Page 7 of Road Refugees

“Heaven!” cried Afton. “What’re you doing at a bus stop? Did you get stuck out here?”

I couldn’t tell her that, because she’d be sure to take me along for the delivery ride, then straight back into the compound. So I said, “No, not stuck at all. I’m waiting for my outsider brother to pick me up. We’re having a day trip in Zion National Park.”

“Oh, how fun! I haven’t been there in twenty years.”

“Oh, dear! Can you help with Chip? He followed me out here. Can you return him to my house? My brother told me there are no dogs allowed in Zion.”

So, although tears burned my eyes when I sunk my face into Chip’s ruff, I had to say farewell because it was best for him. Maybe later I could send someone from Save Our Baby Brides to snatch him off the compound. He leaped obediently into Afton’s passenger seat, looking like a little passenger.

“I love you,” I whispered against his cheek.

Ashton scrunched Chip’s neck fur. “Okay then, well, have fun.” But her parting words struck terror into my gut. “I’ll tell Orson and the girls you’re fine.”

What could I say, no? No, don’t tell them you saw me?

Should I walk? Should I hitch-hike? I’m never going back to that place!

Hitch-hiking actually did seem like the best option, but there was the danger of someone else from Cornucopia driving by. Men did outside work, built homes for Orson, went to mines we owned. Women even taught or babysat children, as if they didn’t have enough of their own.

I did start wandering down the highway, but shortly I noticed I was weaving. Serious stumbling, like angling one foot in front of the other. This had been happening to me so often lately. It didn’t seem to be the alcohol, as it became worse the night after a binge. I’d slur my words, blinded by a headache, sometimes even double vision like now. I’d lash out, irritating my sister-wives. Naturally, everyone assumed I was drunk, but I wasn’t. It didn’t seem to be chloral hydrate, which wears off overnight.

A swoon was coming on. In the desert, with the bus stop half a mile back now, there was nothing I could aim for, no target to hit. My head was in the ozone somewhere as I wobbled crookedly over the solid white line.

I know, I know. I should’ve just sat down until the fit passed. But maybe what happened was for the best.

I found out later I collapsed like a sandcastle. Byron had to swerve his motorcycle into the sand at the shoulder, then leaped into the road to save me from being flattened by a car.

He was returning from delivering a puppy to a buyer. His bike had a sidecar for this purpose, and he picked me up all heroic-like and placed me onto the seat so gently I didn’t wake up from my coma.

Anyway, this is what Byron told me later. Who knows if it was true? Who knows if he didn’t just toss me in there like a salad? And why didn’t he take me to the nearest hospital? It was obvious I was from Cornucopia from my attire.

Either way, town spelled life for me, and I was getting closer to my brother Arkie.