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My eyes widen, although I’m not sure why I’m surprised. When I look at Mack, he nods with a little smile to affirm this reality. “They help us out a lot,” is all he says.
No one uses money anymore, so I assume they get paid with supplies rather than cash. It’s a perfectly valid way to make a living in this world, and at least they hire themselves out to good people rather than bad ones.
They get down to business without further conversation. Rachel, Mack, and I move the supplies from one truck to the other while Jackson and Cal stand guard. When Cal repeatedly calls Rachel “kid,” I confirm my assumption that he’s her father.
He doesn’t look like a really nice guy, but very few people who’ve survived this long are soft anymore. It looks like he takes care of her, and she clearly trusts him and isn’t looking to get away. I don’t think I need to worry about Rachel.
I talk to Mack for a while after we’ve got all the supplies moved, going over the instructions I wrote out and making sure he doesn’t have any questions. He seems really pleased with it all, and he thanks me repeatedly. He tries to look over at Jackson to include him in the thanks, but Jackson doesn’t appear to want to be part of the conversation.
I shouldn’t be surprised. Or disappointed. Or hurt.
He’s never liked my taking risks or giving away our resources indiscriminately.
If I thought things might be different now, I was wrong. I was stupid.
“So y’all are on your way east right now?” I ask when we’ve gone over everything.
Mack nods. “Yep. Cal and Rachel will be with me the whole way. It’s been quiet on this side of the state lately. I think we should be all right.”
“Well, be careful anyway. I’m glad you’ve got some extra guns.”
“If you decide you’re able to travel, the folks there can still use your help. Come any time. I’ll be there for a few weeks, helping them to get things set up.”
“We don’t travel that far,” Jackson puts in gruffly. He was clearly following the conversation more than he indicated.
Mack glances between me and Jackson, but whatever he’s thinking, he doesn’t put into words. He nods with another smile. “Makes sense to keep close to home. We appreciate everything you’re able to do.”
I say goodbye to him and then walk over to Rachel, who is standing by her motorcycle.
“It was nice to meet you,” I tell her. “Feel free to stop by if you pass this way again.”
She smiles and thanks me. She’s not as warm as Mack, but it feels like there’s something real and good inside her that I like.
“And thank your dad,” I add, not wanting to be rude and ignoring him, although the man clearly couldn’t care less that I’m alive.
“He’s not my dad,” she says, straddling her motorcycle.
I blink.
“We’re family,” she explains, clearly not annoyed or embarrassed by my mistake. It must happen all the time. “But he’s not my dad.”
With that she starts her engine. I back away and then, with another wave for Mack, head back to our pickup truck where Jackson is waiting.
When the others are out of sight, we get into the truck. Before he turns the ignition, Jackson turns his head to face me. “Satisfied?”
I’m not exactly sure what he’s asking. Maybe it’s just a casual question, so I just nod.
He doesn’t seem to accept this as the answer. After a minute, he says, “You still want to make the trip out there to help, don’t you?”
I meet his eyes. He looks strangely restless. Kind of upset and kind of angry and kind of confused. But mostly restless. Like something is about to break out inside him.
For no reason I understand, I want it to break out. I want to see and feel what he’s really thinking for once instead of trying to read the signs and use them to understand this stoic, guarded man.
So I respond with, “Why shouldn’t I?”
“You know why.” He’s scowling now.
“I know why you think we shouldn’t, but that’s not a good enough answer anymore. It’s not as dangerous as it used to be. We have a lot that others don’t. Why shouldn’t we try to help other people?”
