Carrion Crew

16

Overpasses that had been reduced to rubble forced the hauler onto back roads. If Hobo had been driving, he would have just gone around the mess and back onto the easier stretch of road. Kourtney sometimes liked to pretend at being civilized, like the vehicle she was driving hadn't been built specifically to go on and off road at the driver's leisure. Hobo didn't say anything about it, though. He also didn't tell her that speed limits didn't really apply any more and she could go as fast as she wanted. 

Hobo considered it might be better that Kourtney was staying cautious. All of the small towns along the highway had gotten fed up with people charging through at top speeds, so they put obstacles in the road, forcing drivers to weave through piles of cement and timber, slowing them down before they got into town. Twist would have had fun with it. It was easy to imagine him with Dasher, racing back and forth, drifting through the obstacles and pissing everybody off. 

Hobo smiled and sighed. He needed to find a place for Twist. Working with a carrion crew... Twist was good at it, but that kind of thing wasn't good for Twist. He was smarter than that, and the kid had so much energy that he could put to something worthwhile. 

Finding that something was another thing altogether. It certainly wasn't in the cities, Hobo knew that much. There wasn't a metropolis left in the country that would tolerate someone like Twist. They'd throw him out unless hew learned to let the life get choked out of him by the restrictions of “civilization.”

Outside of the cities, on the other hand, the world was too anarchic. For Twist to survive, all of his energy would have to be put toward mere survival. He'd just live until he died, like Hobo was doing. But Hobo was determined to make sure his brother did something with his life. There had to be some place between a straight-jacket and a riot where Twist could thrive. Hobo would find it. If he couldn't find it – if it didn't exist – then he'd build it himself. 

“What's going on here?” Kourtney asked.

Hobo looked up. Either it was the world's longest and slowest caravan, or there was a traffic jam. Jersey barriers lined both sides of the road, so there was no driving around. 

“Go back?” Ulysses asked.

“I think so,” Kourtney said, throwing the hauler in reverse. 

A caravan came up fast, though, and boxed in the hauler.

“Dammit!” Kourtney groaned, and moved the hauler back up into the line. 

Every few seconds, a caravan driving on the other side of the barriers that split the road would pass, going the other way.

“What's going on?” The driver of the rig behind them called.

Kourtney just shook her head. Ulysses turned around to give an apologetic shrug.

Scout leaned forward. “Can you see anything?”

“I can see a lot of things,” Kourtney said, “and they're all in my way.”

Scout sat back mumbled something about “just asking a question.” What did she expect? That was Kourtney. She'd be like that until... well, at least no sooner than it took for them to get through the traffic jam. And thinking about spending the next who-knew-how-long in close quarters with Kourtney, Hobo decided it might be better to find out what was happening, and he pushed his door open.

“Where are you going?” Kourtney demanded.

Hobo jumped down. “I'll see what's up down there.”

Ulysses' door opened and he got out. “I'll go with you. My legs could use a stretch.”

“Don't be too long,” Kourtney said. “If we start moving, I'm not going to wait.”

Scout watched Hobo with pleading eyes. She knew better than to leave a crew mate alone, but sitting alone in that hauler with Kourtney would be an insufferable experience. 

Ulysses made the sacrifice. “Scout, I can just walk beside the hauler if you want to go with Hobo.”

Scout didn’t hesitate. She vaulted over the side of the hauler before he was done with the offer.

  “You know what?” Kourtney said. “No. All of you go.”

“But--“ Hobo started.

“No,” Kourtney said. “I’ll be fine. God forbid anyone should have to stay here with me!”

She might have been exaggerating in an appeal for sympathy, but Hobo fully agreed with the statement.

“Alright,” Ulysses said, quickly walking away from the hauler. “Let’s go.”

They strolled along the line of trucks and haulers for while and attracted a lot of watchful eyes. Caravaners had a tendency to be very protective of their rigs and cargo, and as a result, were generally wary of anyone who approached on foot. A few drivers even casually revealed a weapon.

“What do you think is going on?” Ulysses asked. 

“Not an accident,” Scout said.

Ulysses nodded. He already had his theory mapped out, Hobo knew. Ulysses was the sort to test his opinions before making them known. 

Obviously a crash wasn't holding them up. Jersey walls don't get brought out to force people to drive through a collision.  

“Checkpoints?” Hobo asked. He hadn't seen a checkpoint being used since he was a kid. 

Ulysses nodded again. “It's an effort to put order back in the South.”

“You knew about this?” Hobo asked.

“Not really,” said Ulysses. “I knew the Confederation was trying to do some restorative projects to establish authority down here, but I didn't know they were setting up checkpoints.”

“I guess that makes sense why Tanner moved out there.”

“Hey,” Scout said, “do you think any of these drivers have seen the Drifter?”

Hobo shook his head. “Who knows. Why?”

“I don't know,” Scout said, “I was just thinking, if Twist and Ash were going after it, and someone else saw it, they might have seen...” She trailed off like she did when she wasn't sure what she was talking about. No, that wasn't true. Hobo had the feeling that Scout knew exactly what she was talking about, she just didn't know how to talk about it very well, which was a shame, because Scout could be surprisingly intuitive for someone who never had a clue what was going on around her. Maybe Scout's lack of observational skills was why she had that sixth sense. Like blind people having extraordinary hearing. Although, if that were true for Scout, she'd be more dependable with her special skills. She didn't have a profound answer for everything. Usually all of her answers complied with her reputation as a feisty runt. When Scout was being intuitive, it was usually without any prompting. When she was though, Hobo had learned to pay attention. Scout could really figure some things out. 

“What makes you think they're going after the Drifter?” Hobo asked.

“I don't know,” Scout said, “but it kind of makes sense, doesn't it?”

That was the other thing about Scout's gift. It had to be taken it on faith, because she couldn't explain how she knew what he knew. Ulysses had explained Scout's cognitive process at one point. Something about intuitions drawn from intuitions drawn from some minor deduction. Ulysses even said that everything Scout knew was based on deduction, but she didn't keep track of the supporting details, only the main idea.

Hobo didn't fully follow all of that. He understood well enough what Ulysses said, but wasn't sure how someone could know things without knowing them. He figured that Scout just had a hard time explaining herself, so she only said the things she knew how to say. And that was good enough for Hobo. 

Hobo shrugged. “Won't hurt to ask.”

He tried not to look intimidating as he approached the truck beside him, and hoped Scout's guess wasn't going to get him killed.