What Came After by Sam Winston Page A

barely broken in, considering. Compared against the other rolling stock out here. Junk on wheels. Antiques held together with bailing twine and chewing gum. This baby had a sleeper in the back and a Cummins engine under the hood with 450 horses pulling. Eighteen forward speeds.
    He’d been assigned to her for a long time. It was all about seniority. You minded your business and you rose up through the ranks and your working conditions improved. This truck right here for example. This interior. They called it Prestige Gray. How about that. Some of these young guys out there starting now, he didn’t know how they’d ever make it. How they’d stand the conditions day after day and how they’d earn their minimums given the amount of time they spent broken down by the side of the road. Waiting for a tow or whatever.
    Penny said her father could help. Her father could fix anything.
    The driver said sure. Gave her a pat on the head. Said man oh man I pity the younger generation. Said you two ought to count yourselves lucky for getting a ride with me. Asked where were they going, anyhow?
    “New York,” said Weller.
    The driver shook his head. “I don’t get it,” he said. “Everybody wants to see New York. Like I said, I grew up around there. Believe me, it ain’t worth the trouble.”
    “In our case, I think it is.” Not sure how much he wanted to say.
    The driver glanced from the road to Weller. “By the looks of it, you been chased out of nicer places already.” Pointing at his own neck to indicate the cut in Weller’s. “It ain’t none of my business,” he said, “but without ID, you won’t get very far.”
    “I’ve never had ID. Born and raised in the Zone.”
    If the driver was surprised he didn’t show it. He didn’t recoil the way some might have. He just drove on. “Worse luck for you,” he said after a minute. “If I had time to slow down again between here and Stamford I’d let you off. Send you back home before you get yourself shot or something.”
    Penny’s eyes got big.
    “Not shot. I didn’t mean shot. That’s a figure of speech.” He put out a hand and Penny retreated into her father’s arms. “You know what a figure of speech is, honey?”
    Nothing.
    “All I mean is it’s a tough town. Tough on strangers. Tough on generics.”
    Weller opened his pack and dug around. Located the Polaroid picture and showed it. He said they weren’t entirely strangers. Not to everybody in New York.
    “Jesus,” said the trucker. “That was you?”
    “Yes sir, it was.”
    “Honest? Holy shit. I mean holy shit. That was all over the news.”
    “Really.”
    “Everywhere. The TV news. That was a close call, buddy.”
    “It wasn’t such a big deal. A bent sway bar. A couple of loose bolts.”
    “Not for them. I mean a close call for you. They’d scrambled Black Rose, for Christ’s sake. They were in the air.”
    “I guess.”
    “Oh, yeah. They were on their way, and those old boys don’t leave much behind when they’re finished, if you get my drift.” Tilting his head toward Penny. Emphasizing what he wasn’t saying.
    “So I’ve heard.”
    “Man oh man. You’re one lucky guy.”
    “Let’s hope it holds.” Looking at the Polaroid one more time and then sliding it into his pocket. “Carmichael said he owes me one.”
    “He said that, did he?”
    “He did.”
    “Well.”
    “I mean to call in the favor. Get her some help with her eyes.” Penny on his lap, settling back.
    The driver nodded, noncommittal. “That’d sure be nice,” he said. “Those boys do have all the good doctors sewn up. In a manner of speaking.” Fingering his neck. “Did you know they keep all their records on board these days? Right here? It’s the latest thing. Myself, I’ve just got the regular financial chip. Company issued. ID, banking and like that. I’ve been saving for an upgrade, but you know how that goes.”
    “I guess I do.”
    “Money’s always tight.”
    “If you’ve got any at