Bill leaned over and offered Theodore his flask. Theodore nodded, taking a slow swig from the flask, trying to focus on the road as the headlights only lit it in a weak dim. He wasn’t sure what Bill had given him but as it slowly drained down his throat, the cold burn gurgled down into his stomach. He glanced over to the man in the chair next to him. His slow breathing seemed almost peaceful, if not for the outburst of anger he had delivered to Theodore not more than an hour prior. As he slept, he slowly twitched his wrist and chin like a dog chasing a rabbit in a dream. The sweat dripped from his nose, wetting the small mustache in such a way that made him seem sicker. Theodore was angry with himself for feeling bad at the sight of him. The compassion that washed over him regularly was why he guessed he found himself in these types of situations. The man’s Stetson had slipped down his forehead, covering his eyes as he slept. The brim’s wide covering set in such a way that he looked only to be waiting, rather than sleeping.

He jostled awake, knocking his hat to the floorboards as he flailed his hands in an almost drunk manor. He smacked his lips and tongue in a poor attempt to speak. Bill leaned his large hands into the passenger seat, cupping his palm around the man’s mouth. Theodore barely caught a glimpse as Bill swiftly tossed a handful of gray pills down the man’s throat. The man continued to swing his arms and Theodore was certain there would be another fit of violence that would likely drive them all off the road. Yet to his surprise, the man’s flailing and moaning stopped, and he leaned his head back in the seat, letting out short bursts of air from his nose. Bill began rubbing the man’s shoulders and neck, running his long fingers up to the man’s ears. After a few minutes of this, the man tapped Bill’s wrists and Bill returned to his seat. The man leaned down into the floorboards and picked up his hat, dusting it off before securing back to his head. He looked back over at Theodore. Theodore clenched the wheel, waiting for the anger or violence to begin. The man rubbed his jaw and sighed.

“Doctor Pillar, I must say I am quite sorry for attacking you earlier. I was not myself.”

Theodore held his breath. The clear flow of the man’s language seemed to exist outside of the husk he had seen only hours before. This man’s eyes were clearer, and he carried himself with a weariness of travel, yet still strong enough to keep his head up. Theodore nodded.

“Apology accepted sir,” Theodore said coldly

“You may call Mr. Apex,” the man said, wiping the sweat from his brow.

“That can’t be your name.”

“It is the only name you need to know. Did you ask the Widow for her name?” The man said sharply.

“Yes.”

“And?”

“She told me the only name I needed to know was the Widow.”

“Exactly Doctor Pillar. This cloak and dagger routine is also for your benefit.”

“How so?” Theodore said frustratedly.

“The old man knows my name and hers. He can’t make you tell him if you don’t know. Making you just a worthless pencil pusher to him.”

Theodore sighed.

“I worked harder than anyone I know to achieve where I am at. I am growing tired of the disrespect.”

Mr. Apex brushed the sweat out of his mustache and continued to stare into the darkness.

“No disrespect from our end Theodore. If we thought you were a pin headed pencil pusher, we wouldn’t have enlisted your help.”

Theodore smiled to himself. He knew his mother would have swatted his head for beaming with pride, but he needed something other than compassion to feel he was traveling down the right road. He loosened his grip on the wheel, finally feeling that he could relax. Mr. Apex produced a compass out of his jacket, tethered to a thin glimmering white wire. He gave it a quick look before shoving it back into his pocket.

“How long have we been traveling north?”

“Thirty to thirty-five minutes?” Theodore said, confused.

Mr. Apex growled under his breath turning his focus to the wasteland. His wrist was starting to shake again. Theodore felt his heart sink, flashing a glance back to Bill who had bent himself into a hunch, crouched in the back seat, resembling a giant frog. Bill shook his head. Theodore turned back to the road uncertain what Bill’s head shake meant. Holding his breath, he summoned all his courage and turned to Mr. Apex.

“Mr. Apex, for my safety and the safety of Bill here, I need know why when I first met you…you seemed flushed, possibly even a little tetched. Yet now after a brief nap in my Plymouth you seem to be fit for duty as it were. I need to know that you have all of your…sanity,” Theodore said sternly.

Mr. Apex slowly turned his head back to face Theodore, his eyes still blocked and hidden by the large brim of his Stetson. He sucked his teeth and let out another sigh.

“The Widow is not the only victim of the Reverence Act. Considering you lost our prime target I didn’t have time to make myself whole. I was…what did you call it-ah yes sanity. But Bill made sure to supply me with what I need. If you want to make sure that I remain this way perhaps don’t lose the one thing we told you to keep a handle on!”

His words were gruff, leaving little space between each bark, yet Theodore could tell he was embarrassed and ashamed of the treatment he had delivered out earlier. He couldn’t help but feel responsible as it was because of him Mr. Apex had to be out here at all. He nodded holding up his hand in defeat.

“I am sorry sir,” he said sheepishly.

Mr. Apex clapped his hand on Theodore’s shoulder.

“Never apologize for looking out for those in your unit. Otherwise we all may not make it back.”

Theodore understood the veiled reference but felt that Mr. Apex was not making an analogy but stating a fact that transcended the bonds of his duty. Mr. Apex continued to stroke his mustache.

“Walk me through what happened. You made it to the gas station where you were going to meet the Widow. Then as you are filling up the Twillmen brothers show up and take you to the Reverence Act’s Casper lab?”

“Yes.”

“And they wouldn’t let you take your car because they said Chester was going to come collect it?”

“Yes.”

“Damn, surprised we’re all not facing a firing squad right now. Why would she leave the car?”

“Maybe she saw Chester coming and decided to run for it?”

“Then wouldn’t Chester have seen her?”

“I am not sure.”

“Perhaps she had help getting out of your car? Gray skinned broad with big googly eyes probably looks tantalizing to the right sicko.”

“Damn…,” Theodore said under his breath.

“What?”

“There was a man he stopped at gas station and looked in the back seat of the Plymouth. He rode off before I could talk to him.”

“Rode off?” Mr. Apex responded, perplexed.

“Yes, on a motorbike. He was dressed in a white leather jacket.”

Mr. Apex tipped his hat up in frustration.

“All white? Did he have a helmet that hid his face?”

“Yes…do you… do you know him?”

“Hopefully not. But there is a chance someone else has her and if that is the reality, then she might have been better off with the government stooges.”

“Chane Chacksss,” Bill said in softly from the back seat.

“Cain Checks?” Theodore responded confused.

“Chane Chacksss!” Bill gurgled louder.

“Bill I-” Theodore began

Bill shot his giant hand into Theodore’s line of sight, pointing directly at a break in the road where a line of train tracks ran across it. The flashing light of the arm blocking the tracks lit up the night with a slow glow of dark red. Theodore quickly slammed on the brake, halting the Plymouth just shy of the arm, creating a swirl of dust between the two lights that spiraled around the hood of the car. They sat in silence as the red lights clicked back and forth between each other. The emptiness of the wasteland left nothing but shimmering blackness and the mixed parallel lights of the Plymouth and the arm. Theodore leaned forward in his seat, attempting to make out if a train was coming but all he could see was the bleakness of the night. He looked over at Mr. Apex, whose nose and hands began twitching sporadically again. He clenched the door handle and nodded to Bill. Bill left his bullfrog crouch and bent his way out of the car. Mr. Apex nudged Theodore, pointing out to Bill.

“He may need some back up.”

“Perhaps it is a malfunctioning arm. They don’t upkeep things very well out here.”

“A malfunctioning arm on the one road we happen to be traveling on?” Mr. Apex said with a long drawn out growl.

Theodore obeyed and stepped outside. The wind whipped through his coat, nearly sending his fedora back down the highway. He took it off, tossing back on his seat. He adjusted his glasses and made his way over to Bill who was standing at the arm. His looming presence in the red light made him look like a scarecrow blown onto the main road. Theodore peered over the arm staring down the tracks. There was no sign of a light in either direction. Not even a faint glow far off down the plains. Bill tapped his fingers on the arm, methodically wrapping them about the frame. Without effort he lifted the arm up, pushing it back to an upright standing position. Theodore looked back down the road where he spotted a low faint pair of headlights traveling towards them. Theodore attempted to clean the dust off his glasses as the headlights didn’t emit a glow of yellow or white but of a weak pink, almost rose. As he stared at the headlights, Bill had lifted the arm nearly back to its original location. Resting the weight of the arm heavily on his shoulder, he pushed, trying to line it up correctly. The hollowing wind yanked the arm to and fro making it hard to stabilize. Just as Bill had his limbs outstretched, holding the arm out, another pair of dusty pink lights lit up the north. Theodore and Bill both looked to see them driving towards them. Before either of them could move another pair illuminated from the east and the west. The headlights drew closer and closer eventually engulfing Theodore and Bill in a sea of pink light.

There were four cars. Each one an identical black convertible Cadillac with winged taillights. The interior of each was red vinyl seats that seemed almost purple in the pink light of the headlights. The cars crept closer, each bumper inching a little at a time. Theodore thought they would surely run him and Bill over if they continued. He quickly moved back to the Plymouth. Bill frantically tried to drop the arm, quickly running it down his shoulder. The Cadillac from the north stopped just shy of Bill. Three men jumped out. All dressed in long coats with black fur edging. Each man wearing a suit with red pinstripes and pink ties as well as fedoras with red roses in the bands. Each one holding long cylindrical prods. With a gurgle, Bill attempted to kick each off them, bending into his bullfrog stance. Before even the first kick met them, he was attacked the electrical points of the prods driving deep into his neck, chest, and stomach. Bill sunk to his knees, dropping the arm which struck him hard in the head, fully bringing his giant-like body to the pavement as if he had fallen from a bean stock. Theodore rushed the men, shouting as he ran.

“Leave him alone!” He shouted.

He had not run more than three steps when the ground around him sparked with the shattering clack of gunfire. Theodore stopped, twisting his neck to see where the shots came from. Stepping out of the Cadillac from the south was a smaller man in a similar fur lined coat yet his fur was white as opposed to black. His pinstripes were pink instead of red. His tie was white instead of pink and his fedora had a white rose in the band instead of red. But what separated him the most was the Beretta M12 sub machinegun tucked under his right arm. He quickly made his way to Theodore before stopping short, keeping the gun just shy of Theodore’s heart.

He was tanned almost to the point of burnt, yet still seemed cold in his skin. He had a three-day beard with salt and pepper stubble. The beard was patchy and unkempt, which didn’t seem to match the man’s almost laced up persona. He looked Theodore up and down before lowering his gun.

“Little far from ghetto ain’t ya boy?” The man said with a click in his voice.

Theodore stood still, refusing to say a word. The man walked him up and down, running his teeth across his lip.

“You gotta name?” He cooed.

“Theodore. Dr. Theodore Pillar with the US government research team. You men were unjustly attacking my colleague.”

The man pointed the machine gun at Bill.

“The brute is your colleague? So that means you riding with a woman? Sultry dame never shows her face?”

Theodore again remained still. The man looked over into the Plymouth and smiled.

“Ain’t that swell. Seems they let the crazy out and it ain’t even a full moon.”

“Sir-” Theodore began.

The man turned from him and faced Mr. Apex.

“Last time I saw you, it was celebrating your victory over the Japs. Guess all those mortar shells finally caught up with you,” he mocked.

Mr. Apex wrung his hands back and forth.

“Whhhat do you want Jackson?” He said, trying to steady his voice.

“Well my boss tells me the bureaucrats over at Reverence lost something recently. Something with gray skin and big eyes. You rascals wouldn’t have any idea about that?”

Mr. Apex shook his head. Theodore approached Jackson.

“What is it to you?” He said weakly, trying to add to Mr. Apex’s failing voice.

Jackson turned to him, raising the gun to Theodore’s stomach.

“As usual speaking out of turn, and when I am here trying help you.”

“Help me?”

“Well mostly the sorry excuse for a human being in the passenger seat. I don’t feel like talking about this on the street. I know your people is more accustom to that sort of thing, but we have standards.”

Theodore felt his blood boil and he clenched his fist. Jackson waved the gun in his face condescendingly.

“We have a silo in Wright that we’ve been using as a staging area. Follow the Cadillac and we’ll lead you right to it. Try to drive away and I guess the brute over there loses whatever is left of his brain.”

Jackson pointed his gun over to Bill as two men were lifting him into the truck of the Cadillac from the north.

“Chop Chop…Theodore,” Jackson said heading back to his car.

Theodore exhaled, stepping back into the Plymouth, gripping the wheel tight looking over to Mr. Apex.

“You know these clowns?”

“They are a subset of the Rose Project.”

“The Rose Project?” Theodore said, concerned.

“Yep, heard their boss hasssss a nasty temperrrr,” Mr. Apex said, trying to steady his hands.

“You could say that,” Theodore muttered under his breath.

The arm went up and the five cars rolled forward like a caravan in the night.