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“But you sound like you believe in this guy’s half-assed jihad.”
Traven puts his hands in his pockets.
“I’ve believed what I’ve had to in order to survive. And even then, I’ve questioned his methods.”
“I’m guessing a guy travels with his own personal havoc isn’t the candy-and-flowers type.”
“I’m afraid not.”
“So, you’re raiders. How bad is it?”
“Bad. When it happens . . . just don’t try to stop it.”
We reach the camper and Traven opens the door.
“There it is,” I say. “I came all the way to here just to be the biker trash my mom always warned me about.”
“Death does have its fun with us,” he says. “Would you like some food?”
I lean against the side of the camper with the open desert at my back so I can keep an eye on the camp.
“Does that mean I’m not being executed?”
“Not tonight.”
“Food sounds good, but what I really want is another light.”
I take out the Maledictions.
Traven points to the pack.
“Could I have one of those, too?”
“Sure.”
I tap one out and hand it to him. He lights mine, then his.
I say, “I found them on the mountain.”
“A good omen.”
“Or bad housekeeping.”
“Let’s go inside,” he says. “You’re not a popular man around here.”
“I’m getting that impression.”
He hesitates in the doorway.
“You know, I can do it for you, too.”
“Eat my sins?”
“Yes.”
I shake my head.
“Thanks, but sometimes I think my sins are the only thing holding me together.”
