Chapter 2: Shoyo

there's too much confusion
i can't get no relief
Bob Dylan, "Along Along the Watchtower"

June 20 - somewhere in AR
She'd been on the road several days, heading north and ever-so-slightly west, but mostly just wandering. That day, as the sun crossed the highest part of the sky, she crossed the border into Arkansas. Bill and Hillary country, once upon a time. How times have changed, she thought as she passed a trailer park flying an enormous Confederate battle flag out front.

She'd been sticking to back roads mostly, avoiding highways and cops and traffic cameras. She had no idea how badly they (whoever they were) might want to find her, or how hard they'd be looking for her, and she hadn't heard the warning voice again. She'd had the dream every night since the first, though, with the corn and the guitar and the searching for a man named Nick she knew-but-didn't-know.

At one point yesterday morning she thought she'd lost her goddamn mind, completely overreacted and left a sick man alone to possibly die. She'd stopped at a cruddy little store and bought a burner flip phone, and when she dialed Remy's cell a voice she didn't recognize picked up on the second ring.

"Remy Broussard's phone. Who's calling?" The voice was clipped, professional, and had no real accent to speak of. Definitely not a local.

"May I speak to Remy please?" she said.

There was a brief pause. "Mr. Broussard just stepped away. May I ask who's calling?"

"May I ask who's answering?"

Another pause, this one longer. Then, "Miss D'Arnaud, Mr. Broussard is very ill. You should get back here, quickly. You could be infected. It's imperative we examine you right away."

She made a low noise of amusement. "Do I sound infected? And it's Ms." She snapped the phone shut, pulled the battery, and tossed each piece into a separate trash can.

She had no idea how long it actually took to trace someone's phone—far less time than in the movies, she was sure—and she cursed herself for having to get the last, stupid word. At least she knew she wasn't paranoid, or crazy. They were looking for her. They were probably looking for everyone Remy had come into contact with between point of infection and Abilene.

Which only covered…fuck. Half of East goddamn Texas. If whatever Remy had was bad enough to get black helicopter types involved, how the hell could they possibly hope to contain it at this point? He'd flown from New Orleans to Dallas, then road tripped from Dallas back to Abilene. That was hundreds of miles of territory.

Anyway, all of that had been yesterday. She'd spent the night in a shitty motel and gotten back on the road before dawn. She was tired and cranky from lack of sleep. She missed real food. She missed her bed. But the dreams kept pushing her on, north, north, west a bit, and dream-Edie wandered a cornfield searching for a man she'd never met.

A few hours into Arkansas she stopped again and bought another phone and a roadmap. She didn't call anyone this time. She just wanted it for…comfort reasons. Habit. She wasn't sure. She wanted to call Sarah, but that was stupid. She was probably pissed as hell at Edie for running off without a word, leaving the restaurant in the lurch like she had. Well. What had she spent the last two years grooming Alma for, if not to take over for her one day?

Everywhere she went people seemed to be sniffling and sneezing. Probably her imagination. Confirmation bias, or whatever it was called. She couldn't get the memory of Remy's face out of her mind, the wheezing sound of his breath, that goddamn cough fit to rip him in two. So of course she saw sick people everywhere; it was all she could think about.

She tried to distract herself with the radio, but out in the middle of nowhere she just got Christian talk and country. At one point through the static she caught the bars of that new song everyone was calling the song of the summer. She had it stuck in her head the rest of the day, and she kept singing the chorus to herself: Baby, can you dig your man?/He's a righteous man… She had no idea what the next line was, so it was a little infuriating.

Sometime after dark she stopped at another shitty motel and checked in using her fake ID. Places like this took cash, which was good. You just had to make sure you kept your door locked and your curtains closed. Once safely in her room, she took a long shower, brushed her teeth, braided off her long dark hair, and crawled between the sheets.

Despite the groaning, spitting noise the AC made and the traffic sounds outside, plus the arguing coming through the thin wall from one side, and the coughing fits from the other, she fell asleep fast, and soon she was dreaming.

The corn field again, but this time when she called for Nick only silence answered. Where was he? Had he stopped looking for her? Had something happened to him? She shoved her way through the sharp stalks and stumbled out into a clearing, the dooryard of a small house. An ancient apple tree bloomed nearby and a tire swing hung from it. Everything was old, worn, but tidy. She was reminded strongly of her Grandmère's cottage in a forgotten, swampy corner of Louisiana. Different climate, same vibe: love, comfort, and, above all, home.

An old Black woman sat on the porch lightly strumming a well-worn guitar. She was tiny and white-haired and quite possibly the oldest person Edie had ever seen. When she saw Edie she smiled without teeth and beckoned her closer with one clawed hand. "There you are, li'l girl. Took you long enough to get here. Get lost in the corn?"

Edie's mouth fell open. She knew that voice. "It's you," she said. "You're the one—you told me to leave."

She wagged her head back and forth. "Mayhap I is, mayhap I ain't. The Lord works in mysterious ways. It ain't just an old sayin'."

She stopped at the foot of the porch and looked up into the dark, lined face. "Who are you?"

The woman let out a rough chuckle. "My name's Abagail Freemantle. Folks 'round these parts call me Mother Abagail. I'm one-hundred-eight years old, and I still make my own bread."

Her eyes brightened. Now they were speaking the same language. "Sourdough? Do you use your own starter? Have you been using the same one your whole life? What kind of flour do you use? I bet it's good bread-weather around here. Sometimes it's so humid in Louisiana I think it'll never rise. I had to have these special dehumidifiers installed in the bakery. Sarah was so mad, but some people just don't get it."

She paused. Flushed. "I'm sorry. I just really love—bread."

Mother Abagail laughed again, this time so hard she shook all over. "Never apologize for what you love, chile. Now listen: you go find your man, up Shoyo way, then you come to see me. I'm in Hemingford Home, Nebraska. I'll tell you anything you wanna know about my bread. My cornbread too!"

"My…man? Do you mean Remy? You told me to leave him, remember?"

She waved that away. "You know exactly who I mean, Ms. Eden. Nick Andros. He's waitin' on you."

"Where is he?" she said. She glanced around the empty yard. A chill breeze brushed her and a cloud passed over the sun. She crossed her arms around her middle. "Usually he's here. We're looking for each other. That's how—the dream goes. Usually."

"Hmmm." She sighed and pushed herself to her feet and leaned heavily on a cane. "Head on to Shoyo now, hear? This time he needs you to find him."

Nick wasn't sleeping. He'd just had the shit kicked out of him on the road outside Shoyo, Arkansas, and while he certainly wasn't awake, he wasn't asleep, either. He was, in fact, knocked senseless, passed out and sprawled inelegantly across a bunk in the Shoyo town jail.

Apparently being knocked senseless didn't interfere with dreaming, because when Nick opened his eyes he quickly had to screw them shut against the blinding sun. The corn field again. He didn't hear Kai, but the music was closer than ever.

He rose, wincing from some phantom pain (dream-Nick had no memory of the beating), and worked his way through the corn. He parted the last row and emerged into a dusty dooryard in front of a small, faded house with a deep front porch. He paused to study the old apple tree with its cloud of blossoms and tire swing. This place felt…good. Warm and safe and kind. It felt like home.

An old woman sat on the porch, and when she saw him she set the stringed instrument (a guitar?) aside and gestured him to her.

"Why if it ain't Nick Andros. I been waitin' on you. Come on, come in, I ain't gonna bite."

Nick took several hesitant steps closer. She was so tiny, so frail-looking. The oldest person he had ever seen in his life, and he was afraid even the gentle summer breeze might blow her away like a bit of dandelion fluff. But, maybe she had some answers for him. "Where am I?" he said. "Why can I hear? And talk?"

She lifted her hands in a shrug. "You always had a voice, Nick. But I don't know sign, so maybe this is the Lord's way of makin' sure we can understand each other."

He chewed that over. "And so I could hear her," he finally said. He looked around like Kai might be hiding in the corn. "Is she here? Why isn't she calling me?"

The woman chuckled, low and rusty. "She asked the same thing. No, she ain't here. You just missed her. I told her exactly what I'm gonna tell you, Nick. My name's Abagail Freemantle, but folks call me Mother Abagail. You ain't in no shape to go gallivantin', so you stay put right where you are. Ms. Eden's headin' your way, sure as Sunday."

"Eden?" His face twisted in a frown and he scrubbed a hand through his dark curls. "Who the h—uh. Who's that? That's not…her name. Not the one I know."

Her head tilted as she studied him.

"I call her Kai," he said, lamely. He shifted his weight and scuffed a little at the dirt. Suddenly he felt silly. Why was he talking to this woman like she was real? Like there was a real person attached to the name he called out in his dreams?

"Kai," she said as though it answered a question. She gave a satisfied nod. "That ain't her name so much as who she is."

His full mouth quirked. "A force of nature," he said.

She made a gesture of agreement, then tapped a fingertip against the arm of her rocker to make sure he was listening. "Now, Nick, you wait for her, and then once you're healed up a bit, you two come visit me. Hemingford Home, Nebraska."

"Why would I need to heal up? I'm fine."

A long, sad sigh. "You wake on up now, Nick. Remember what I said: Mother Abagail in Hemingford Home. I'll be waitin' right here."

After the Mother Abagail dream faded Edie had slipped into deep, dreamless sleep, but she was thrown out of it with a cry as she tumbled off the bed and onto the cheap carpet. For a few moments she couldn't move. Her breath came in rough gasps and pain radiated through every inch of her.

God what now?!

Slowly she sat up and climbed back onto the bed. Nick. Something had happened to Nick. Was that why he hadn't been in her dream? She pressed a hand to her aching back. The old woman—Mother Abagail—had told her to find him in Shoyo, so surely he wasn't dead. Just hurt. And badly, if her own condition was any indication.

She rose on sore, unsteady legs and dug around for the map. Flipping on the bedside lamp, she spread the map across the extra bed and figured out where she was now. She moved her fingertip north and west up 63 until she came to a tiny dot labeled Shoyo.

"Okay," she breathed. "Okay, so it's a real place. What about—?" Another few moments' searching, this time in Nebraska, and she found Hemingford Home.

"Mother Abagail," she said. "Hemingford Home, Nebraska." She sighed and sank down onto the mattress. She rested her face in her hands. Scraped tendrils of hair off her forehead and tugged on her braid before letting out a long breath.

Shoyo was maybe five or six hours' drive. She'd started this trip at the direction of a disembodied voice—Mother Abagail's, apparently—so she might as well follow her dreams halfway across Arkansas. She was pointed that direction anyway.

And she had to make sure Nick was okay. It was utter madness, but Mother Abagail had said he needed her to find him. And she knew, somehow, that the pain wracking her body was his pain, something he was experiencing. She hoped it wasn't the flu, but she didn't think it was. It had come too suddenly. Nick wasn't just hurting: someone had hurt him, and nothing pissed her off more than someone hurting people she cared about.

The fact that she cared about a disembodied voice from a handful of dreams maybe said more about her own nature than she cared to admit. She folded the map and tucked it back into her bag. It was only a little after midnight; she should try to get some more sleep. Four hours, at least.

She set the alarm on her phone and pulled the sheet up to her chin. Just a few days ago an extra thirty minutes of sleep would have seemed like a blessing: she got up at three-thirty every morning to be at the bakery by four. Start with that morning's muffins, cinnamon rolls, and Danish if she were so inclined. Next, bread, rolls, and whatever cakes she'd planned for the day. The restaurant served breakfast and lunch most days, except Friday and Saturday when they were open through dinner too. She worked two extra hours those days, making desserts for the dinner rush and pastries for Sunday brunch, and then as a reward got Sunday and Monday off.

Instead of counting sheep she went through the steps of some recipes she'd been working on recently, and as the familiar, repetitious work spun through her mind, she was finally able to drift off.

June 21 - Shoyo, AR
Nick's head and back were a storm of pain, but the pills helped a little. He needed to keep his head about him, so he just took one, rather than the allowed two, but it was better than nothing.

By noon they had three of the guys who'd jumped him in jail, but none of them would give up their ringleader, Ray Booth. The Sheriff, who was looking sicker by the hour, shrugged and sneezed into his handkerchief.

"He's a local boy; he'll turn up. In the meantime, you should stick around here. I'd hate for him to catch you out again. He'll know I'm lookin' for him, and he'll know why."

Nick frowned, but he saw sense in the advice—and, besides, the woman in the dream had told him to stay and heal. To wait for Kai. It was crazy to listen to old ladies in dreams, but he wasn't in any shape to move on just yet, so he might as well stick around.

None of it's real anyway, he thought with a grimace. It's just my brain playing tricks. Might as well stay here while I can, maybe figure out a way to make some money before I move on.

The Sheriff's wife brought them lunch, and Doc Soames stopped in for a chat. He gave Nick a quick exam, shone a light in his eyes and listened to his heart, before giving a satisfied nod.

"You're a very lucky young man, Mr. Andros," he said. "It'll take some time for all these bruises to heal up, but I don't think there's any permanent damage. No concussion. I think we got that nose set in time it won't show a break." He paused. "Though I doubt this is your first broken nose, is it?"

"I grew up in a group home," he wrote. "I'm also a deaf-mute. Take a guess." He drew a little smiley face to show he meant it in a more light-hearted way than it might sound.

The doctor read the note and gave Nick a long look over his glasses. "Like I said, a very lucky young man."

The Sheriff sneezed again and Soames scowled. "You sound like shit, John. You need to go home and get some rest."

"How'm I supposed to do that? Got them boys back in the can, and you know I ain't got a deputy. Can't leave the place unattended."

"It's not unattended. You've got Mr. Andros here. Deputize him and let him look after them."

Nick wasn't sure he'd understood correctly. Deputize him? He pointed at himself and lifted his brows in a question.

"That's what I said," Doc Soames said. "You got two legs and a good head on your shoulders. Those boys aren't going anywhere."

Before either Nick or Sheriff Baker could reply, the front door opened and a woman stepped inside. She tugged a pair of sunglasses off her nose and paused to absorb the sight of the three men gathered around the desk.

Nick felt something weird happen in his chest the moment he saw her, a click of recognition. She was tall and leggy, with dark hair a few shades lighter than his and warm golden skin. She wore faded cutoffs and an equally faded LSU T-shirt. Wide nose, full mouth, strong jaw, amazing eyes.

Her eyes, he saw with the sunglasses off, were the most extraordinary shade of blue. Or maybe gray. They were such a contrast to the rest of her coloring that he noticed them even from across the room, like the girl in that old National Geographic magazine cover.

She perched the sunglasses on top of her head and then didn't seem to know what to do with her hands. "Hi," she finally said to the room in general.

"Hi there, ma'am," the Sheriff said. "Somethin' I can do for you? I'm John Baker, Sheriff in these parts."

"Oh, good. I'm hoping you can help me." She paused. Her eyes darted to Nick and a tiny line formed between her brows. "I…" She trailed off like she wasn't sure where to begin and the line deepened to a crease.

Nick dashed off a note and passed it to the Sheriff. He lifted a brow and cast the girl a long look. "My friend Nick here wants to know if you're…Kay? By any chance."

She let out a little breath. "Kai," she said. "Like…eye, with a k in front. Yeah, that's me. I—" She broke off and shoved a hand through her hair long hair. Caught the sunglasses when they nearly tumbled to the floor. When she spoke again she addressed Nick. "I guess you were expecting me, huh?"

He gave a shrug and a sheepish smile.

"What happened to your face?" she said in a rush, then seemed to realize how that sounded and blushed and backtracked a bit. "I mean—that is—our friend Abagail?"

He nodded for her to go on.

"She told me you'd been hurt. That's why I came. But she didn't tell me what happened."

The Sheriff and Doctor were following this exchange with interest, but when the Sheriff coughed, her face went pale and her eyes zeroed in on him.

"Not feeling well?" she said.

"Just a—well, maybe a touch o' the flu. Listen, why don't you kids step in to my office to chat? Me 'n' the Doc got a few things to work out, then I might take him up on his idea. If that's okay with you, Nick. Might be you got plans now."

Nick shot a quick look at Kai, then scribbled a note for the Sheriff. "No, that's fine. I can stay. I want to stay until you get Ray anyway. I'll help you out any way I can."

Baker read it over and nodded. "That's fine, then. Ma'am, my office is just down that away."

"Thank you, Sheriff," she said. "Also, while I have you, I was wondering if you know of a place to stay in town? A hotel or a motel."

He chuckled. "Only motel's out on Route Five and it ain't no place for a lady." Once again he looked closely at Nick, then back at her. "I guess I ain't caught your name yet, though. Besides Kai."

"Oh, gosh, I'm sorry. Kai's actually my middle name. Most people call me Edie. Edie D'Arnaud."

"Well, Miss Edie, nice to meetcha. Like I said, I'm Sheriff Baker, and this here's Doc Soames. He's the one scraped your friend up off the asphalt and brought him in here. Patched him up, too. Apparently a group of local boys jumped him on the road outside town. Happened just last night." He paused, and despite his fever and the kind of swimmy feeling in his head, his eyes were sharp when they met hers. "He ain't made no phone calls—not that he could, I guess—but your friend Abagail sure got word to you fast."

Nick fished his phone out of his pocket and waved it at the Sheriff. "Texts," he wrote on his notepad. "Luckily phone was in pocket and not bag."

Baker grunted. "Yep, lucky."

"Thank you again, Sheriff," Edie said. "And you too, Doctor. I'm glad to know we still live in a world where strangers will help strangers."

"That's the kind of town this is, ma'am," Baker said. "Listen, I know my Janey would have my hide if I sent you out to that dump on Route Five. She's already mad enough at me since I'm huntin' her good-for-nothin' brother. Why don't you finish up here, and I'll take you to my house. We got a nice guest room you can crash in for a day or two, while Nick's helpin' me out around here."

She cast Nick a wide-eyed, startled glance. He tilted his head in a thoughtful gesture, then gave a little nod. He was telling her the Sheriff was someone she could trust, and that she should accept the offer. She knew that as though he'd spoken it aloud.

"I don't think I'll be getting a better offer than that. If it's really no imposition?"

"None at all." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder, toward his office. "Y'all go on now. When you're ready we'll head out."

"Thank you," she said. "Truly." She glanced at Nick and lifted a brow. He tucked his hands in his pockets and led her down the hall, then closed the door behind them.

So obvs I skipped some scenes that are in the book/94 miniseries because I didn't think I needed to just like...completely rewrite what had already been written. At least not where it fits into my own narrative.