"C'mon, hurry".
"No. Thanks, but... no", Valentine said.
The truck picked up speed, lurched into a higher gear.
She slid over next to the other man. Valentine tried not to listen as he took her up on the same offer. The bench they sat on squeaked, or maybe it was the wheezy breathing of the man. Valentine smelled her sweaty sex in the confines.
Two distinct thumps as they toppled over into the bed of the van. Now Valentine could hear their chains dragging on the floor. The man groaned and gasped.
Valentine felt her foot touch his. "Offer's still open if you want a turn", she said. He moved his foot away.
"Hey, let me enjoy a moment, huh", the man said.
They exchanged names in the darkness. He was Colin, she Mona.
Fifteen minutes later they arrived.
The van idled, and Valentine heard voices outside. "I'll confirm with Pound", a man's voice said. "Three going in, right?"
"Three, assuming we don't have another fuckin' suicide", the driver said. "They're trade goods, but you never know".
"I wish I had one of those hero pills", Colin said in the darkness.
A bright light blasted into the back of the collection van, giving Valentine one of those instant, diamond-shard headaches a sudden stimulus up his optic nerves seemed to cause. Valentine looked down, saw a name scratched on the wooden seat between his legs.
Bob Barquist Feb 15 68.
Valentine tried to remember where he'd been when Barquist was taking his ride. Probably back in the Ozarks with Ahn-Kha, showing a group of leaders from the Production Resource how to grow heartroot in cold weather, to be eaten or ground up into pig and chicken feed.
He wished there were some way he could have sent one more message to Narcisse - some bit of rhyme to teach Blake - or Malia. Ali even. Would she sigh and say that he hadn't been careful enough?
He felt hands hauling him out of the collection van and they turned the spotlight off.
"I might be pregnant!" Mona said, showing evidence Valentine could only guess at as she pulled up her pants. "You need to take me to a medical center. I might be pregnant!"
They stood at a brick wall. The collection van was parked at a gate. Old metal letters on a clear stretch of wall read,
ELL VUE B TANI AL GAR ENS
Someone had added an H before the ELL.
The gap in the wall, big enough for two buses to pass, was closed by a yellow line of police tape. Inside Valentine saw some old, overgrown buildings. The park looked to be in ruins, but he could still make out old lots and paths.
"You guys got lucky", one of the Quisling guards said. He had flaps on his hat to keep his ears warm, and a short beard. "Only three of yas. Pound-o'-flesh always lets one make it out the other end alive. The way I see it is you've all got a one-in-three chance. Don't clobber each other right off the bat, or we'll give you a dose of bird shot, and then you'll never make it up the other end of Long Trail".
"I want to see a doctor", Mona said.
The Quisling in the hunting hat ignored her. "We use you all because you got that good old mountain-crossing spirit. All you've got to do is get to where them lights are. See it, way over there?" He pointed between two stands of trees.
Valentine saw a pair of red lights on twin poles, like the goalposts on a football field, glowering eyes staring at them across the lush plant life. If they were in fact goalposts, they were a good half mile away, maybe three-quarters of a mile.
"Strip", the Quisling ordered.
Soldiers stepped forward, released their hands so they could pull their shirts off. Valentine felt his skin retreat at the cold night air.
"Please, I could be pregnant. You never do this when someone is pregnant", Mona said.
Colin rocked on his heels. "Shut up, you idiot". He was breathing deeply.