Outage (Powerless Nation #1) (2 page)

When Grandpa got home he didn't seem bothered by the fact that she didn't have dinner waiting for him. He just asked how her day had been and started assembling frying pans and breakfast ingredients.

“I know it's not fancy, but since your grandma died without letting me in on any of her cooking secrets, I'm afraid it's been back to basics around here.” He glanced over at Dee. “Did you inherit the chef gene, by chance?”

Dee shook her head, “Not even a little. The year I turned eleven my mom actually requested as her Mother's Day gift that I
not
make her breakfast in bed.” Jacob had been nine that year. Dee had been sure she could pull off a surprise breakfast despite her mom's request, but Jacob suggested they paint a picture of a breakfast and bring that up on a tray instead. She could still hear her mom's laughter.

Grandpa's back was to her while he fried bacon but she heard him say, “Why don't you go on out and get us some fresh eggs.”
 

Just great,
thought Dee. Whenever she went near the chickens they crowded around and pecked at her painted toenails. She was about to decline, but remembered seeing Grandpa pull the truck in near the coop. He'd be busy for a few minutes. This might be her chance.

“Just going to get my sweater!” she called as she ran upstairs to get her backpack and money.
 

Her room upstairs had a dormer window with a view of the mountains and a soft, cozy rug over the wood flooring. The pipe for the wood stove was against one wall, and the bedspread on the antique four-poster was a thick quilt her grandmother had made. She thought the room was pretty nice, even for an old house, and she might have let herself enjoy it just a little, except her plan was to get back to civilization as soon as she could get her hands on the keys to her grandpa's truck.

She stuffed a change of clothes into the backpack and then opened the drawer where she’d hidden her money. Even though she was in a hurry, Dee couldn’t resist unzipping the wallet and looking at the bills folded neatly inside. It was her entire life savings accumulated from babysitting jobs, allowance, birthday money and picking up unclaimed dollar bills from around her house. She didn’t have to count it to know she had a little over three hundred dollars. After she bought the bus ticket she’d still have at least fifty dollars, which would be enough to take a taxi from the bus terminal in Maryland to her house.

Dee slung the pack over one shoulder and headed downstairs where the smell of bacon made her stomach growl. She couldn’t see into the kitchen from the bottom of the steps so she called out, “Going to get those eggs now.” Her mom would have been suspicious, but Grandpa just called back a wordless affirmative.

She hadn't seen him come in with keys and figured that he probably kept them in the truck. She almost held her breath as she crossed the front yard to the coop and the truck parked next to it. It was an older model Chevrolet with a springy bench seat covered by a rough blanket. Her heart flipped when she saw she was right about the keys. There they were, sitting in the ignition. One turn and she'd be on her way out of here. Dee felt a vague sense of disquiet at abandoning her grandpa, but he was used to being on his own, right? And she wasn’t staying here one minute longer than she had to. She turned the key, expecting to hear the engine turn over.
 

Click
. Nothing happened.

She tried again. Nothing.

“Piece of crap truck!” she hit the steering wheel in fury. That's when she noticed the gear shifter.

“Duh,” she berated herself. It was a manual transmission. She had never driven one, but she understood the basic principle and wondered if it would be anything like a dirt bike. Natalie’s older brother had once tried to teach her to drive one, but spent most of the time laughing at her for stalling it.

She clutched and braked at the same time and gave the engine another try. It spluttered, then died. Twice more it did that, then she gave it some gas and it caught on the next try. She thought for a minute, and then put it in first gear. “Clutch off, gas on.” The truck lurched forward and then stalled again. This wasn't going so well.

A figure appeared suddenly at her window and she jumped in surprise. Grandpa scratched his head in apparent consternation. “You know when I said to go get eggs, I didn't mean from the store.”

Dee was about to make up a lie when she saw a quirk of his lips that she thought might hide a smile. She stammered, lost for an answer but nothing came out.

“If you'll let me give you a driving lesson or two, you can take the truck into town tomorrow. I know spending time with an old codger isn't your idea of fun. Maybe you can meet some of the young folks hereabouts.”

“Oh Grandpa, you're not a codger.” Considering him for a moment, she thought to herself that he wasn’t bad for an old guy. He wasn't treating her like her parents and other adults did, as if she might break at any moment. It was nice to feel normal with someone.

He continued, “School's out for the summer, and I'm sure there will be some kids your age at the movie theater tomorrow afternoon. Why don't you give them a chance?”

She wasn't remotely interested in making friends with a bunch of country losers, but she'd humor him for now. “Let me think about it, okay?” she said.

“Fair enough,” he replied.
 

Now that she had permission to take the truck, she just needed to learn how to drive it. “Can I still take you up on that driving lesson?”

“I thought you'd never ask. Scoot over.”

CHAPTER TWO

T
HE
NEXT
DAY
,
AFTER
he did the farm chores, Grandpa came inside and made a pot of coffee and poured them each a cup. Dee sat at the table and wondered how her parents were. They'd be at sea all day today. She watched Grandpa skim some of the thick layer off the top of the milk and stir it into his coffee. She realized it must be fresh cream and wondered how it tasted - not enough to try it though. It was peaceful and surprisingly nice in the sunlit kitchen. Dee couldn't remember the last time she'd enjoyed a quiet moment with her mom.
 

After a while Grandpa said, “Sitting here like this reminds me an awful lot of your grandma. You look like her, you know. I can show you some pictures of her in high school when you get back. If you'd like.”

Dee realized that this was a big deal to him and she felt a real pang of conscience about leaving. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad to stay for a few days. She'd think about it. But she was still going to check out the bus terminal and make sure she was right about the price for a ticket to Maryland.

Dee nodded, and changed the subject, “So do you think I can get the truck down to the road without stalling it?”

“Not a chance,” he responded, and Dee laughed because she had no doubt he was right.

The lane was rutted and the old truck bounced along until she finally came to the main road, if you could call it that. With the windows down and music blaring from the radio (even if it was country music), Dee had the road to herself and felt free in a way she hadn't felt for months.
 

Up ahead she saw a figure in the distance. As she got closer the figure put out his thumb for a ride and Dee hesitated. It was a guy, and he didn't seem old or threatening. He was carrying an enormous backpack that looked heavy. She probably shouldn't give him a ride though; her mom would hate it. And with that thought, Dee slowed then pulled to a stop alongside the hitchhiker.

The young man rested his tanned forearms on the passenger side door and leaned partway in through the window. He wasn't as old as she'd thought. Maybe a year or two older than she was, so about seventeen. Long eyelashes framed dark eyes, and the stubbly shadow of a beard darkened his chin. His gaze was amused as he asked, “Didn't your parents teach you not to pick up strange guys on deserted highways?”

Dee's retort came easily to her lips, “Why do you think I stopped?”

“Oh, a rebel – a girl after my own heart.”

She hated being judged so quickly and accurately and it made her sharp, “Do you want a ride or not?”

In answer, the young man said, “I'm Mason,” and slung his backpack into the bed of the truck and got in beside her.

Dee started a silent chant in her head (
don't-stall-don't-stall-don't-stall
) and coolly tried to ease the truck into first gear.

“Dang it,” she cursed under her breath a moment later.

It took two more failed tries and a big lurch before the truck was on its way, and Dee could feel her cheeks blazing with heat. Why had she picked up this guy anyway?

“First time driving a stick?” He didn’t
sound
like he was laughing at her.

“No.” The engine made a terrible grinding sound as she tried to find third gear. It was useless. The gear shifter distinctly showed that you had to slide it to the right and forward to get into gear, but it refused to go.

 
“Easy now, third can be tricky.” Mason covered her hand with his large tan one. His hand was warm on hers and when she glanced at him in surprise she saw his eyes were friendly, not mocking. “The problem is you keep trying to put it in reverse. Instead, just go straight up towards the radio. See?”

The truck slid smoothly into third gear and he released her hand. Dee sighed with relief.
 

 
“Not your first time, eh?” A teasing tone had crept into his voice.

 
“If you don’t like my driving I’d be happy to let you out here.”

“I think your driving is fantastic. It’s just your shifting that could use a little work.” The truck let out a grinding sound of agreement as she tried for fourth. The timing of it was too perfect and Dee couldn’t hold back a giggle.

“Okay, maybe it’s my second time.”

Mason’s smile lit up his face. “Don’t worry, you’ll get it with some practice. This is a great old truck. They don’t make them like this any more. Is it yours?”

“No, it belongs to my grandfather. He's a farmer.”

“That would explain the tools in back.”

Dee appreciated that he was trying to make conversation, but it was all kind of awkward, especially since she had to concentrate on changing gears without grinding.

 
“I take it you're just visiting then?” said Mason.

 
“You’re full of questions, aren’t you?”
 

Maybe it had been a bad idea to stop for him. In Maryland she wouldn’t have dreamed of picking up a hitchhiker, but knowing she was heading back home now had made her reckless. Dee glanced at her passenger again. He was wearing jeans and a black t-shirt that fit him snugly. Natalie would approve of his well-muscled physique even though he looked dusty and tired. She wondered how long he’d been walking.

She changed the subject. “Do you know where the bus station is in Lookout Falls?”

“Bus station?” he asked, drawing out the words.

“Yeah, you know,” she said. “As in the station where the buses are?”

“I know what a bus station is,” he said, not seeming the least put out by her tone. “Just trying to think if there's one closer than Spokane.”

“Spokane?” said Dee, not quite keeping a wail out of her tone. “What about Louisville?” That was the next town past Lookout Falls.

“It's not 'Loo-ee-ville.' Around here they say 'Loo-iss-ville.' They've got the nearest McDonalds, but no bus terminal. Anyway, why would you need a bus when you've got this amazing truck?”

“Somehow I doubt it could get me all the way to Maryland,” Dee said wryly. “I'd end up like you, with my thumb out, hoping a serial killer didn't pick me up.”

“Uh-oh, should I be scared?” said Mason, sliding away from her and against the door.

“Of course. Don't you know I'm taking you back to my lair to dismember you?”

“Your lair at the bus station in Spokane?”

“If only,” she said. “It looks like I'm only going as far as Lookout Falls today. Sorry I can't take you further.”

“No problem,” said Mason. “I don't have to be anywhere.”

“Where are you headed, anyway?”

“Oh, around,” was his vague answer.

“Are you far from home?” she tried again.

“Not far enough.”

Dee glanced over at him. His lips were pressed together in a thin line and his hands were clenched in fists so tight that his knuckles were white. She’d obviously touched on a sensitive subject and she searched for something to say.

At that moment the engine died.

They were just coming out of a curve and Dee struggled to straighten the wheel. She was going too fast to make the correction and the brakes were slushy. The truck's wheels slipped off the side of the road and a tree loomed in front of them. “Hold on!” she tried to shout, but it was already too late. She heard a loud crack and then darkness closed in.

When Dee woke up she was lying across the bench seat of the truck and looking into a pair of dark, concerned eyes. She tried to sit up, but Mason held her down. “Just wait a minute. You practically took out the steering wheel with your forehead. I've got a first aid kit in my pack. I'll be right back.”

Dee closed her eyes for a minute, and when she opened them again she felt warm hands on her face. “Don't go to sleep, darlin'. Let's see how bad that cut is. This might sting a bit.”

It did sting, but Dee kept her gaze steady on his face. Had he just called her darling? A lock of dark wavy hair fell over his forehead and he pushed it impatiently out of his eyes. It looked like he hadn't had a haircut in a while, but it added to his appeal.
 

She caught his wrist in her hand and felt the pulse beating quickly against her palm. He was wearing some kind of friendship bracelet, its colors bright against the dark tan of his skin.

“Thanks for helping me. Are you okay though?” she asked.

“Don't worry about me, I've had worse.”

“You've been in an accident before?”

Because he was leaning over her, looking directly into her eyes, she saw the change come over his features, turning his face cold.