It was some time later that he pulled off the highway, into one of those gas-and-food rest stops. I looked at him. He said, “Gas.”
I had my doubts about this, thinking of the electronically-control gas pumps. But I said nothing. I was struck, however, at how slowly he drove toward the pumps, looking alertly at the building. It seemed deserted, however, and I wondered a little at that.
“You stay here,” he said, picking up his rifle and opening his door. I nodded, but then, as he edged around the side of the vehicle, bending low, I thought: The hell with that! I reached around and extracted the long knife I had seen in his pack, sheath and all. Then, sliding across to his side, I pushed wide the door and got out behind him.
He turned and glared at me. I held up the knife, raising my eyebr
