if he finally takes pity on me or finds what he is looking for, but he pulls off on the right and drives right into the tree line. Barely clearing trees on both sides, I squeal as I am tossed around. We are clearly not on a road.
Weaving through a few more trees, he finally stops. He jumps out of the car and heads for the trunk. By the time I squeeze through the small space he has left me to open my door, he is waiting on my side of the car with a roll of toilet paper. “You can’t be serious,” I say as I dance around, trying to make room in my bladder.
“Doesn’t look like you have much choice.” I groan as I grab the roll and head further into the trees. “Get far enough away so we won’t smell it, but not too far, you don’t want to get lost!” Could I possibly be more humiliated? Has a supercharged nuclear battery ever had to take instructions on how to relieve themselves? I doubt it!
I take care of business as quickly and neatly as possible. All the times I have hovered in public bathrooms serves me well. Using the toe of my tennis shoe, I cover the toilet paper with leaves and head back to the car. John is jogging toward me from the direction of the road, “You can’t see anything from out there, we did good.”
I am glad he is so good at this, I’m not sure I would have thought to make sure we were concealed. He claps his hands and holds them together like he is ready to catch something. “My turn.”
Realizing he needs the toilet paper, I hold the roll out to him but don’t throw it. “What do you need this for?” I ask mischievously. “Can’t you just drip dry?”
“Not with what I am about to do,” he says with a laugh, grabbing the toilet paper as he walks past me. It’s funny he can be so free about such a personal topic. I look around for a couple of seconds, wondering what to do. Might as well see what Dad has packed for our flight away from life as we know it.
My heart gives a little lurch as I open the trunk and see everything lined up neatly and securely. Just like my anal retentive slightly obsessive compulsive father to have everything dress right dress. Digging around, there are a couple of changes of clothes for all three of us; good thing Dad’s clothes can double for John.
There is quite a bit of food, I grab some trail mix and continue to look around. There are those silvery blankets people use for camping, flashlights, a first aid kit which I find slightly redundant given Dad’s skill set, and a small duffle bag that is deceivingly heavy. Unzipping it I find an obscene amount of cash as well as several types of identification with varying names. The IDs don’t surprise me, we keep similar sets at home, but the sheer amount of cash on hand is slightly unsettling.
The only other surprise is a rather large handgun, wrapped and stuffed under the duffle bag. Dad will do anything to protect me and Mom. I know this, but using a gun? It’s hard to picture someone whose entire life is all about healing wielding a handgun. John walks up behind me, heaving an extremely exaggerated sigh of relief. I can’t help but smile.
John scans the contents of the trunk, “Your old man is pretty thorough, I’ll give him that.”
“Can you imagine if he weren’t?” I respond.
His face turns serious, “I can, but I doubt you could.”
I decide to let that pass, he is right, the horrors of our situation are still sinking in for me, but he has been dealing with them for years now. He knows much better than I what Dr. Cox and the Pandora Project are capable of.
“So, I take it we are sleeping in the car?”
“Unless you want to brave the great outdoors,” he says.
“Pass,” I grab the blankets and some clothing we can wad up to form pillows and head back to the passenger side. Looking inside the small car I am not at all excited about the horrible night’s sleep ahead of us. “How do you want to work this?” I ask, divvying up the blankets and make shift pillows.
By this
Weaving through a few more trees, he finally stops. He jumps out of the car and heads for the trunk. By the time I squeeze through the small space he has left me to open my door, he is waiting on my side of the car with a roll of toilet paper. “You can’t be serious,” I say as I dance around, trying to make room in my bladder.
“Doesn’t look like you have much choice.” I groan as I grab the roll and head further into the trees. “Get far enough away so we won’t smell it, but not too far, you don’t want to get lost!” Could I possibly be more humiliated? Has a supercharged nuclear battery ever had to take instructions on how to relieve themselves? I doubt it!
I take care of business as quickly and neatly as possible. All the times I have hovered in public bathrooms serves me well. Using the toe of my tennis shoe, I cover the toilet paper with leaves and head back to the car. John is jogging toward me from the direction of the road, “You can’t see anything from out there, we did good.”
I am glad he is so good at this, I’m not sure I would have thought to make sure we were concealed. He claps his hands and holds them together like he is ready to catch something. “My turn.”
Realizing he needs the toilet paper, I hold the roll out to him but don’t throw it. “What do you need this for?” I ask mischievously. “Can’t you just drip dry?”
“Not with what I am about to do,” he says with a laugh, grabbing the toilet paper as he walks past me. It’s funny he can be so free about such a personal topic. I look around for a couple of seconds, wondering what to do. Might as well see what Dad has packed for our flight away from life as we know it.
My heart gives a little lurch as I open the trunk and see everything lined up neatly and securely. Just like my anal retentive slightly obsessive compulsive father to have everything dress right dress. Digging around, there are a couple of changes of clothes for all three of us; good thing Dad’s clothes can double for John.
There is quite a bit of food, I grab some trail mix and continue to look around. There are those silvery blankets people use for camping, flashlights, a first aid kit which I find slightly redundant given Dad’s skill set, and a small duffle bag that is deceivingly heavy. Unzipping it I find an obscene amount of cash as well as several types of identification with varying names. The IDs don’t surprise me, we keep similar sets at home, but the sheer amount of cash on hand is slightly unsettling.
The only other surprise is a rather large handgun, wrapped and stuffed under the duffle bag. Dad will do anything to protect me and Mom. I know this, but using a gun? It’s hard to picture someone whose entire life is all about healing wielding a handgun. John walks up behind me, heaving an extremely exaggerated sigh of relief. I can’t help but smile.
John scans the contents of the trunk, “Your old man is pretty thorough, I’ll give him that.”
“Can you imagine if he weren’t?” I respond.
His face turns serious, “I can, but I doubt you could.”
I decide to let that pass, he is right, the horrors of our situation are still sinking in for me, but he has been dealing with them for years now. He knows much better than I what Dr. Cox and the Pandora Project are capable of.
“So, I take it we are sleeping in the car?”
“Unless you want to brave the great outdoors,” he says.
“Pass,” I grab the blankets and some clothing we can wad up to form pillows and head back to the passenger side. Looking inside the small car I am not at all excited about the horrible night’s sleep ahead of us. “How do you want to work this?” I ask, divvying up the blankets and make shift pillows.
By this
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