Page 1 of Due North
Prologue
The darkness was oppressive. It weighed every step with a prophecy of failure. The prophecy told me to sit down and give up. I couldn’t do that. I had to keep going. That’s what they’d want me to do. I kept my eyes peeled for predators of the two or four-legged variety as I trudged along the empty highway. Whoever said time flies was wrong. When you’re a nineteen-year-old kid wearing all your belongings on your back, time is endless. You feel the seconds in the beat of your heart and the minutes in the weight of the pack on your shoulders. The blisters on your feet tell of the hours that have passed. The sweat on your brow reminds you that your body is nearing its breaking point. In my experience, time is also what proves you must go on.
No one ever said life would be easy, Caleb.
My mother repeated that sentence at least once a week for the first fifteen years of my life. She always followed it up with, ‘but it will be worth it.’
I didn’t believe for one damn second that any of this heartache and pain was worth it. Useless words were all she ever gave me. Well, that and a whole lot of heartache. I kicked the toe of my boot forward, making gravel skitter across the pavement. It was ominous in the face of my situation. I shifted the backpack across my sore shoulders with determination. I had to get the hell out of North Dakota and the ghosts that haunted me.
Who was I kidding?
Those ghosts would follow me down this dusty highway forever and always. Part of me took comfort in that. Part of me railed against it. Part of me accepted it as my punishment.
I noticed lights ahead and brought my feet to a stop in the gravel. Lifting the map I’d printed off four days ago before I left home—had it only been four days?—from my pack, I flicked my light over it. My gaze traveled to the scratched and dinged Timex on my wrist where the hour hand had ticked past midnight. Make that five days ago. My feet told me it had been an eternity.
I dropped the map to my side with a sigh of relief. Those lights had to be the P & T Truck Plaza and Café. It was a place to shower, grab a bite to eat, close my eyes in a booth for a few minutes without the pack on my back, and if I was lucky, find a ride out of this hell. The view of civilization gave me a burst of energy. Determination pushed me forward until I stood in the busy plaza in less than five minutes. The hubbub was what I needed to settle my nerves. Being out on the highway alone in North Dakota was dangerous, especially when you didn’t have a gun or a way to defend yourself from the animals that lurked in the night. Here, the lights were bright, the scent of comfort food from the café was calming, and the din of people talking and laughing reminded me I was no longer alone.
Not exactly true.
I was alone, but at least, for a few minutes tonight, I could pretend like I wasn’t.
“Evening, son.”
I glanced up, realizing I’d been standing in the doorway for too long. I stepped to the side and stared at the grizzled older man in front of me. He was thin, had wispy white hair over a bald plate on his head, and smelled of sweet tobacco.
“Hi,” I croaked. I cleared my throat, remembering I hadn’t spoken much over the last five days of walking along a dusty road.
“You look like you could use a place to sit down. Not to mention a hot meal.”
I took another step to the side but nodded while I did it. “I’m just passing through.”
The man laughed, and the sound was that of cigarettes smoked one after the other and thermoses of coffee to stay awake. “Aren’t we all, Tex. Aren’t we all. Where ya headed?”
“Home,” I said, shifting the pack off one shoulder. “Just stopped in for a shower and something to eat.”
“You picked the right place then. The showers are hot, and the food is too. Ms. Martha makes the best hot beef and gravy in three states.”
My stomach growled at the mere thought of a hot meal, and he grinned, but his eyes held a knowing gleam. He stuck his hand out toward me. “I’m Pops. At least that’s what the young whippersnappers call me on the radio.”
I shook his hand firmly because when a man extends his hand to you, you shake it. “Nice to meet you, Pops. You been driving long?” I asked, motioning to the big rigs outside the door as he led me toward the small café.
“Almost thirty years, Tex. You see a lot of life in thirty years of driving that pavement. I can see we both need a hot meal before we get back on the road.”
“It has been a few days since I had a good meal,” I admitted, sliding over a stool at the counter.
A young woman, probably my age if she was a day, slid cups of coffee in front of us. “The usual, Pops?”
“I don’t plan my route through this hellhole of a town for the fun of it, Angel. I plan my route through this hellhole for Miss Martha’s hot beef. Make it one for me and two for Tex over here. He needs the fuel.”
“You got it, Pops,” she said as she smiled shyly at me before spinning around and yelling through the open window at the cook beyond.
Pops sipped his coffee, so I did the same, grateful for the caffeine that would help me put one foot in front of the other when I left here.
“When we’re done eating, there will be a shower open. After you are done cleaning up, we’ll head on up the highway. You can take a load off in the sleeper cab for a few hours.”
I lowered the cup and eyed him.
His laughter filled the near-empty café. “Ask anyone here. They’ll tell you it’s safe, son. I’ve got sixteen boys like you back home. I’d hope if one of them ever needed help, someone would do the same for them.”
