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“These bastards have been around a long time,” John said. “Haven’t they? Because the main thing
they take from this steam is longevity.”
“I’m pretty sure that’s right,” Dan said. “And as good Americans, I’m sure they’ve been busy
making money the whole time. Enough to grease wheels a lot bigger than the ones that turn in
Sidewinder. State wheels. Federal wheels.”
“And this Rose . . . she’ll never stop.”
“No.” Dan was thinking of the precognitive vision he’d had of her. The cocked hat. The yawning
mouth. The single tooth. “Her heart is set on your daughter.”
“A woman who stays alive by killing children has no heart,” Dave said.
“Oh, she has one,” Dan said. “But it’s black.”
Lucy stood up. “No more talking. I want to go to her now. Everybody use the bathroom, because
once we leave, we’re not stopping until we get to that motel.”
Dan said, “Does Concetta have a computer? If she does, I need to take a quick peek at something
before we go.”
Lucy sighed. “It’s in her study, and I think you can guess the password. But if you take more than
five minutes, we’re going without you.”
14
Rose lay awake in her bed, stiff as a poker, trembling with steam and fury.
When an engine started up at quarter past two, she heard it. Steamhead Steve and Baba the
Russian. When another started at twenty till four, she heard that one, too. This time it was the Little
twins, Pea and Pod. Sweet Terri Pickford was with them, no doubt looking nervously through the
back window for any sign of Rose. Big Mo had asked to go along—begged to go along—but they had
turned her down because Mo was carrying the disease.
Rose could have stopped them, but why bother? Let them discover what life was like in America on
their own, with no True Knot to protect them in camp or watch their backs while they were on the
road. Especially when I tell Toady Slim to kill their credit cards and empty their rich bank accounts, she
thought.
Toady was no Jimmy Numbers, but he could still take care of it, and at the touch of a button. And
he’d be there to do it. Toady would stick. So would all the good ones . . . or almost all the good ones.
Dirty Phil, Apron Annie, and Diesel Doug were no longer on their way back. They had taken a vote
and decided to head south instead. Deez had told them Rose was no longer to be trusted, and besides,
it was long past time to cut the Knot.
Good luck with that, darling boy, she thought, clenching and unclenching her fists.
Splitting the True was a terrible idea, but thinning the herd was a good one. So let the weaklings
run and the sicklings die. When the bitchgirl was also dead and they had swallowed her steam (Rose
had no more illusions of keeping her prisoner), the twenty-five or so who were left would be stronger
than ever. She mourned Crow, and knew she had no one who could step into his shoes, but Token
Charlie would do the best he could. So would Harpman Sam . . . Bent Dick . . . Fat Fannie and Long
Paul . . . Greedy G, not the brightest bulb, but loyal and unquestioning.
Besides, with the others gone, the steam she still had in storage would go farther and make them
stronger. They would need to be strong.
Come to me, little bitchgirl, Rose thought. See how strong you are when there are two dozen against you. See
how you like it when it’s just you against the True. We’ll eat your steam and lap up your blood. But first, we’ll
drink your screams.