The Scenic Route

Chapter 7

After breakfast, it's another five hours to their next stop, which is the Fishlake National Forest. Stan wants to camp by the lake and rent fishing poles, catch their dinner and show Kyle how to gut a fish. Kyle really wants a shower, and dreams about taking one while he naps in the backseat. When he wakes up his head is more firmly in Stan's lap than he realized, and he allows himself to enjoy it for a few groggy seconds before he sits up. Kenny is driving while Cartman fools with the radio.

"Turn that down," Stan says. "Kyle is trying to sleep."

"It's okay, I'm up," Kyle says. He's still closer to Stan than he should be, in the middle seat. Cartman's seat is pushed back as far as possible, eliminating all leg room.

"Why the hell are you so tired?" Cartman asks, turning to look at Kyle. "Did Stan ride you too hard before I broke up your little tent party?"

"Shut up," Kyle says. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and yawns. "Where are we?"

"Creepy compound country," Kenny says. "I need to stop for gas soon, so that should be interesting."

"Compounds?" Kyle says. "What, like those fringe Mormon cults?"

"Polygamists," Cartman says. "So get your cameras ready."

"What do you think you're gonna see?" Stan asks. "Orgies? Don't take any pictures, I don't want these people, like, retaliating."

"Good call," Cartman says. "We could end up strapped to their dinner tables, eaten alive."

"Sick." Kyle kicks the back of his seat. "Shut up. They're not cannibals."

"And you know that how, Kyle? There are no recorded interactions with some of these, shall we say, tribes and decent humanity. There's no telling what sort of strange customs go on in their underground bunkers."

Kyle scoffs and looks out Stan's window, settling his shoulder against Stan's. Empty highway terrain like the kind they're driving through makes him a little nervous. Cartman inventing bullshit about roadside cannibals doesn't help.

"You hungry?" Stan asks, nudging Kyle. He nods.

"We don't have to stop, though," he says. "Not that there's anyplace out here to stop."

"Here," Stan says. He reaches over Kyle, for a bag that's tumbled to the floorboard behind Cartman's seat, and digs out a packet of pretzels. They split it, watching the blank desert scenery pass by outside the car, and by the time the pretzels are gone Kyle's mouth is dry and dusty. He wants to put his head on Stan's shoulder and sleep again.

"Gas station in five miles," Kenny says as they pass a banged up sign that informs them of this. "I'll have to stop there."

"I'll cover you while you're filling up," Cartman says.

"Cover me? What, with the gun? I don't think the crazy cultists are going to come out of the convenience store shooting."

"You never know with these people."

"Oh, great," Kyle says. "We're all gonna end up in some backwoods jail after Cartman opens fire on innocent hillbillies."

"No such thing as an innocent hillbilly," Cartman says. "Those people are born deranged."

"You'd know," Stan says. Kyle laughs and leans against him, partly just to see how he'll respond. He's been so physical for the past few days. Stan rests his elbow on Kyle's leg, and stale hope flares up through Kyle's chest.

"Heard from Wendy again?" he asks.

"Yeah, weirdly," Stan says. "She asked me how I was doing."

"Whoa. I'll alert the media."