Chapter 7

Alan took the elevator up to Don's office, saw him sitting at his desk, phone to ear, as soon as the doors opened. As if he knew who it was, Don looked up, raised a hand in greeting and stood to meet his father.

"Let's go in here," he said, indicating a conference room. Alan just barely waited until the door was closed. "Well?"

"Nothing at any airports, bus stations. Not even a taxi ride out of the city. But we knew he was probably walking when he took all his hiking stuff."

Alan looked away, his brows drawing together. "I hope he's not hitchhiking."

Don waited until his father was looking at him, again. "No hits on the ATM card. There's no way to tell which way he's headed, where he's going." Don looked at his feet for a moment, back at his father. "Dad…I think we have to wait to hear from him."

Alan's eyes welled up with tears. "I can't do this," he said. He rubbed Don's shoulder on his way out of the conference room, and took himself back to the elevator.

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Charlie hit the road early — the motel room scared him, a little. He didn't know why the guy bothered with a key, since the door was unlocked when he got there. He propped a chair under the doorknob, got a few hours sleep, took the shortest shower of his life and was back out by 6. He walked into town until he found a McDonald's, and ate his breakfast on the way back out to the highway. He was still drinking the bottle of water he had bought with it when a pickup, cab crowded with what looked like college students to Charlie, pulled over quickly, the tail nearly knocking him over.

"Dude, we're headed for Cal State Stockton," the driver was hanging out the window, yelling. "Throw your stuff in the back; climb in with it!" A young brunette hung out the passenger window. "We can make room up here for you!" she offered.

Charlie approached the window, saw that there were already four people in the cab. "Thanks, I'll just ride in back with my stuff," he said. "Can you drop me before you exit for campus?"

"No problem, dude!" The truck was already starting to move, and Charlie barely managed to jump in the back fast enough. All of their luggage road with him, and as Charlie hurtled toward Fresno he managed to create a small windbreak fort for himself in the bed of the pickup. He curled up in a ball, head away from the cab — even through the metal, the music was giving him a headache already — and looked at his watch. It should take about three-and-a-half hours to get to Stockton, but Charlie only made it two hours and 44 minutes. He used his feet to stomp on the cab for at least five minutes, finally raised them to kick at the window behind someone's head. The truck screeched onto the shoulder so fast that some of the luggage actually flew out.

"Dammit, happened again," Charlie heard the driver mutter as he hung out of his window again. "Dude, can you pick that stuff up and throw it back in for me?"

Charlie jumped out, pulled his pack with him. Now that he wasn't at warp speed, he could see a road sign indicating the first exit to Stockton. He picked up a duffle bag, swung it into the bed of the pickup. "How fast were you going?"

"Don't know, dude. Speed thing's broke."

Charlie threw another bag into the truck, slammed his hand twice on the side panel. Hands flew out the window at him, the truck spun out fast enough to kick pebbles at his face, and as he lifted his hand to protect himself, he could have sworn he heard it again, over the beat of the hip hop. "Duuuuuuuuddddeeeee!"

Charlie dragged his pack as far into the shoulder as he could, sat down next to it until the truck was out of sight — which was not long. He hadn't walked yet that day, and he was actually looking forward to it. He shouldered his pack and started out.

At first he thought the students had somehow come back up behind him. He heard screeching, horns blaring. He turned to see a car swerving, over-correcting. The vehicle in the passing lane was clipped, and was going fast enough that he lost control. Of course, everybody was following too close behind everybody else. Charlie automatically dropped his pack again, reached into the outside pocket for his cell phone. He was already dialing 911 when cars started to flip all around him.