We can’t drive one of our vehicles. That would get attention for sure. And we can’t go to one of theadministrative outposts scattered throughout the villages and hire a motor to drive us. We have forged papers that have always passed as real, but we’d need credits or a bribe for the hire, and that would be another level of administrative scrutiny it’s simply not worth risking.
So we’ll have to walk the thirty miles and, if we’re lucky, someone on the road will give us a ride.
Because we’re walking, I wear more normal hiking boots instead of the cute little shoes I wore with this dress on the night we took the outpost. I also plait the long red hair of my wig into two braids so it doesn’t constantly get in the way.
“Even overlooking the red hair, you don’t look quite right without your gun,” Ben says when we head along the trail through the woods so no one will catch sight of us leaving the outpost by the main road.
“And you don’t look quite right in that ridiculous hat.” He knows I’m teasing, but I smile anyway. “And you can be damn sure I’ve got my pistol and my knife holstered on my thighs beneath this skirt.”
“Ah. Glad to hear it. I’ve got a gun on both ankles and knives under my sleeves.” He pushes up the cuff of his flannel shirt to show me one of them. “Still feel kinda naked without my rifle.”
“I bet you do. You look kind of naked without it too.”
He twitches his eyebrows but doesn’t put his dry rejoinder into words.
Just as well.
We don’t need to bring actual nakedness into the conversation. Not after yesterday.
Ben has been acting perfectly normal, and so have I.
But inside I keepremembering.
I keep wanting to do it again.
“Maybe we can pick up a ride along the way,” Ben says, changing the subject with his characteristic relaxed ease. “Gonna be a long, shitty day otherwise.”
We’ve walked thirty miles in a day many times, but it’s not normal for us, and I definitely prefer not to.
“You sure your ankle is up to it?” Ben asks after a minute.
“What?” I blink because I genuinely forgot I twisted it several days ago. “Oh yeah, it’s been better for a couple of days. Can’t even feel the strain anymore.”
“All right. Good. ’Cause I sure woulda hated havin’ to carry you on my back.”
I laugh at the image, as he intended me to do, and I take his arm briefly as we walk.
He glances down with a wordless inquiry.
“It’s nothing,” I tell him, answering the question he never put into words. “I’m just glad you’re with me. For this trip.” There’s a weird catch in my throat I didn’t expect. “And for everything else.”
The morning islong and tiring. The roads in the Central Cities are never very crowded this far from the Capitol or the other major cities because so few villagers own motors. No one travels for the sake of traveling in the working class. If someone with a desk job moves up enough, they might earn enough credits to afford a motor. And those with government jobs often get them as perks. But otherwise only the top tier do much traveling.
A village girl like me should have lived and died within the walls of one small community.
But my life has never followed a predictable path.
The only motors that pass are hired ones, driving higher-class people from city to city.
They don’t stop to see if we need a ride. They don’t even slow down.
We also encounter a few transport trucks. Those drivers are working class. They slow down and move over to give us room as we walk. A couple of them even offer friendly waves.
But by noon we’ve walked almost half the day’s distance, and we’ve had no luck with a ride.
“We should stop and eat and rest for a while,” Ben says when we reach the top of a hill and stare down at a long stretch of road before us.
“I’m okay,” I tell him.
