Louis went in alone. Thick glass separated the counter from the rest of the office, yellowed at the edges by age and cigarette smoke. A television bolted high in one corner showed silent war footage, with captions changing every few seconds. The clerk behind the counter looked tired. His eyes moved from Louis’s cane to his face, then to the dirt on his jeans. He looked past him at the parking lot.
“Room?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“How many?”
Louis waited a moment before answering. “One family room.”
The clerk narrowed his eyes. “You got a family with you?”
Louis shrugged once. “Right.”
The clerk glanced at the monitor above him, then looked back at Louis.
“Cash only. Forty dollars per night.”
Louis took out a new fifty-euro note, crumpled it in his fist, and laid it on the counter. The clerk picked it up between his thumb and forefinger, held it to the desk lamp, and breathed out through his nose. He said nothing about the currency. He took a key from the wall behind him and slid it across the counter.
“Ground floor,” he said. “Back corner. End unit.”
“Thank you.”
The clerk snorted and unmuted the television. A preacher was shouting about judgment and atonement.
Louis left the office. The others waited in the van with the engine off and the windows cracked. Gladice looked up when he came into view.
“We’re in,” Louis said as he opened the door and lowered himself into the front passenger seat. “Ground floor. Back corner.”
“Good.” Gladice started the van. “Then let’s go disappear.”
The room had two queen beds with faded floral covers, heavy patterned curtains, and a table with two chairs. The air conditioner under the window rattled and blew air that smelled of mildew and dust. Gladice went to the curtains first and pulled them shut.
Louis leaned the cane against the table and rested one hand on the back of the chair. His knee ached.
“I am so tired,” he said at last.
Angelique looked up at him. “We all are.”
“Bathroom first,” Gladice said. “One at a time. We smell like shit.”
Donya said, “Can I—?”
“Yes,” said Angelique at once. “Go.”
Donya hurried into the bathroom and locked the door. The bolt clicked. A second later, the water came on.
Willa sat on the edge of the bed. “We need a plan.”
Gladice turned from the curtains. “Of course. We need food, weapons, and a way to get out of this country.”
Willa nodded.
“Alright,” she said. “In order of importance.”
“A phone,” Louis said. “We need a way to talk to my father.”
Gladice sat down on the bed nearest the door and pulled one boot off, then the other. “Food comes first. I am starved.”
Willa shook her head. “I need a change of clothes. I cannot live in this one more minute. And I also need a pair of glasses.”
Louis took the chair by the table, where he could rest his leg and watch the door. “Alright. Let’s start simple. Food and clothes. I’ll go out and get it. What do we want?” He looked at Angelique. “Jeans? Shirt?”
“Some new underwear would be nice. Let’s make ourselves more comfortable since we are all going to stay in this country for a while.” Angelique folded her arms.
Louis nodded and turned to Gladice. “I suppose the same for you.”
“Yes,” she said. “And socks. And a belt. And a hat.”
“A hat?”
“I like hats.”
Louis smiled briefly.
“I will need your size,” he said. “Clothes, trousers, bras, panties, shoes. All of it.”
Angelique said, “I can go with you.”
“No.” He shook his head. “Hargrove is still hunting us. I don’t want you to take any more unnecessary risks. Willa and I will do.” He turned to Willa. “You good with fashion?”
She gave him a look. “I’m a computer science major at MIT. I don’t know fashion, but I have eyes.”
“Good. Now can you write down the shopping list and everyone’s size?” Louis lay back on the bed. “I want to take a nap before I walk again.”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes. “Wake me in fifteen minutes.”
Closing his eyes did not help. He saw Jennifer again. She stood beside the road in the borrowed jacket, her face turned toward him in the headlights. He saw the moving truck, the open door, her hand on his jacket, and the moment she fell into the road.
“Jenny!” Louis called out.
Angelique had come closer. She sat on the edge of the bed and put one hand on his shoulder.
“Louis.”
He opened his eyes. Gladice had gone to the bathroom. Willa was still writing the list. Donya stared at him from the other bed, her eyes wide under wet hair.
“Are you okay?”
He looked at Angelique instead of answering.
“I keep seeing it.”
Angelique nodded. She slipped an arm around his shoulders and drew him into her arms. Louis closed his eyes against her shoulder. He tried to remember Jennifer’s eyes when she asked what the Dominion was like. He could not remember them. He remembered only the sound she made as she fell. Tears came, and he did not stop them. Angelique held him while he cried. He hated his injured knee. He hated the Collective’s bureaucracy and delays. He hated Dixie for destroying his life. He hated the bullet that had killed her. Most of all, he hated himself. Jennifer had placed her future in his hands, and he had failed to protect her.
For a while, he could not stop crying. He pressed his face into Angelique’s shoulder, and his breathing broke each time he tried to control it. She held him without speaking. The tears slowed, but he remained in her arms until he could take a full breath. At last, he drew back and wiped his face. They were on their own now. They had to work together, keep moving, and get out of Dixie.
Willa held out the list, written on motel notepaper, and a roll of cash. “We should move before Atlanta gets locked down. Gladice told me she saw a strip mall nearby. Let’s walk there.”
Louis wiped his cheeks again and looked at the list.
“Good.” Louis took the list and the money. He looked at Angelique. “We’ll be back within an hour.”
She nodded. “Be careful.”
“Please stay safe!” Donya said.
He opened the door. Before he stepped through, Angelique caught his arm. He turned. She leaned in and kissed him.
“Aww,” said Willa. “Cute.”
Angelique ignored her. “Come back to me.”
“I will.”
Louis and Willa stepped outside. They crossed the motel parking lot. The late-morning sun reflected off windshields, and heat rose from the pavement. Shops were open, and people moved between the storefronts and their cars carrying plastic bags and paper cups.
They passed the fried chicken restaurant and followed the alley toward the strip mall. At the front were a thrift store, a payday lender, a discount clothing shop, and a church bookstore with scripture painted across its windows. Several doors carried signs reading “WHITE ONLY.”
“Did you see that?” Louis raised his chin toward one of the signs.
“I can barely see your face clearly.” Willa rolled her eyes.
“It says ‘white only.’”
“Of course it does. One of Dixieland’s finest traditions.”
“How long have you been here?” He glanced at her.
“Three weeks? More? How about you?”
Louis thought of New Orleans. It felt much longer ago than it was.
“A week,” he finally said.
“Then I take it you’ve experienced enough Southern hospitality.” Willa put on an exaggerated Southern drawl. “Bless your heart.”
Louis chuckled. “Where did you learn that accent?”
“Let’s just say I have a gift for languages.”
Up close, she still looked like a student who should have been finishing her computer science degree.
“You know, I’m impressed that those fanatics can still run a city,” Louis said.
Willa glanced at him and then back at the road ahead. “They haven’t lost power or water yet. That’s what matters.”
“True.”
“And the banks are still open.”
“Good to know.” Louis tightened his grip on the cash in his pocket. “But I doubt we can just walk in and change euros.”
“Probably not. They will have a lot of cameras.”
“We still need local money though.” Louis looked at her. “Any ideas?”
She frowned. “We will just try our luck to see if any of the stores will accept euros.”
“Alright. We also need false names. I am Mr. Wilson, and you are Mrs. Wilson.”
She almost smiled. “So we are married. Okay.”
“Only in case people ask.”
“Sure. You can call me Mary.”
“Mary Wilson.” He nodded. “That works. I am Jack Wilson.”
“I will do my best to remember that.”
Louis gave her a brief smile, then looked across the service road. A discount clothing store stood between a shuttered beauty supply store and a tax office.
“That one,” Louis said.
Willa squinted toward the store, trying to make it out. “I hope it’s cheap enough.”
They crossed the lot side by side. Louis opened the door for her, and she went in first. The store carried basic shirts, trousers, underwear, socks, and sleepwear. Near the register, a wire rack held sunglasses, reading glasses, and several pairs marked with negative strengths. A heavyset cashier with red nails sat behind the register counting bills. A security guard stood near the fitting rooms beneath a mirror dome. He glanced at Louis and Willa, then looked away. Willa went straight to the rack of glasses near the register. She tried several pairs before settling on one with thin black frames.
“How are they?” Louis asked.
“Good enough.” She adjusted the glasses and looked at him. “You look more weathered than I thought, Jack.”
Louis gave her a bitter smile and nodded. He took out the note with the measurements. Willa began sorting clothes while he chose shirts and trousers that would last and would not stand out.
Willa moved to the women’s basics aisle, stopped in front of a wall of bras, and folded her arms. “I think you’re going to need some hands-on advice.”
“Of course.” Louis stared at the bras. “Tell me what to get.”
“Angelique. 36E. Cotton. Not underwire if possible. Comfort over style.”
“Got it.”
“Gladice. 34D. Also cotton. Practical. No lace. No underwire.”
“Practical. Right.”
“Donya. 34F. Same as Gladice. Comfort is priority.”
He checked the packages one by one, comparing the sizes with the note. “Okay.”
“And you?”
She hesitated. “34C. Why?”
“Because I am curious.”
She frowned at him. “That’s creepy.”
“Is it?”
“Yes. Now get my bra.” She turned away and started down the aisle toward socks and underwear.
Louis smiled and took four bras from the rack. He found her in the next aisle. She moved quickly through the rows of panties.
“Colors?” he asked.
“Does that matter now? Cotton. Medium. And get a pack for yourself.”
He added plain packs in white, beige, and gray to the cart, trying to remember the last time he had purchased underwear for anyone. He hadn’t. At home, servants had always handled it. He had never appreciated the particular intimacy of the task until now, standing there with the war outside while a girl he barely knew gave him exact instructions for her own body and those of three other women who had survived a morning none of them should have survived.
He took another six-pack of underwear and a pair of sunglasses from the rotating rack by the door. Willa added socks and a dark zip hoodie. The television near the register had been playing quietly behind them. Louis had ignored it until a red breaking-news banner appeared at the bottom of the screen: BREAKING: SANCTUARY CHURCH BOMBING DEATH TOLL RISES TO 586. SATANIC ATTACK BY COLLECTIVE FORCES.
Louis looked up with everyone else in the store. The cashier stopped counting money. One of the customers at the clearance bin muttered, “Lord Jesus.” The security guard turned toward the screen and kept watching.
The footage showed the sanctuary before the bombing. Blue light covered the stage, where the preacher stood before rows of refugees. The footage appeared to come from one of the church’s own cameras. Louis could not hear the preacher. The screen showed him turning toward the two girls on stage.
Willa went still before Louis recognized her on the screen. Her hand tightened around the hoodie until the hanger bent. Donya appeared beside her, followed by the crowd and another shot of Willa.
She whispered, “Shit.”
The screen froze, then replayed the moment from a closer angle. A commentator appeared in a box at the corner of the screen, but Louis could not hear him. The report switched to the grounds outside, showing smoke, bodies on the lawn, and the ruined church. Then it returned to the stage. Willa shoved the hoodie onto the rack and hurried away from the television. She reached the women’s fitting rooms and hurriedly entered the first open stall. She pulled the curtain shut.
The security guard pushed off the wall and took two steps toward the fitting room entrance. “Ma’am, only six items at a time.”
Louis reached the fitting room entrance first, carrying the basket in one hand and the hoodie in the other.
“Sir,” the guard said more sharply.
Louis handed him the basket and the hoodie. “She forgot this.”
The guard held out one hand. “I can pass it in.”
“No.”
The guard studied him for a moment. “Sir, you can’t go into the women’s fitting room.”
Louis glanced at the curtain, then looked back at the guard.
“I am her husband.” His voice remained low and firm. “She is upset. I need to talk to her.”
“No men allowed,” the guard repeated.
Louis took a folded fifty-euro note from his pocket and pressed it into the guard’s palm. The guard looked down. His fingers closed around the note.
“I didn’t see you.” The guard looked past Louis toward the counter. The cashier was watching the television and pressing buttons on the remote.
He stepped aside. Louis pushed the curtain half open and went in. Willa stood against the partition with her shoulders raised. Her breaths came short and fast. One hand pressed against her chest while the other shook at her side. Her eyes found Louis, then moved past him to the curtain.
“That’s me,” she said.
“Yes.”
“They’ll put that on every broadcast. Over and over.”
“We will find a way to fix it.” Louis looked at her. “Are you alright?”
She gave a short, humorless laugh. “No. I’m not alright.”
She reached for the hoodie, but her fingers slipped off the fabric. She caught it on the second try and pulled it over her head. Her breathing had not slowed. She pushed her glasses back into place with a shaking hand.
“Let’s just get out of here.”
“Alright.”
He pushed the curtain aside again. The guard was gone. Willa took a cap from the rack on the way out and pulled it low over her glasses. The cashier looked over their purchases, then studied Willa beneath the cap and glasses.
“Your wife okay?” she asked.
“Upset about the news,” Louis said.
The woman nodded and began scanning the tags. The total was lower than Louis had expected, though still high for discount clothing. Louis took out several euro notes. He laid them on the counter and waited. The cashier looked from the notes to Louis and back again. She counted them, opened the drawer, and returned the change in Dixie dollars without comment.
Willa grabbed the bags before he could.
“God bless,” the woman said.
“Thanks,” Louis said.
Louis pushed open the door. Willa went through first and kept walking. Her steps were faster than before, and she held her shoulders straight. Louis followed her outside. They walked in silence for a block. Then she slowed enough for him to catch up. They took the side lane behind the strip mall. It led directly to the chicken place and kept them off the main road.
Louis slowed half a step. At the far end of the lane, where it opened onto the road, four black men stepped out from behind a white work van and spread across the exit. The white security guard came out after them.
“That’s the rich one,” he said, pointing.
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