The Water Wars - Cameron Stracher [29]
In the morning I awoke with my head against Ulysses’s shoulder. For a moment, before I was fully awake, I could swear he was watching me. But when I opened my eyes, he was looking straight ahead.
“Where are we going?” I asked, rubbing my forehead with the palm of one hand. I was embarrassed to have fallen asleep on him and didn’t want him to think I had noticed.
“You’ll know when we get there,” said the pirate.
“How do you know where you’re going?” I asked.
“A pirate’s intuition,” said Ulysses. When he smiled the creases around his mouth looked like deep crags. He shook off his blankets and opened the door of the truck. “You stay here,” he commanded.
I watched him walk to the closest truck, his broad shoulders swaying as if he were carrying a weight, one leg dragging slightly, the dogs at his side. He had told us pirates didn’t fight except when forced to; they preferred to use stealth and cunning. But most of the pirates I had seen were crossed with scars, missing fingers, and crooked or bent limbs. For men who didn’t like to fight, they were well-bruised and battle-worn.
“They’re taking us farther north,” I said.
“I know,” said Will.
“Why are they following Kai?”
“We don’t know it’s Kai. It could be any boy and his father.”
“If they’re following him, it means he’s still alive.”
Will nodded.
“But if he’s alive and they learn that we know him, then we’re in danger,” I whispered.
“We’re already in danger.”
“Why can’t the army rescue us?” By now the RGs had surely reviewed the security logs and would be looking for us. I would gladly take being arrested over being killed.
Will shook his head. “They won’t cross the border. You know that.”
The lower republics would not risk war with Minnesota over two missing children—not when they were already at war with the Empire of Canada and the Arctic Archipelago. Although Minnesota was technically neutral, the republics depended on it for fresh water. They would do nothing to upset that delicate balance. By crossing the border, we had lost all hope of rescue.
We stared out the front window, watching the pirates gathering inside the circle of trucks. Someone had made a fire, and breakfast was cooking. The salty, smoky smell of something frying in a pan drifted into the front cab. My stomach grumbled. I realized I had not eaten since breakfast the day before. I was famished. Will, too, sniffed eagerly.
Ulysses gestured for us to get out of the truck. I hesitated until he made an eating motion: cupping one hand and putting it to his mouth. Then I scrambled from the seat and jumped to the ground. Will followed.
“Hungry?” Ulysses asked when I reached him.
I didn’t wait for a second question. I took the first plate offered.
The food was delicious. Ulysses said it was real bacon, grown on a real farm. I had never eaten real bacon before and licked my plate clean. Growing animals was expensive and dangerous, and it was only permitted by government license. It was a waste of resources, the government said, water that could be put to better use. Yet somehow WABs managed to provide meat at their own tables.
I noticed the bald pirate who had first spoken to us in the truck. His name was Ali, and he called out to me as I passed with a plate of seconds. He wore a kev-jacket and a long scarf loosely wrapped around his neck. When I approached he smiled widely. “Not so frightened anymore, are we, missy?” he asked.
It was true that I found him friendly and even humorous, but I couldn’t help thinking the pirates were taking us away from our parents to a place from which we might not return. The pirates were nice to us now, but Will and I were still prisoners, not free to leave or go our own way. I waved to him and moved on.
The pirates spent the rest of the morning preparing the trucks, unloading and reloading materials. They were skilled mechanics; small clusters of men worked under the chassis or on the engines. Gasoline-powered vehicles were rare and temperamental, although they could out-haul anything electric. In a pinch, they could be rigged to burn