FBR chapter 4, scene 3

Foreign Body Reaction, Alan McNeill
Chapter 4 Scene 3

“Piece of pie, darling,” asked the waitress, her Bunn coffee pot held aloft in preparation for a refill.

Mark gestured to the cup and nodded. He gave the thin, platinum haired waitress a smile.

“No pie Darlene, too early for pie isn't it?”

“Honey, it's never too early for pie.” said Darlene, the coffee pot poised in one hand, and leaned in to Mark. “I say if it tastes good, eat it, right?”

Mark laughed and slapped his thigh. He was at the lunch counter in a small diner in Selma. He had been coming here each morning while Ben recovered to sit at the counter and listen to the truckers who had their coffee and flirted with Darlene.

Ben had been slowly growing in strength, but he refused to use the cell phone from the little cabin. GPS chip he said. He suggested Mark take the truck just the few miles to the nearest diner each day and get updates on the I-5 closure and rumors of flu outbreaks across the country.

Darlene walked away, her hips flipping her apron just a bit. Mark and the man on the next stool watched appreciatively as she moved down the counter, laughing, flirting with the truckers, all the while refilling their cups without without spilling a drop.

“Ain't she a pistol?”

“She's the only reason I stop here.” said Mark.

“Orson, Orson Wells out of Salt Lake, “ said the trucker offering Mark his hand.

“Jim,” said Mark, shaking the big trucker's hand.

“How's travel, you able to keep a schedule?”

“Ain't that all fucked to hell.” said Orson.

“Last three days been a nightmare. Not so bad going east and west, but up and down I-5 just started moving again yesterday.”

“I thought it was closed completely because of the bird bug thing?”

“They opened it to trucks the night before last. No cars, no private vehicles, just trucks, cops, and emergency vehicles.”

“Fuck, I can't imagine you guys doing that, aren't you afraid of catching this thing?”

“Well,” said Orson, leaning down to whisper, “I should say I'm not afraid of anything. I got my Louisville slugger in the cab and a Blackhawk 44 Magnum revolver out of sight. The truth is I was scared as a pussy when they opened the road. Sure I'd get it.” Orson stopped to sip the coffee and watch Darlene work back down the counter. Darlene glanced at Mark now and then.

“She's got your number boy, better watch out!” laughed Orson quietly.

“Bullshit, I think she's after you Orson,” elbowing him in the ribs a bit. “But you're doing it, even being a little nervous about it?”

“The feds got a system going before they let us get back on the road. We can't use the rest areas. We can't get out of the truck except to take a leak as long as we're on I-5, and that we have to do along the road. When we get to a delivery point we can unlock the load but can't talk to anyone, then right back in the cab. Same with loading up. We don't see a human during the whole process, arrange everything by CB on channel 10 as we get to the loading docks. Caused some problems, mostly delays, but we are getting through.

“They don't care what we do when we are off of I-5.”

“Wow, you can't even stop for water?”

“Hell, we can't even get out of the truck at a truck stop to fill our tanks. You've got to stay in the cab, windows rolled up.”

“They say when this will be over?”

“They keep saying next week, but buddy, I think it is just started. It ain't just Five, now 80, 10 and 8 are all doing it. It is certainly going to fuck up the fresh vegetables,” he said laughing.

Mark started to get up, and Darlene came right over with his bill. She slipped it his plate and winked at him. Mark watched her, she was about thirty five, and despite too much makeup, too tired eyes, and that platinum hair piled high, there was a certain heat.

Mark took the bill from the counter and found a note scribbled on a bit of ripped napkin. He read it quickly as he stood.

“Break in 10 minutes, sure you don't want some pie?”

Mark sat back down. “Darlene,” called Mark with a smile, “I think I'll take you up on that pie.”

Orson smiled in the way of new friends met, just passing. “Always room for pie.”

#

A light rain overnight had smoothed the dirt roads leading to Mark's camp. He was an hour late and knew that Ben would be nervous. But he had learned how FEMA was controlling traffic on I-5. That was what Ben was most concerned about. Despite the time Mark stopped at every intersection as he worked through the southern Oregon forest. Selma was only a few miles from the camp, and a few miles from Grant's Pass, but once he was in the woods, there was almost no one.

Mark had learned from an old Fish and Game guy how you catch poachers in the woods. You don't chase, you don't have to listen, you just go to the intersections and scrape the gravel with your foot. You do that at about six in the evening, you come back a few hours later and if there are tire tracks going in but not out, you wait. You stop everyone leaving. You can even nap while you're waiting.

Mark was using that technique now to see if anyone was coming near the camp. As he squatted in the intersection about a mile from the camp, he saw the same set of tracks from yesterday, taking the other fork. Yesterday these same tracks had been down where he left Six Mile road. Now they were here, higher up the Illinois river. Much closer. While he couldn't be sure, the width of the track and the general pattern of the tread was the same as he saw near Ben's burnt trailer the night Global had tried to kill Ben.

Mark stood, dusting off his jeans, rocked his gimme cap back on his head, laughed as he thought of what a good time a guy could have on a ten minute break, then returned to the sobering thought, that despite the bird flu crisis, someone was still interested in Ben.

#

Mark returned to find an empty cabin. He had pulled the truck up close, got out, anxious to tell Ben what he had found. He found the stove still warm, but the bed rolls, sleeping bags where gone.

“We need to get moving.” said Ben behind him.

Mark turned. He had heard Ben's footsteps approaching. “You're feeling better.” A statement not a question.

“Yea. I went out walking for a bit, no sweats this time. I did hear a car, and caught a glimpse of it. It was Global. What the fuck is it with these guys?”

“I saw the tire tracks, thought maybe it was them. What do we do?”

“I've cleared the cabin out and stored the sleeping bags and kitchen items up under the pine deadfall up the mountain.

Mark nodded. He knew the fallen pine that Ben was talking about. Firs have very little root ball so when they are blown over they leave a small hole. Pines when they go over, are better rooted and usually break if the the wind is that bad. But sometimes when the ground is really soft, they'll pull up and out, leaving a hell of a hole. This one, the one Ben referred to, was on a step part of the hillside above the cabin. When it had fallen it had fallen downslope and left almost a cave under the uphill side.

“It's dry and I bundled everything with that plastic sheathing you had.”

Mark waited patiently. Ben was pacing, thinking, talking to himself, but his color was better. Mark relaxed a little. Between Darlene and Ben's returning health, things were feeling pretty good!

Truth be known, though Mark, I don't really give a shit about I-5 and hope they never open it back up.

Mark knew that Ben was really upset over his friends still in the city, and even Jacob, but he didn't quite understand that. From Ben's description, somehow Jacob was involved. Mark realized that he and Ben were different, maybe Mark didn't have the right piece in him, that piece that drove Ben, a concern for everyone. He wasn't sure if it was his lack or Ben's. Still, from the short few months he had known him, Mark realized that Ben was often thinking quite a bit farther ahead. Maybe he just needs a little Darlene break time to relax him a bit, thought Mark. He smiled to himself.

“We can come back to the cabin as a center, at least until we get everyone grouped with us.” said Ben, walking about gesturing, looking down. “But what we need right now is to get your computer connected and cell phone. We can't do that from here for obvious reasons. Did you have another camp farther up towards Coos Bay?”

Mark thought about that, and there was a small lean-to he had constructed but it was down in the creek bottom and it was even farther from the cell towers that covered I-5.

“Yea, but wrong side off the mountains, no cell signal.” Mark thought a bit. “You know they don't man the fire towers anymore?”

“Budget cuts and satellites.” replied Ben. “That and the policy to let burns go now. Country can't afford the money to save the timber, and the forest seems better off for it anyway.”

Mark wasn't sure of all of that argument. “The firetowers are still there, and there is one west of Grants Pass, north of the Rogue that can see I-5. I bet we can get signal there.”

Ben thought of that for a moment. Each time they logged into the cellular network they would be leaving a foot print. Of course it was Mark's footprint and not Ben's. Ben could use the prepaid phones for cell contact, using a different one each time, but Mark's laptop connected using the Rev B EVDO from Verizon, and that was specific to that card and that account. He would have to be quick, specific, and ready. “Ok, how far?”

“About an hour. Let's put this place back the way we found it, and sweep the yard. That will make it time for lunch when we go through Selma. Since you're feeling better, maybe you'd like some pie?”

Ben looked up. What the fuck was Mark thinking about, lunch, now? Friends all have their heads up their ass in Eugene and Seattle, they maybe just had time to get them out before the bird flu locked everything down tight, and Mark is thinking about lunch, about pie? Fuck.

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