“Papa,” Neri murmurs in a soothing voice, “Cobain says the airports aren’t safe. The cult has people in the big cities.”
“Small towns aren’t any safer.”
“The enemy doesn’t fear death because they’re brainwashed cultists. If we’re in a big city, we can’t fight back like in a smaller area. We’ll worry about the police. They won’t. We’ll worry about innocent bystanders. They won’t. We’re at a disadvantage in a large area.”
Our father falls silent, and I fear he’s hung up. The last thing I want is for him to fly to the United States to save us, but it’s what he’s been itching to do since he heard about our situation. My father’s heart suffers from only three weaknesses, and two of them are in this car.
“If this is true,” he finally says, “then you should stay on the back roads and stop at safe houses rather than hotels.”
“The planned next safe house is now behind us,” I explain. “I’m not sure where Cobain is headed.”
“Ask him, Kai,” my father growls.
“He’s in a different car, and we’re following him.”
“You’re too passive.”
“No, I’m calm. Losing my temper does no good. Much like you losing yours right now isn’t helping,” I coolly state. “Your anger has Neri nearly in tears.”
My father grunts in response to how I push his buttons. “The woman better be worth it,” he growls.
I glance at the rearview mirror and smile at the sight of Sunny. Her fair brown hair is a mess from hiding under the blankets earlier. I smile at how she doesn’t worry about her appearance.
“She is,” I admit. “Now, settle down and focus on how you can help us.”
“And how is that?”
“You contacted Cobain when we were in need. You still have access to information in the United States. When we know where we’re headed, you can check if the people at our destination are trustworthy.”
“No one is.”
“True, but some are more untrustworthy than others,” I say and give Neri a grin. “Cobain risked himself to help us. Not all will be like him.”
My father's silence hangs in the car. He’s considering the motives of the mercenary leading our group.
“Call me soon with your destination,” he finally says and hangs up.
“Cobain must have a destination, right?” Neri asks me.
For three hours, I have no answer to her question. We zigzag down two-lane roads in the middle of nowhere. Finally, we follow Cobain to a small gas station near a larger road. At no point does he signal that he’s stopping. He just makes a hard turn and pulls into the parking lot. No doubt, Cobain forgets he’s part of a group, and other people need to adjust to his whims.
“Home?” Anika asks when we park.
An exhausted Sunny hugs the child tighter and whispers, “Not yet.”
I turn around to study my woman and child. Anika’s short haircut sticks in every direction, only made worse by her choice to sit on her mother’s lap where she nuzzles like a baby. Their big brown eyes find me, needing reassurance after a traumatizing morning followed by hours of boredom.
“Bathroom time,” I announce in my happiest voice. “Stay close to Neri like before. We’ll be back on the road soon. I know it’s not fun, but each hour on the road brings us closer to your new home.”
Sunny’s dull gaze warms at the thought of reaching my house on the beach where my family waits.
They slide on their shoes and climb out of the SUV. Anika asks to play and points at a grassy area nearby.
I expect the child to cry when she’s told no, but life at the cult’s compound offered no fun. Anika is accustomed to disappointment. Soon, though, she’ll know freedom.
Neri says nothing to Cobain when she sees him. Yet her soft smile elicits a frown from the large man.
I want more for my sister than this grumpy mercenary. She deserves a man willing to shower her with love and comfort. However, Neri doesn’t look sad when she notices the scowl on his dark brow. Instead, she pats his black dog’s head before escorting Sunny and Anika to the restroom.
After filling up the Suburban’s tank, I walk to the small grassy area where Cobain frowns at his elderly dog.
“Piss,” he orders the animal.
With locals lingering nearby, I speak in Spanish, “We’re far from the safe house you suggested for us originally.”
Cobain and I must make an odd sight in this vanilla population. Him with his six-and-a-half-foot build, long black hair, olive skin, and dark-as-sin beard. Me with my wavy brown hair barely hidden under a ball cap and pale brown skin made darker after years in the Nicaraguan sun. We’re clearly foreigners in their reclusive world.
“That safe house was in the direction the cult came from. Couldn’t chance running into their reinforcements,” Cobain explains after he considers ignoring me. “The new plan is to head for Salt Lake City. We can get a flight out of there to Augusto C. Sandino, stopping only in Houston. We need to avoid Los Angeles if you want me to stay alive.”
“Was this your plan before we left today?”
“No. I searched while we were driving.”
“Don’t we have to drive past Boise to get to Salt Lake City?”
Cobain doesn’t appreciate my second-guessing his plan. Though he again considers ignoring me, he exhales loudly instead. “We’re taking a lot of back roads to avoid their possible allies. This road here,” he says, gesturing to the four lanes next to the station,” is a faster way to Salt Lake, but we’ll pass by a few militia compounds. We can’t know the pacts made between the local fuckers. Our best bet is to stay off the main roads even if it takes longer.”
“What if Salt Lake is a bust? Is there a Plan B?”
“If we’re desperate, we keep driving south to Las Vegas or Phoenix. We can bounce from safe house to safe house until we reach a large city with an airport.”
I study the map on my phone. “Why not aim for Sacramento or San Francisco?”
“I’d rather stay out of that entire fucking state.”
Even without knowing the details of how Cobain ended up on the run from someone in Los Angeles, I see no reason to push our luck. He doesn’t scare easily, and I want the safest path home.
“Where do we stop for tonight?”
“Hotels near the highways are dicey. At least until we’re out of this state. We’ll need to stop at a safe house located around three hours from here.”
Cobain picks up his dog, who has finished his business and now sits at the large man’s feet. Walking to the SUV, he mutters in Spanish, “The safe house is not part of the Arizona Moving Company’s network. Meaning, they offer sanctuary, but they’re further off the grid.”
“I don’t understand the difference.”
Shoving his dog in the passenger seat where it growls at me, Cobain rolls his eyes at the animal’s reaction. “These people could just as easily kill you and me and sell the women and child. We’ll have to sleep in shifts once there, and no one can even take a shit alone. Understand?”
I consider asking if he ever planned to warn me before we reached the safe house. Then I remember how Cobain’s been alone with only that growling dog for a long time. The man truly forgets how other people need to hear information for them to know it. He’ll assume we’re all reading his mind until he gets the hang of human contact again. Of course, it’s also possible he’s always been this way.