"I believe…I believe you would," said Gravenholtz.

"That's the smartest thing you said all day," said Baby.

"Okay," said Gravenholtz, backing toward the door. "I got what I come after."

"What's your hurry?" said Rakkim, trying to hide the pain it took to breathe.

"Look at the tough guy." Gravenholtz spit blood on the floor at Rikki's feet. "You break way too easy. Lucky for you the old man wants you kept alive."

"You're making a mess all over yourself," gasped Rakkim. "Better start wearing a bib."

Gravenholtz started toward him, but the blue flame shot out again and he pulled away.

Rakkim let him go. Not that he had much choice. He rested his hands on his knees until his vision cleared. When he was able to stand, Baby had already turned off the oxygen tank and was bent over Moseby, who lay twisted across the hospital bed. She was crying, clutching Moseby's hand and calling his name.

Rakkim limped over to the bed. Moseby stared at the ceiling, eyes frozen, his jaw slightly agape. Like he was surprised at what he was seeing.

"I hate Lester," said Baby, tears running down her face. "I know…I know where he's going. When we find him…when we find him, Rikki, I want you to kill him."

"It's a promise." Rakkim closed Moseby's eyes with a gentle sweep of his hand.

CHAPTER 42

Rakkim took the curve, had to hit the brakes when he saw the line of cars backed up on the four-lane highway, the cute little muscle in his jaw twitching. He and Baby were on their way to Atlanta after leaving the Colonel's camp. It should have been a day's drive, but war fever was in the air, the roads clogged, airports shut down. Gravenholtz had disappeared on his way back to Nueva Florida-Baby hoped he was having the same trouble they were. If they could reach Atlanta, the Colonel might be able to put them on a diplomatic flight into Miami. They could get there before Lester.

"Told you we should have taken the swing-around outside of Pemberton," said Baby, one foot hanging out the rolled-down window. He had been stealing glances at her for the last five miles. Wasn't a man alive who didn't admire a barefoot girl.

Rakkim craned his neck, trying to see how far the backup extended. He inched past an overpass with REMEMBER GRACELAND! painted in six-foot-high red letters.

Ever since Aztlan bombed Graceland last week, getting even was all anybody talked about. President Raynaud urged diplomacy, but Malcolm Crews's sermons carried more weight, and Crews wanted war. Stuck in traffic last night, she and Rakkim had watched Crews on the dashboard TV. After the choir sang "Onward Christian Soldiers," Crews had announced a special guest. When the Colonel stepped through the curtain, the applause was so loud that the speakers almost blew. Car horns blared up and down the highway. She wished Daddy was able to hear the horns, just so he could appreciate what she had done for him. It had been her idea to pin the blame for killing the oil minister on Zachary instead of President Raynaud. Having Aztlan go after him had united the Belt, just like she said. Credit where credit is due, Daddy.

The Colonel's private army was now over one hundred thousand men and rising daily as new recruits poured in. Word was Zachary was planning to deploy toward the southern border, picking up support as he went. The Belt president had threatened him with treason, but quickly retracted it; many of his own forces had already defected. With the airports closed to civilians, and the roads clogged with military vehicles, they made slow progress toward the Nueva Florida border.

Red taillights stretched into the distance. Rakkim whipped out of his lane and onto the narrow shoulder. Backed up and drove the wrong way, accelerating as the side of the car brushed against the guardrail, giving off a shower of sparks.

"Rikki, you got to be the only man in the world smiles as he's about to crash and burn."

"That's not it," said Rakkim. "I was thinking of you turning that glorified blowtorch on Gravenholtz. Pretty brave thing to do, Baby."

"You were pretty brave yourself, mister," said Baby. "Lester about pulled the hair out of my head-I was just glad you were there to stop him." She pushed her sunglasses back onto her forehead. "Seems to me like we're a good team."

Rakkim drove across the median and onto the other side of the freeway.

Baby wiggled her pink toes out the window. Rakkim hadn't disagreed with her. She was making progress with him.

They had been on the road for almost two days, Baby occasionally dozing while Rakkim drove. Yesterday she had insisted they stop at a motel so she could take a shower. She hoped he would agree to spend the night, but he was insistent, said he'd leave her if she didn't hurry. She didn't argue, just took a long shower at their motel room, washed her hair twice, warm conditioned it too while he paced around the parking lot. She wanted to dry her hair in the sun, see how he liked that, but that would have been pushing things. Time enough for that later. He might act tough, but the way she carried on over Moseby dying had softened him toward her. Rikki was weakening by the mile.

"You want a Coca-Cola?" said Baby.

Rakkim held out his hand.

Baby pulled a Coke out of the six-pack on the floor, tapped the frost button twice. Sweat formed on the glass bottle as she twisted off the cap. "Say please."

"Please."

"Say pretty please with whipped cream and a cherry on top."

Rakkim snatched the bottle out of her hand, accelerating toward the swing-around.

For a man in a hurry, Rakkim had spent way too much time at the Colonel's camp taking care of the dead first. Like the dead cared.

After Lester took off, Rakkim had gathered up the Colonel's massacred soldiers, put them and their IDs into sleeping bags and laid them in the walk-in freezer off the mess hall. He had asked her if she wanted to say a prayer, which she didn't, but she did. After that, Rakkim had carefully cleaned Moseby's body, wrapped him in a white sheet and carried him to the top of a hill overlooking the valley. The last light of the sunset turned everything to beaten gold, as Rakkim dug the grave. He had stopped twice, gasping in the night air, not so much from hurting…more from the sadness of the thing.

Baby picked a couple of small yellow wildflowers, laid them on the grave, and after Rakkim said some Muslim prayer, she sang "I Got a Home in Gloryland." She had a beautiful voice, and what the hell. She liked Moseby too, as far as that sort of thing went.

"What are you thinking about?" said Rakkim, his eyes on the road.

"Just…that I used to imagine how nice it would be to go on a long drive with you," said Baby. "Now here we are."

"This isn't a drive," said Rakkim.

"You think I don't know that?" said Baby. "You think you're the only one's got a heavy heart? Sometimes you just have to make the best of things."

"Sorry…I'm just trying to get used to you sitting beside me." Rakkim looked at her. "Why didn't you just grab the piece of the cross when I was unconscious? Instead you took care of me."

"It's…it's complicated."

"I've got time."

"Let's just say…maybe I'm not as bad as you think I am."

"Maybe." Rakkim pretended to flinch as she pretended to punch him. They drove on, back the way they had come. "The Old One's a Muslim. Did he ever tell you why he wanted a piece of the cross?"

"You're a Muslim. Why do you want it?"

"It's complicated."

"You got that right." Baby rested her hand on his leg. Waited for him to tell her to move it…but he didn't.

"How did the Old One look before you left?" said Rakkim.

"I don't know." Baby tried to keep her voice light, as though she had never considered the question before. She wondered how long Rakkim had been turning the idea over in his mind, before asking. "He looks old, but healthy. Like the Colonel." She patted his leg. "Except the Old One's got this strange energy about him. He stays up all night sometimes, doesn't seem to get tired. Why?"