Kevin’s entire team was strung out and exhausted. He knew they were barely holding it together. But no one complained. Kevin found himself admiring them. Whatever they had faced back in the Charlotte compound, it had forged them into something more than a group of individuals with special abilities.
They drove east. The storm showed no sign of easing as they approached the border. Kevin had no idea where it was exactly. For that, they relied on Forrest.
Pablo drove, holding to a slow, steady pace. Every dip in the road was filled with water. Carla was seated beside Pablo. All the mentats were gathered on the rear benches to either side of Kevin. He stood leaning against the cab, watching the rain form a constant crystal curtain. The road ahead was only visible for about fifty yards. After that, everything grew pale and indistinct, including the forest and pastures to either side. The rain washed away the summer colors, leaving everything limp and grey. They saw no one else.
Finally Forrest said, “We’re almost there.”
Kevin asked, “How far?”
“Half a mile. Less.”
Kevin leaned down and said through the cab’s rear window, “Time to pull over.”
Pablo slowed and crawled forward ten yards, twenty, thirty, fifty. Then he found what he sought. He reversed into a trail and halted when the truck’s snout was a few feet back from the road. Then they waited.
Twenty minutes passed. Tula and Irene and Dale handed around sacks of dried fruit and nuts and their last canteens of sweetened tea.
“Here they come,” Forrest said.
Ten more minutes passed before the farm wagons rolled by, almost lost to the storm. They were pulled by horses with the quiet, patient manner of animals who had made this trip any number of times under a multitude of conditions. The four wagons were piled high with produce covered by broad, dark tarps. The front benches each held two people, all of them huddled beneath tentlike slickers and wide-brimmed hats. No one glanced their way.
As the first wagon passed, Kevin said, “Irene, you ready?”
In response, she rose and stood beside him. At a gesture from Kevin, Forrest slid into her place along the bench.
Irene peered through the canvas, her gaze tight. Finally she nodded and said softly, “Jodie?”
A plump woman in her midthirties with an abundance of unruly red hair remained seated on the bench. Her eyes were clenched shut. “I have them. Which ones do I take?”
Kevin replied, “All of them.” These two mentats were assigned to all the wagon riders. But the last wagon mattered most.
The remaining five mentats were clustered together on the bench to his left. They watched him now with round, unblinking gazes. The aim was identical for everyone they encountered, wagoners and border guards alike. All of them were to receive multiple imprints. Kevin let them decide. The younger mentats turned it into a game, competing with one another to come up with their own singular image. One suggested that their truck was in fact just another farm wagon. Another that they did not exist at all. Two decided to work together, turning them into an Atlanta militia truck, returning empty after dropping off a border patrol and checking on the outer guards. In the passenger seat rode a major.
Kevin tapped on the roof. Pablo restarted the engine and pulled back onto the road. Kevin guided Irene down beside the redheaded woman and said, “Team two, you’re up.”
They were a scraggly, wet, and unkempt bunch. Kevin could not recall most of their names. His fear over what they were about to attempt drowned out all else.
A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the guard station. Kevin jerked as if he had been struck by the flash. They were far closer than he’d thought. The first wagon had already halted by the barrier. Pablo was clearly caught unawares, for he hissed in alarm. One by one the mentats shifted over, peered through the canvas, nodded, and were replaced by the next. The motor growled as inch by inch they drew closer to the border crossing. Lightning blasted once more, this time so close the sound and flash came as one. They all jumped.
“Steady,” Kevin said, amazed at how calm he sounded. “Focus now. Everybody stay on target.”
The barrier raised and the first wagon trundled through. Then the second. Up ahead a horse nickered. The blockhouse appeared as a hulking square to Kevin’s left.
Everyone held their breath as the last wagon passed beneath the barrier. Carla and the four adepts huddled on the cab’s rear seat appeared frozen in place. Pablo continued to crawl forward.
One of the sentries manning the barrier saluted them.
The truck accelerated.
They were through.