Free Rootless by Chris Howard Page B

GPS?”
    I shook my head.
    “It’s like a map,” Sal said. “Or a compass. Plug in the coordinates you need to find and the GPS tells you where it’s at.”
    “And you believe that?”
    “They say there’s things up there,” Sal said. “Orbiting out of view. Moving across the night. Satellites, they were called. It’s them that tell the GPS how to get there.”
    “And you just punch in those numbers?”
    “Leaves pointing up give you the north coordinates. You add them together, then subtract the ones that point south, down toward her you know what.” The kid laughed hard, snorting out his nose like he’d just stopped breathing. “You get the easting coordinate the same way. The sideways leaves.”
    “How do you know?”
    “Crow’s been looking into this for years, that’s how. He knew the story long before he found the woman.”
    “So it’s a story, then. Don’t mean it’s true.”
    Sal rolled his eyes at me. “Of course it’s true, tree boy. If GenTech believes it. But Crow never knew about the last tattoo, that’s his problem.”
    “The last tattoo?”
    “Oh? You didn’t find it on your little midnight adventure?” Sal scrunched his face up, his skin all sweaty and gross. “The last tattoo’s on Zee, you idiot. Small and hidden. She probably doesn’t even know it’s there herself.”
    He plopped off the counter and turned his back at me, stabbing a pudgy finger right above his ass crack. “Base of her spine,” Sal said. “Right here. And that leaf points all the way down.”
    “How the hell’d you see it?”
    Sal turned and winked at me. “Told you she ain’t my sister.”
    Should’ve left right then, right?
    But the kid kept talking.
    “So they’re going to be too far north. Without the correction. But you get us a GPS, and I can get us to the right place.”
    “You can’t know all them numbers.”
    “Wrong again, tree boy. Wrong again.”
    Sal led us back to Frost’s empty study. I stared at the clean desk, the cold TV screen, but Sal dug me in the ribs and pointed at the ceiling.
    “She’s something, isn’t she?” Sal whispered, and I wasn’t sure if he meant the woman or the tree, but up there, plastered on the ceiling in a jigsaw puzzle of photographs, Frost’s wife was stretched out with her eyes closed and her top pulled off and the tattoo about as alive as it could be.
    “So many numbers,” I said, squatting down and craning my neck.
    “And I got them all locked right here. Zee’s, too.” Sal tapped his greasy head. “But I say we bring the pictures with us.”
    “With us?”
    “I told you. Get me a GPS and I can find us the right place.”
    “Sure. GPS. Anything else you might need?”
    “If Crow found one, we can find one.”
    I thought about it. “Only one place worth looking.”
    “Vega.”
    I stared at the ceiling, studied the tree. “How about you just tell me the number?” I said. “The correction.”
    Sal shook his head. “I’ll never tell you.” He glanced at the nail gun. “That’s why you’ve got to take me with you.”
    “Take you with me, huh?”
    “That’s right.” His voice got scratchy. “You need me. Like I need you. And together we can catch us some trees, Banyan. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
    He was right. It was all I wanted. That forest could give me my old man back and a whole new life and a future like that’s all the Promised Land you need. I knew I’d do anything to get there.
    Anything at all.



The forty is the only road west, and it takes you all the way to Vega. If you’re lucky.
    Head across the plains in the hot months and the locusts will strip your bones once you hit the corn. So you wait till winter falls and the corn has been zapped by cold. Locusts don’t hatch again till spring so the forty should be good to go. All you have to worry about is pirates. And poachers.
    Plus you got to pray that you don’t get taken. Sure, folk go missing all over. Most places you go there’s someone