The Day Off

In a daze, she forced one foot before the other, mechanically, no thought in her mind, so utterly exhausted she could hardly believe she was still alive. But she hurt too much to be anything else or maybe she was dead and this was her hell… barren landscape and baking sun forever, like that man who had to keep pushing a boulder up a steep incline, trapped always to just about get it to the top, where he'd lose grip and it would roll back down to the bottom so he'd be forced to start all over again. She couldn't remember his name, Greek mythology she guessed, but the ideas were vague, barely impressions, before they slipped away, leaving her mind as blank as her stare.

She wasn't even certain about what had happened-a fight, G.U.A.R.D.-- but how she ended up here, completely separated from her friends, from anyone, she didn't know. Where was she? No clue. No one followed her, no one chased her; she didn't even know what state she was trudging through beyond a state of apathy. Oregon? Idaho? Washington?

Her feet were leaden blocks and her legs stopped burning hours back. Numb, she wished to curl up in the grass and weeds but then she might miss any vehicles passing by, lose her chances of finding any civilization and her friends, so she trekked onward. Ever, onward. Barely fifteen years old and going on fifty, Tayla managed some kind of grunt, an irritated breath caught in her parched throat, as she noticed a snail overtaking her before it wised up and moved towards the cooler grasses, slipping away with a shiny marker of its passage. Since when did snails come equipped with warp drives? A scattered thought, bitter and mirthless, fleeting… another step. For the tiniest moment, looking down at her ruined shoes (which was a tiring effort) she felt a muted spark of amazement: her legs were still working. How? She wasn't telling them to move, she wasn't consciously commanding them, they just… went. Still going… the announcer's voice filtered through, accompanied by a hazy image of a pink, drum-thumping bunny wearing black sunglasses. The attempted, crack-lipped smile didn't actually show itself, but she meant to make the gesture. Again, Tayla's blue eyes fixed on the horizon. Again, she yanked a strip of cloth up over her shoulder.

No breeze, no shade, no reprieve and it was hot, a hundred, no, a million degrees… the sun settled itself over her head, trying to land on her, cook her brain. It was working. The Mickey Mouse Club theme song niggled it's way between her ears, shortly altering itself to Mr. Roger's Neighborhood.

Won't you please, please won't you be, won't you be…

my neighbor.

Yeah, good old Mister Rogers with his trusty blue cardigan and his hideous little Punch and Judy puppets. Big Bird could kick his butt three ways from Tuesday. The Pay-Per-View event of the century. She'd spend the cash to watch that. Heck, who wouldn't? Obscene thoughts of giant, banana-yellow fowl pummeling an aging pedophile captivated her for a second, so much so that she didn't hear the rumbling behind her, didn't turn to see the gestating cloud of dust on the rise, growing larger the closer it moved. Weakly, she swiveled her head when it registered there was something large moving very slowly next to her, keeping pace. Stopping in her tracks, she blinked, seeing but far from comprehending this dark blue construct purring to her left, almost against her.

Pale eyes narrowed, peering… and in a rush it came together. A truck. A large 1978 shortbox dual cab truck with an impressive lift kit and near-monster tires. Mudders? She wasn't sure, no glass packs, though, not enough noise. Yosemite Sam brandished twin pistols on the mud flaps, scowling above the big white print -BACK OFF- embossed in the rubber. At least it wasn't 'Haulin' Ass' under the silver silhouette of a buxom woman. Nice truck. Good paint, straight body, no rust. Things she'd learned from the Lair boys, over-hearing their male-bonding sessions, pop into her too-tired head, meaning nothing, just scattered observations. It took a while longer for her to realize the truck had stopped, too, as she squinted up at the door. A small girl, not even five feet tall, she couldn't see who was inside but the door partially opened in invitation, a rough, gravelly voice twining out towards her.

"Need a lift?"

That she shouldn't get into cars with strangers briefly flashed a warning but Tayla had no other real choice. If the guy were a rapist, he'd have her anyway; she couldn't fight him off and was obviously in no condition to even try such a feat. Besides, things in motion tended to stay in motion and she'd stopped motioning. Hard to start again, though somehow, by some divine miracle, she found herself clambering up the side step, pulling herself into the truck with horrible struggle.

The Good Samaritan waited patiently until she closed the door again; pleased she absently locked it. In her efforts, she forgot to look at the driver, mindlessly obeying when he muttered a gruff "Buckle up". They were moving at a swift speed by the time her buckle caught with an audible click and Tayla leaned back, sighing in relief. An air conditioner. Lovely. She closed her eyes even as that voice imparts kind knowledge unto her.

"There's a bottle of water under yer seat. And use some of this."

A tube of lip balm, still in its package, plopped in her lap. Oh God, she'd have to open it. Fumbling with the packaging, she finally freed the tube and smeared chapstick, cherry flavored, all over her split lips. Another heavy lean back into her seat, gathering strength, before she launched herself forward again, fishing for the bottle. Easily found, still with the protective plastic seal around the nozzle. Ripping that off, the thought of water offering her sudden determination, she was gulping blessed, cool liquid a moment later.

"Go easy," came the command and she complied, wiping her chin and neck from the overflow. She applied more chapstick even as she vaguely watched a man's large hand hover closer… and start fiddling with the radio controls. "You like classic?" Aerosmith tuned in nice and sharp, the volume comfortable, the system prime. 'Back in the Saddle' floated through the plush cab. Tayla almost chuckled, having expected Handel's water music instead.

Still horribly weak and now becoming concerned with her appearance, she straightened, fidgeting with her clothes prior to daring eye contact. At fifteen she remained remarkably un-vain, but there were limits. An attempt at a half-decent impression would be good, even if only the attempt was all she could muster. It was amusedly noticed. Good enough. Raking fingers through her extremely mussed and matted blonde hair even as she turned to face her savior, she tried forming words of gratitude. "Thank you. I didn't think anyone would sto-" Croaked, but recognizable. Recognizable. She froze as her gaze fit to the profile of the older man driving. Words faltered, grip on her water bottled tightening, crushing. He seemed unaware of her sudden change in comfort.

"Some clothes on the back for you. Didn't know the size, so…" He smiled, baring white teeth and shrugged gently. "Help yerself. I won't look." As he spoke, he altered the position of the sun visor so he couldn't view should she decide to change. His brown eyes remained solidly fixed on the expanse stretching ahead of the truck while she stared at his reflection in the windshield a long time, debating and shocked, before she twisted and rummaged where he'd indicated.

Glancing at him often to reassure herself, gaze fused on the driver as she unbuckled, finding the neck and front of her shirt and yanking the garment off over her head, pausing to pull the tattered clothes off once covered in the new, then finishing the action. Brown eyes cast themselves at the side view mirror, very interested in where they'd been until she'd finished. Somehow, he kept the vehicle's path straight while she pulled on the trousers, stretch pants with elastic stirrups, to keep the fabric down. Shoes, too, a size too big, but at least it all matched. Quickly she was done, still watching him.

Intentions, however, were noble and the man never looked up until all was complete, calmly shifting the visor back into place. At that point, Tayla began casting about for a place to store her previous garments, cracking open a window to cast throw them out.

"Don't. They might find 'em. Toss 'em in the back and I'll incinerate 'em later."

Again, she stared blankly, weighing his words. Common sense ruled out and she obeyed his imperative in silence. Then she fell back into her seat, rigid and eyes wide. "Seat belt," he reminded her softly. With a quick motion, she refastened, slamming back into the chair again, not quite sitting: half-leaned, partially straight, like a 2x4 of pine wood. Her glance darted this way and that, never on him again, though, desperately unnerved, flighty and near panic. A low chuckle slipped from the driver. "Relax, Tayla. If I had any plans, I'd have executed them by now."

Executed. She visibly winced. "Why are you doing this? How did you know where I was?"

In mute answer, the man reached out toward the radio controls, pressed a small black button which could have supported any number of functions, the twisted the tuning knob. Amazed, Tayla listened to GUARD communications coming in clearly though the speakers. As soon as he saw she understood, he switched back to regular radio, Santana's 'Black Magic Woman' wailing beautifully. The girl stared a moment at the radio face.

"I know these roads a darn sight better'n any of them," he confesses. "While they went one way, I went the other. How you ended up here is anyone's guess. They won't come this way looking for you, cuz you shouldn't have ended up here. But all the computer-fed trajectories in the world can't make up for a good, old-fashioned hunch."

Tayla pieced it all together quite quickly. He knew a girl had been lost from the group but not who, hence the guess in clothing sizes. He knew he could get in very big trouble for aiding the enemy, as it were, but not bringing her in. Or might he still do that? She wasn't positive. But she dared a question. "…My friends...?"

"Safe. The Hunters lost 'em."

She believed him and nodded. "Why? Why help me?"

He laughed quietly, grinning at his own answer. "Well, I was fishing, but they weren't biting so I decided to do something productive instead. Little sight-seeing before having to head back into the office." Still smiling, he watched the grasslands go by from the window.

Young but far from stupid, she understood he offered an answer, but not The Answer and she didn't press the issue. She asked, however, maybe out of idle curiousity, "Where were you fishing?"

"Grand Coulee."

Tayla balked. That was… "And where are we now?"

"Idaho."

Tayla's brows raised high. He'd gone a great deal out of his way for her. Coulee was hours in the opposite direction; she'd been there for a laser light show one 4th of July, at the Grand Coulee dam which was an impressive structure and third largest dam in the Northern Hemisphere. "It's… too bad the fish were down. That's a lovely area."

He got the hint and chuckled. "Yes, it is."

A moment of silence, classic rock in the background, John Fogerty. "Where are we going?"

A swift, gravelly answer casually stated. "There's a little town about 50 miles from here. One of those 'blink and you'll miss it' types. They got a public phone and a bed-and-breakfast there. I'll drop you off. You can call yer friends and by the time they show to pick you up you should be well-rested." He gave her a direct, poignant look. "You won't be disturbed." A small pause, then, "I assume yer friends have a secure phone line." She didn't answer save for the tiniest of nods, easy to miss, but he nodded in return. "Good."

Not knowing what else to say, she kept fairly quiet. The driver, however, seemed to feel the need to fill the silence, rambling on about the countryside, telling some of his greatest fishing tales, remarking on the music of the past and the present. His voice was a pleasant thrum and the girl grew drowsy, nodding off on occasion. Noting the effect, he continued to speak. It was only when the motion of the truck stopped, when it had sat in idle for a moment and she heard her name called softly that Tayla jolted awake, unaware she'd been lulled into napping. Blinking the sleep away, she looked about, attention sharpening.

"We're here." They were on the outskirts of the tiny town. She'd have to walk a few meters, but no great hardship. She could see the standard, requisite Dairy Queen from her vantage point and just outside it stood a phone booth. "The Bed-n-Breakfast is right up the road." She nodded, opening the door to hop out. "Take yer water and the chapstick. And this." A rolled up wad of cash, about two hundred dollars, landed in her lap. Absently, she grabbed it in a small fist and pushed her rear over the seat, stepping down with the aid of the door and the side bar. The girl stood there a moment, feet still sore and swollen , but at a loss for words and unable to depart the company before saying… something. Anything.

The Good Samaritan smiled, filling the silence again. "Watch yer back. Trust only those who've earned it. Always think before acting. And take care of yerself. I'll see ya round, Tayla."

She could only nod mutely, money roll clenched in her fingers. It takes a long moment before she manages a small response. "Sir? Thank you, sir." She smiles faintly.

The man nods. "Don't mention it." And the way he stated it coupled with that intense brown stare… he meant it. She stepped back from the truck, grin tugging at her lips.

"I won't. Not to anyone. Drive safely, sir."

"Catch ya later, kid." Small warning; when next they meet, this incident meant nothing. Tayla shut the door after locking it.

The truck made a U-turn, going back the way it came and the young lady watched it vanish over the horizon. She looked down then at the money in her hand. She'd have to break the bills for change in order to use the phone. That meant going into Dairy Queen. Well, hopefully she could slip into the bathroom to wash up before anyone really saw her. Her condition could lead to questions, so just in case she starts developing a viable story. As for the one who saved her, Tayla would keep her word, of course. A tiny little secret shared between the two of them alone.