the father and daughter made their way to the restrooms inside, James turned his attention to the gas pump. It was much different than the ones he had made use of years before. It took him a moment to realize that the pump was prepay and followed the other two inside.

A young woman stood behind the counter and smiled as he entered.

He handed her two twenties. “Put it on number ten.”

“Forty on ten,” she replied and took the money.

James also snagged a bag of chips, an assortment of chocolate bars, and a six pack of pop. He also got a quart of milk for Jira as well as the promised ice cream. This time, he bought a small pint of plain vanilla, which of course necessitated buying a pack of plastic utensils. If he kept this up they would run out of money in no time. After this, he planned to better ration their expenses.

He paid for the additional purchases and was about to head out to the car to begin pumping the fuel when he felt a hand grab him by the shoulder. Turning around abruptly, his eyes widened in sudden fright at the sight of a state trooper standing directly behind him.

“Excuse me sir,” the officer said. “But I was wondering if you planned to head east when you leave here?”

James didn’t know what to say. Mind racing, he glanced out the window and saw the police cruiser parked before the door. The red and blue lights atop the patrol car were dormant. “Uh, yeah,” he replied.

“Heard word over the radio of a tanker spill fifteen miles up the road,” he explained. “You might want to take a detour around it.”

“Bad?” asked the young woman clerk.

“Didn’t sound like it. They did say however that the interstate would be shut down for a couple of hours to clean it up.”

The woman smiled, “Going to be some unhappy drivers out there.”

Sighing, the officer nodded. “Always are in situations like these. Be sure to let your customers know.”

“Will do, officer,” she said.

As the officer turned to go, James asked, “Is there a way around it? Not being from this area, I’m sort of at a loss.”

Before the officer could reply, the woman said, “Oh sure. There’s an old service road we locals use. Some of it is pretty rough though.”

The officer gave them both a nod and turned to leave.

She gestured eastward down the interstate. “About two miles further on you’ll come to an off-ramp. Take it. Then at the stop sign, turn left. The road will wind through an arroyo until you come to Franny’s barn. You can’t miss it, it still has Christmas lights from four years ago. Ever since her boy left for the army she’s left them up. Turns them on every year.

“Not far after the barn, you’ll come to a crossroad. Take a right. The road will wind by a couple farms before you reach Kibb’s Corner. At the stop sign, take a left and you’ll end up back at the interstate.”

He must have had a lost look on his face for she pulled out a pen and paper and wrote down the directions. “Thanks,” he said when she finished and slid the paper toward him.

“No problem.”

He left the store with his purchases just as the police car was backing out of the parking spot. The trooper within gave him a nod which he returned, then hurried to the car.

Jiron and Jira had returned by this time. Jira immediately took charge of the purchases. She quickly found the ice cream and had it opened in no time. Jiron was intrigued by the plastic knives, forks and spoons. “Interesting,” he said as he bent one of the knives almost in two.

“Plastic,” James explained. “You’ll see a lot of that here.”

“How’s it made?”

“I don’t know,” he replied. “I think from oil.” He then related what the officer had said and of the proposed detour route.

“Think it’s a trap?”

James shook his head. “No. If they were after us, there would have been many cops here, not just the one. Accidents happen quite often.” Once he was through pumping gas and had retrieved his change, they returned to the interstate.

Two miles up the road, the off-ramp the woman had told him of came into view. He debated on whether to take it for a moment as the freeway was moving along normally and there was nothing to indicate a problem up ahead. But, if it had just happened as the officer had said, then traffic may not have had time to back up to this point. Deciding to follow the woman’s instructions, he hit his blinker and merged into the turn lane. Once off the interstate, they went a half mile before coming to the stop sign. He took a left.

The old service road was two lanes of winding, cracked pavement that made its way over and through the contours of the land. To their left they could see the cars still moving swiftly along the interstate. If the officer’s information was correct, those people would be in for a rude awakening before too much longer.

Ten minutes later, what had to be Franny’s barn came into view. It was just as the clerk had described; covered in Christmas lights. There weren’t just the regular eave-hangers that most have, but swaths of lights covering the roof, sides, and even one large group hanging between the barn’s roof and a neighboring tree. It must be something to see when it’s lit.

Another mile or so past the barn, the old service road came to an end at a crossroad. Continuing over the hill just beyond the crossroad were the concrete remains of where the service road had once continued. But having been abandoned, nature had begun to reclaim it.

Off in the distance, the interstate could barely be seen. But it was still close enough that they could see where the cars which had earlier zipped along so speedily were now sitting motionless in a backup that stretched eastward out of sight.

“Thank goodness that cop came in when he did,” he commented as he took a right. “Else we’d be stuck over there too.”

Jiron nodded.

The new road was only marginally better than the old highway. A couple farms, abandoned homes, and parts of really old buildings of one form or another came and went as the road took them on a more southerly than eastern course. It wasn’t long before the interstate completely disappeared from view.

“I’m hungry,” a small voice said from the back seat.

“So am I,” replied James. Snacks could only hold one for so long, not to mention the fact that neither Jiron nor his daughter were used to subsisting on junk food. “Next place I see we’ll stop, okay?” But how far that would be was anyone’s guess. There wasn’t anything even remotely resembling a restaurant in sight.

Fifteen minutes later, his stomach was rumbling in earnest. On the seat beside him was the sack of junk food he had picked up at the gas station. To his surprise, it didn’t hold as much interest for him as it once would have. Perhaps the years of eating good, home-cooked food had purged his system of the need for such things. Oh, how he could go for a mess of Lorri’s steamed tubers she liked to make every other day. Grinning, he wondered what she would think if she knew? Especially after all the times he complained to her about lack of variety at the dinner table.

“When you choose to live on an island far from the market, you get what you get and you don’t throw a fit.”
How many times had he heard her say that? At least once a week for five years?

“Something’s coming up,” announced Jiron.

Brought back to the here and now, James took notice of a sign atop a pole:
Mama’s Pizza.
“Pizza!” he exclaimed. Mouth watering already, his stomach voiced its approval in no uncertain terms as they approached the building situated beneath the pole.

At first the place looked deserted. But then when they drew closer, an old Ford pickup parked on the far side came into view, as did the
OPEN
sign doing its best to remain lit in the window. Then the aroma wafted their way.

“That smells good,” commented Jiron.

“It does, doesn’t it?”

“Can we stop?” asked Jira.

“Oh, yeah,” James assured her. Pulling into the parking lot, he parked in a spot just to the right of the entrance. He noticed a satellite dish attached to the corner of the building as he got out of the car, the only modern looking thing in sight.

“Come on,” he said as he got out of the car and headed for the door.

Inside, the place was rather small. Six booths with two tables squeezed in between, each having the standard red and white checkerboard tablecloth that was so prevalent in old time pizzerias. The walls were adorned with pizza making paraphernalia such as old cutting wheels, antique cutters, etc which lent even more to the atmosphere of the restaurant. Every form of decoration seemed carefully chosen to immerse diners in the pizzeria atmosphere. That is, until James happened to look behind the front counter.

It’s true, it isn’t everyday when a pizza parlor such as this would have a model of the Enterprise from the original series on display. Even more out of place were the many pictures displayed prominently on the wall beneath the model. Each one showed two people. One rather heavyset woman with black hair was in all of the pictures. Upon closer examination, James was surprised, and a little bit impressed, to discover that many of the pictures were of the original cast of Star Trek: Captain Kirk, Spock, McCoy, Scotty, etc. There were even some of the supporting cast members whom James vaguely recalled from episodes watched years ago.

The pictures of the original cast were centered in the photographic display. Surrounding them were more with the same large, dark haired woman posing with actors from other Star Trek series such as Next Generation: Picard, Data, Worf in full makeup, etc. Every picture on the wall was signed by the respective actors.