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” Alicia thought the merchant leading the two-wagon caravan looked familiar when she saw him, and thought she saw recognition in his eyes as well. His two wagons looked much like tiny houses on wheels with a place for the driver, even having gabled roofs. She and Thakkor put their gear into the first wagon, and Alicia noticed that it resembled the moving prison in which she’d awakened after her kidnapping on the inside. The merchant’s wagon had far more shelves and cabinets, however. The apparent leader of the group then called Alicia up to the buckboard of the wagon. “Fantil, at your service,” he said as he helped her up. “Alicia,” she said, feeling just a little uncomfortable under his stare. “Alicia? Who’s your father, if you don’t mind me asking?” “Abraham Nash, of Freeland.” Alicia saw the flash of stronger recognition in his eyes, and she thought there was something of greed there as well. Fantil slapped his knee and laughed. “I knew I recognized you. I’ve done business with. I also feel a little pathetic. How many eighteen year old guys need to drive ninety miles just to get close to a woman? This, of course, brings up dark images of Amy. I'm about to cry. Suddenly, my melancholia is disturbed by a grunt from the back seat. I turn around to talk to Chuck. "You seem a little tired this morning," I laugh, trying to hide my depression." "Yeah, I have a hard time getting up." "Ha , I know what you mean. I just didn't go to bed last night." "Shit," says Jack, "aren't you a little tired." "Uh-huh, but I just took a couple of caffeine pills. I'll be okay." "Whatever," he says, then turns on the stereo and off we fly, seventy miles an hour down a rural South Carolina road. Up hills, down hill, across long dank swamps, everything a pale, unhealthy green tinged with a mild, morning mist. I roll down my window and light another cigarette. I smoke too much, that's one of the reasons Amy left me. The radio beats on, blessing us with 'The Morning.
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