He hated the road. He hated seeing things that he had seen with them. They had always insisted that the world would keep turning their way.
It hadn't worked out.
They had been the best of friends and the worst of friends.
He was on the run with the only woman who would have him, his son, and his daughter.
It was when he hit Wichita that she knew they were running from something. Or someone.
Jack was asleep in the pickup and so was Grace.
He kept his hat tipped low as Abigail was fading in the passenger seat.
John's shirt was soaked with sweat. It crept along his back and nestled near his pistol as he slowly walked back to his truck.
"We had a good thing back there, John." Abigail said as she watched him get in and quietly shut the door.
"Dutch was too close. We had to leave. Leaving the gang, it never really—
"I know that but
"Woman. We must put distance between us and the problem. It used to work, and it is worth trying again."
"I ain't sure John. We've been running for so long. It might be time to face the music." Abigail said gently, as she cooed with Grace in her arms.
"And lose the kids to the fucking system? Ain't happening. Dutch was able to get me and Arthur that way. I ain't-
"Mama, Dad, why are you fighting?"
"Not fighting darling. We're gonna make it Oregon. That's where Uncle and my folks are. You need to think of it like one of your comic books. What was that feller's name?" Abigail said as they drove down on the road.
"McCarthy. Uncle Hosea had insisted that I read him. When are we going to see him again?" Jack asked earnestly.
"He's in Oregon sweetie and we will be seeing him soon." Abigail said as she smoothed his hair and looked back at John, "I'm so glad we have you John."