The Blood of Patriots

Chapter 6: Distractions

Oz sleeps peacefully using my leg as a pillow and my coat as a blanket. She holds my left hand under her chin and has her legs tucked up on the bench. I play with her curls.

How do I begin to explain to her that I have no interest in helping her? The whole idea terrifies me. I fear for her, not me. I know only too well the forces that are aligned against her. I work with the anti-terrorism task force on a regular basis.

I know how she thinks, or I used to. Once she starts something she won't quit. I can't ask her to throw her friends under the bus—to cut her losses and run. The Oz I knew would rather go down fighting. If it were just the two of us I might be able to talk some sense into her, but I doubt she'd ever give up her crew. She'd stand beside them to the last man.

The driver's door suddenly opens. Joe looks at me and sees her. A gentle smile touches his stern face. He turns to Kip behind him.

"She's asleep," he says. "Go around."

He gets behind the wheel and hands me a bag of food and a large soda. Kip gets into Oz's seat.

In a whisper Joe asks, "How'd you do that?"

"Magic touch," I say.

"That's a rare gift."

"More like rubbing the belly of a gator," Kip says with a snicker.

"We're ahead of schedule," Joe says. "The interstate is right up here. We can stay put and let her sleep."

Kip opens his laptop and surfs the web. He pulls up images of the train wreck and shows them to me—burning train cars along the streets of a small town and thousands of automobiles backed up on the interstate as far as the eye, and helicopter, can see. I look away and watch Oz breathe.

There may be no way I can save her, but what about me? If the cavalry arrives and encircles us, she'd want me to save myself. That Titanic scenario she'd talked about wouldn't work if she were the captain. She'd want to go down with the ship.

Could I save myself and leave her behind?

I don't know. That depends on how deeply I'm caught up in it.

Would I?

That's the serious question, and that depends on how much I love her. I guess.

If Joe killed Deputy Hoeppner then I'm complicit in his murder. If any investigation leads back to me then I'm a participant in that crime. But beyond that, if I was seen coming and going from the club last night, then any actions by the people there can also be pinned on me. In any event, a good argument could be made that I'm just as much a terrorist as Oz and Jack. It would be hard for me to prove otherwise.

The other question tears at my soul. On one hand I like to think that my love for her is unconditional, that I'd rather die trying to save her. On the other hand, if I'm willing to walk away, does that mean that the love I once had for her is gone?

The smell of the fish sandwich causes her nose to twitch. She breathes in deeply and stretches.

"Damn, that smells good," she says.

She sits up and rummages through the bag. She hands me the French fries and takes a huge bite of the sandwich.

Joe starts up the van and drives over to a gas station. I eat all of her cold fries while he fills up the tank. Kip shows her the still shots from the train wreck. We share her soda.