Shepherd

THREE

"So what do you think?" said Natalie, holding out both her arms as she turned on the spot like a drunken ballerina in cropped denim shorts.

"You look like trailer trash," said Shepherd.

"From you, I'll take that as a compliment."

"It was meant as one."

She lifted off the hat and held it in front of her, examining the tan US flag stuck with Velcro to the patch on the face of the baseball cap. Then she put it back on and stuck her tongue out at him and slapped her hands on her bare thighs.

"Get me a beer, ya dang good-fer-nothin' trucker!"

"Get yo' cute little be-hind in that there booth before I tan it fer ya!" he replied.

"Yessir!"

Shepherd woke with a jolt. He was sweating and mad with thirst as he became aware of the narrow confines of the cab's bunk all around him. He wasn't driving the SUV down to the Linville Gorge. Natalie wasn't there with him. The cap he adored her in was gone. His stomach rolled with grief and disappointment and he looked at the flashing red clock on the dashboard. It was a little after ten in the morning and he remembered then that he'd stumbled up the ladder after a hard-drinking session in the diner. He was still in his clothes and there was an empty vodka bottle next to him. It wasn't his brand. He hadn't seen his brand for two or more years now. Maybe it wasn't even made anymore.

He clambered out into the cab itself and threw the empty bottle out of the open window where the warm morning air drifted in. It smashed somewhere far off but he didn't care. His mouth felt like it'd been rinsed with engine oil and the contents of a short-order fry cook's drip tray. There was a canteen of water in the cup holder and he cranked open the lid and downed half in a single go. Then, rummaging in his wash bag, he found his toothbrush and jammed it between his teeth along with a generous amount of paste.

"Shepherd? You in there?" called a voice from outside. He pulled back the curtains and peered down.

"Hell, is that you Foley?" he said, recognizing the familiar craggy face looking back up at him. "Don't tell me they roped you in as well."

"They sure did," he cried. "Is it safe to come up?"

"Be my guest – as long as you don't mind the smell of fermented driver."

The heavy boots on the rungs of the steel ladder rang through the cab and as Shepherd spat a foamy mouthful out of the passenger window, Foley appeared, closing the door behind him.

"Sheesh, you weren't kidding. Smells like a tramp's fuck-pad in here."

"Good to see you too, you greasy bastard."

"The pleasure is all mine. They got you too then?" Foley dropped into the driver's seat and turned the chair on its pivot to face Shepherd who was taking another pull from the canteen. Then, swilling it in his cheeks, he launched the entire mess out of the window to the cussing of some unfortunate warehouse worker below.

"Looks like it. Any idea what we're supposed to be carrying?" he asked.

"Fuck knows. Important shit I guess. I couldn't believe my ears when they told me it was Canada. I thought that place was burning by now."

"Maybe it is," said Shepherd. "Maybe that's why they're sending us instead of their own teams."

"Their own teams?" cried Foley. "Hell Shep – they don't have any teams. They're all on the streets of New York and L.A. This whole fucking mess is way beyond their control now. Do you know what we are?"

"What are we, Foley?"

"We're damage control. We're taking some last-ditch piece of hardware north where the Revo's can't get their Communist hands on it. You mark my words!"

Shepherd laughed and went into the kitchenette and examined the empty fridge. The diner would stock it for him but in order to do that, he had to get the prattling Foley out of his cab.

"How about breakfast?" he asked him. "My shout."

"I just ate," said Foley. "But sure, I could go for some pancakes."

They found an empty table and Shepherd went to the counter to place their orders and ask Doris for take-out. When he read his list to her, she laughed like a 50-a-day smoker does and nodded her head.

"Sure. I guess Washington is paying?" she smirked.

"He always is. Thanks Doris."

"Don't mention it. I heard about your gig – tough break, Shep. I kinda liked you."

"I'm not in the grave yet."

"Hon – it's Canada. You're as good as dead. Might as well have gone home to the UK, right?"

"Yeah, something like that I guess."

He returned to Foley who was eyeing the rest of the menu in its little plastic card. Shepherd took a seat just as a waitress came over with a fresh pot of hot coffee.

"Food'll be ready shortly," she smiled. "Foley, why I thought you'd be full after all those blueberry pancakes."

"They were so nice I thought I'd have seconds," he said.

"Seconds, thirds and fourths by the looks of the order. Chef will blow a gasket."

"Let him. Might not be back these ways in a while."

"Ain't that the truth," she said a little more softly. "I'll fix up your breakfast, boys."

She walked away and Foley followed her with his eye before letting out a long, low whistle of his evident satisfaction.

"Sweet thang," he said.

"Fuck off," said Shepherd. "Your wife won't appreciate that."

"She don't appreciate nothing I do. Why disappoint her?"

"Who else is on this team?" he asked. "What other suckers has the Army roped in?"

"Two you know. Mitchell Smith and Frannie Hart."

"Seriously?" Foley nodded. "I thought they were out of the game."

"They were... persuaded back in. The other three you don't know."

"Try me."

"Shell Sanders, a dyke from Texas, and a giant from Utah with skin the color of an oil change. He brought along a friend of his, some South African by the handle of Kai. Talks funny. He'll crease your sides on the radio, believe me."

"And they're all heading out at the same time?" asked Shepherd.

"That's the plan. Hell of a convoy."

"What the fuck for? Why make it so obvious? We'll be lucky to make it there in one piece with all that attention on us. Hell, the roads might give up on us and the earth might swallow us whole."

Foley laughed and Shepherd felt a rising annoyance in his throat. Since the dream this morning his waking thoughts had been of Natalie and the idea that she was somewhere nearby still burned in the forefront of his mind, along with the hangover.

"Have you seen the trailers?" Shepherd shook his head. "Wait until you do. You might just be right, you know. The earth might just swallow us right up."

The food arrived and despite his lifeless appetite, he was able to shovel it into his stomach if only for the calories. He looked at his coffee and remembered her obsession with tea and lemon. He had a clear, bright image of her sitting there in one of his shirts and not much else, drinking it by a motel window, her toes wiggling out in front of her.

If that rig doesn't make it there in one piece then you can kiss that nice piece of medical ass goodbye.