Free Rise of the Elgen by Richard Paul Evans Page A

midsentence.
    “Did you guys see that?” Jack shouted from the front. “That thing blew up like a bomb!”
    “What blew up?” I asked.
    “The Escalade. It, like, disintegrated. It’s just a big ball of fire.”
    “What caused that?”
    “I have no idea,” Jack replied. “But I am not complaining.”
    “Good driving, man,” I said. “Now get us off the freeway. Let’s get out of this beast.”

J ack pulled off at the next exit and drove to the far side of a Flying J truck stop. A long row of trucks was parked next to the mini-mart, and Jack parked the crippled van between two long semis and shut off the engine.
    Jack smiled at me as I walked up to the front. “Just another day in the life of a superhero,” he said.
    I grinned. “You’re having fun, aren’t you?”
    “As long as we’re winning, bro,” Jack said. “As long as we’re winning.”
    “We’ve got to find somewhere safe to finish uploading Grace’s info,” I said. “Any ideas?”
    Jack thought for a moment, then said, “I know where we can go. Do you still have that phone?”
    “It doesn’t dial out,” I said. “Besides, I’m sure the Elgen would be listening in on it if it did.”
    “There’s probably a pay phone at the mini-mart,” Ostin said, walking up to us.
    “Come on,” Jack said, climbing out of the van.
    I turned to Taylor, who had just walked up to the front. “Keep everyone inside until we get back.”
    “Where are you going?”
    “Jack’s calling someone to pick us up. We’ll be right back.”
    “Hey, Michael!” McKenna shouted. “Would you get me something to drink—like water or Gatorade? I’m really thirsty.”
    “Got it,” I said.
    “I need a lot. Like a gallon.”
    “A gallon?”
    “I’m really thirsty.”
    By the time I got out of the truck, Jack and Wade were already standing next to a pay phone outside of the truck stop. As I approached I heard Jack say, “I don’t have time to tell you right now. Just shut up and listen. . . . I’ll tell you when you get here. Get your mom’s Suburban and come to the Flying J truck stop off I-Eighty-Four West. It’s just south of Meridian. You can’t miss it. . . . Hurry. Yes, I know it’s late. Yes, Wade is with me. . . . Because you weren’t invited, that’s why. Consider yourself lucky. Now hurry. . . . No, I told you, bring the Suburban. . . . There’s a bunch of us. I said I’ll tell you when you get here.” Jack hung up the phone. “Man, what a baby.”
    “Who was that?” I asked.
    “Mitchell,” Wade said.
    “He’s mad we left him,” Jack said. “He has no idea what he missed.”
    “Lucky him,” Wade said.
    “Does Mitchell have a computer?” I asked.
    “Mitchell has everything,” Wade said, shaking his head. “His old man’s loaded.”
    “He’ll be here in fifteen,” Jack said.
    “I’m going inside the truck stop,” I said. “McKenna needs something to drink. We might as well get something to eat. Everyone’s starving.”
    “Yeah, the pizza didn’t quite make it,” Jack said.
    Fortunately the guards hadn’t taken my money. The three of uswent inside the mini-mart, and I grabbed a plastic tote and filled it with six bottles of water and a six-pack of Gatorade. I also got two boxes of powdered jelly doughnuts, licorice, and a handful of Power-Bars while Wade put together a dozen hot dogs. Jack grabbed a bag of beef jerky and pork rinds.
    We paid for the food, then brought it back to the van. Jack stayed outside to wait for Mitchell while Wade and I carried everything in through the front cab.
    “Thank goodness,” Ostin said as we came in. I handed him the box of doughnuts. He tore it open, shoved a doughnut in his mouth, coughed from the powdered sugar, then grabbed a second doughnut and passed the box along to Ian.
    McKenna took two bottles of Gatorade from me and, to all of our surprise, downed both of them, stopping only twice to breathe. After she’d emptied both bottles she sighed with relief. “Sorry.