She nodded, saying nothing. She was trembling. Oh God. She was afraid. She’d been so brave during the worst part – that ride in the truck. But now she was afraid. He crouched down a few feet from the men’s room door so that he could meet her eyes. ‘It will be okay, Abi-girl. I promise.’
Her smile was shaky. ‘Okay, Papa.’ Then she did the little dance that said she really needed to pee. ‘I need to go,’ she whispered.
He led her into the men’s room, praying nobody else was there. Nobody was. He showed her the stall and she stared at the toilet. ‘Sit here,’ he said, making sure it was clean first. ‘I’ll shut the door and you tell me when you’re done. When you close the door, push this little latch to lock it. There is paper on that roll, right there.’
Luckily, toilet paper was one of the few ‘modern’ things they hadn’t been forced to give up in Eden. Amos wasn’t sure the women would have stayed, otherwise.
Not that any of them had much of a choice once they’d arrived. He swallowed the sigh, listening for Abigail’s progress. He heard the rip of paper and the rustle of clothing.
‘I’m finished, Papa.’ The door opened and she smiled up at him. ‘I can do it myself.’
He couldn’t stop his smile. ‘I know you can, but let me show you something.’ Reaching around her, he flushed the toilet, chuckling when her eyes went round as saucers again.
She leaned over, peering into the toilet bowl. ‘Where does it go?’
‘Into a big pipe, that goes to a . . .’ How did he explain it? ‘A place that fixes the water so it can be used again.’
She looked up at him. ‘Can I do it?’
He laughed. I love you, Abigail. ‘Sure, but just once. We don’t waste water, even if they can fix it to use again.’
She nodded, then flushed the toilet, giggling with delight as the water rounded the bowl and disappeared. ‘Can I do that every time I pee?’
He laughed again. ‘Of course. Now let’s wash your hands and we’ll get something to eat.’
Abigail pointed to the urinal. ‘What’s that?’
Oh. ‘That’s . . . well, that’s for men who don’t need to sit down to pee.’
‘They’re lucky.’
He nodded. ‘I agree. Wash your hands.’
She looked at the sink doubtfully. ‘How?’
‘How?’
‘How do I wash my hands?’
‘Oh. Well, you . . .’ He stood at the sink, tilting his head one way, then the other. There were no knobs to twist or pumps to push. He vaguely ran his hand around the faucet, then startled when the water started to flow. ‘Oh.’ He leaned down to take a look. There was a shiny . . . something at the base of the faucet that activated the water flow every time he passed his hand in front of it. Like a photoelectric eye, he thought. Like those doors at the mall that opened automatically. The water stopped and he waved his hand over the shiny panel again. More water. ‘Well, this is new.’
‘You said that already, Papa.’
He had? Huh. He actually had. ‘I think I’ll be saying that a lot in the future.’ At least he could figure out the soap. He gave the dispenser a few pumps. ‘Come over here, Abi-girl.’ He wet his hands and got the soap sudsy.
She cast another wary look toward the toilet stall. ‘It’s clean now? The water?’
He snorted. ‘Yes, it’s clean. Come on, I’m hungry, too. I need to eat.’
And to sit and think. He needed to find Mercy.
He had no idea where to even start. Everything was so different. He felt like he’d landed on another planet. In a way, he had.
But at least McDonald’s still had Egg McMuffins, so there was that.
Twenty-two
Broken Tooth Campground, Nevada
Tuesday, 18 April, 7.00 A.M.
Ephraim pulled the breakfast burrito from the microwave in the camper he’d taken from the pair of honeymooners, inhaling as he did so. It smelled good and he was hungry and the honeymooners wouldn’t be needing it anymore. He hadn’t eaten a decent meal since leaving MacGuire’s house in Granite Bay, and even though the camper’s bed wasn’t the best, it beat sleeping in MacGuire’s Cadillac as he’d done Sunday night.
He checked the view from the camper’s window, pleased to see that no person or animal had come sniffing around. The honeymooners’ bodies were still safely hidden in the cab of the truck he’d stolen outside Alturas, California. He wouldn’t have killed them if he’d had any other choice, but pickings had been slim. Theirs was the only camper in the campground, probably because it was still too cold for most people to camp.
He figured the campground was all the young lovers had been able to afford – they’d been college students, if their sweatshirts were anything to go by. He’d actually considered hitting another campground when he’d seen their Jeep with Just Married painted over the back window, but he’d been too tired. He’d lost a lot of blood after that asshole Sokolov had shot him. The fight with the New Orleans cop hadn’t helped matters any.
Should’ve killed them all. But the New Orleans cop had gotten the jump on him and by the time Gideon and his posse had arrived, there were too many of them to kill. He might have taken out two or three, but he wouldn’t have escaped alive. He’d gotten lucky as it was – Sokolov’s shot had been a clean through-and-through and he’d dressed the wound with a first-aid kit he’d found in the truck he’d stolen. He hurt, but he’d had worse. By the time he’d driven into the campground, he’d desperately needed a safe place to sleep.
So, unwilling to continue searching for the perfect victims, he’d killed the honeymooners and claimed their camper. He had let the couple finish what had been a marathon session of sex. And he’d told them he was sorry as he’d stashed their bodies in the truck. I’m not a total monster.
He made some coffee and ate the burrito he’d found in the camper’s mini fridge, while consulting his phone. According to Google Maps, he was about two and a half hours from Sacramento, which was where he assumed Mercy and Sokolov had returned.
He was certain that Gideon had returned to Sacramento as well, because his girlfriend was on the radio at the moment. A search on Daisy Dawson had revealed her to be some kind of local radio personality who did a morning show from six to ten every day.
He was listening to her at the moment, courtesy of an online site that streamed radio broadcasts from all over the country. She was abominably perky and he thought she should die for that transgression alone.
Not to mention that she’d shot at him, for fuck’s sake. Somebody needed to take these modern women in hand and teach them a little respect. He laughed quietly. And I’m just the man for that job.