My stomach growls in response.
“Take a seat,” she says, gesturing to one of the picnic tables. “Bert’ll be out in just a second.”
She and Omar finish talking at a volume more respectable for this time of the morning, which means I can’t hear them. Then with two incredibly firm pats on his shoulder she turns and heads inside.
Omar joins me at the table.
“What was that all about?” I ask, a hint of paranoia creeping into my brain. It’s not gone unnoticed that while Omar is completely at home in these surroundings, I stick out like a privileged sore thumb. But I know I can trust Omar, and I know he’ll vouch for me with the rogues.
“I explained what we were out here to do,” he says.
“And?”
“And she’s skeptical that anyone will want to go into battle for a pack, let alone one with as much wealth and power as the Elite Pack. But I explained how bad it was out there for rogues and so she’s given me the locations of a few other settlements.”
“Shouldn’t we head toward the Sanc first? It’s the farthest away and the biggest stronghold of rogue power?”
“Pretty much every settlement is between here and there, we might as well see how many rogues we can convince to join us along the way.”
“Right.”
The back door swings open, creaking on its weathered hinges, and a portly man whose belly is pressing against the front flap of his overalls exits butt first, carrying two plates of food.
“Your country breakfast is ready,” he says with a southern twang.
“Thanks, Bert,” Omar says as the farmer places two steaming plates of hash, sausage, bacon, waffles, and grits in front of us. They smell so good I can barely stop drool from slipping out the corner of my mouth. “How is Malachi this morning?”
“He’s doing a lot better,” Bert says. “Needs more rest but he’ll be right as rain after a week or so with us and he can stay as long as he likes.” Omar nods and Bert hands us both cutlery from his pockets. “Eat up boys. You’ll need all your strength if you’re planning on doing what Missy says you are.”
“Thanks,” I say, not really thinking because I can’t hold myself back any longer. I dive into the plate of food, shoving it into my mouth and relishing in the savory warmth.
By my side, Omar has yet to start.
“You think anyone will join us?” he asks Bert.
Bert rubs his belly and thinks for a moment. “The way I see it, what’s happening to the rogues is because of the packs and all their nonsense. And you’ve got about a snowball’s chance in hell of convincing any self-respecting rogue to help fix a pack wolf’s mess.”
I stop chewing, my mouth full to bursting. Bert just said we have an almost zero percent chance of getting the rogues on our side.
He sees the panicked look on my face as I stare up at him, cheeks bulging.
“But I’ve been wrong before. Anyway,” he says, rubbing his thinning blond-gray hair, “I wish you the best of luck. If I were younger maybe I would’ve joined you.”
He wobbles back to the house and through the door.
Omar and I share an uncertain look, and I try to swallow the glob of food in my mouth.
It hurts going down.
For the next week or so Omar and I drive across the country, stopping at rogue settlements big and small.
From Missy and Bert’s settlement on the border of Pennsylvania and Ohio, we head west through Indiana, then south through Kentucky, and west again through Tennessee, Arkansas, and Oklahoma. We spend long hours in the car, shooting the shit, playing car games likeI Spyor counting license plates, or simply sitting in silence.
The country stretches for what feels like eternity on all sides, the landscape shifting from tall, rocky mountains, and green, rolling hills, to arid plains, and flat grasslands.
I’ve never seen this much of the United States before. Sure I’ve been farther from home, but I’ve never spent this much time surrounded by nature, the changing vistas. Even the air feels different as we drive across state borders.
Every day or so we find a new settlement.
