American Apocalypse Read Online Free Page A

building, and they were big, too—big enough that I could stand up in them without bumping my head. I expected a helicopter to be hovering over the area soon, and I hoped being in the pipe would make me invisible, even to infrared. Then I realized that I had left my trowel behind! My stomach knotted up even more, as if that was possible. I had to stop the bike and throw up; I leaned over the handlebars and gave it all up—not that there was a lot. Then it was
dry heaves until I made it to the pipes. There was enough water flowing through them for my purposes. I stepped back into the woods where it was flat and changed, rolling the clothes I had worn into a ball and bagging them.
    After that I sat on the slope at the entrance to the pipes and waited: waited for the sirens and the sound and light of the county police chopper circling; waited until dawn and nothing came—an occasional siren in the distance, but nothing headed in my direction and nothing in the air—nothing. I rolled down a foot path and turned into the woods. I found a downed tree big enough to serve as a wall on one side of my sleeping bag when I lay down; I was asleep within minutes.

CHAPTER FOUR
    GARDENER
    Three days later I came out of the woods. I had to; I was starving. I rode out tentatively, feeling as if I had a big neon sign blinking MURDERER over my head. A federal Humvee rolled past me, Homeland Security stenciled in white along the side. The soldier in the turret did not even look at me as they rolled on by. A few cars passed me. The drivers casually glanced at me and continued on.
    I knew Carol would know what was going on. Running a shelter meant she was plugged into my world, and the real world. Plus, if I was wanted, well, I was pretty sure she wouldn’t snitch me out—at least I hoped so. I got lucky; she was sitting in a folding chair, catching some sun, and smoking a cigarette. One of the guys who helped out with security at the shelter was standing about ten feet away from her, watching the world go by.
    The people at the shelter tried to give her space and a few minutes alone when she was having a cigarette; it was the only break she allowed herself. Tito was out there just in case some idiot thought she had another one for him—or wanted to discuss why he had gotten thrown out. She
would have given you the cigarette she was smoking if you asked; it was just that her staff didn’t want her bothered. I had not counted on Tito. We were not tight, Tito and I, but I figured Carol would keep him heeled if word was out about me, at least until I was down the road, if it did come to that.
    The conversation with Carol left me amazed: Nobody seemed to give a damn. The guy I had killed was an unemployed real-estate agent and a Cub Scout leader who was forced to resign, even though the charges against him had been dropped. Until a few days ago he was just another Car Person who called a parking lot home. No one, when interviewed, had anything good to say about him. The kid never did come up in the conversation. Carol did say that whoever had removed the guy from the population had done a lot of people a favor. Hearing that from her made me feel a lot better inside, especially when she added that they should have dragged him behind his car for a couple miles before killing him.
    I think she knew, but she wasn’t going to ask me straight out. What was really interesting was that when the body was found, so was my trowel. The crowd that had gathered around the body had noticed it before the cops showed up. When the cops bagged the trowel, some wit in the crowd had yelled out, “The gardener did it!” I liked that; I liked thinking of myself as “The Gardener.” What does a gardener do? He weeds the plants and flowers of invasive species. I think child molesters qualify as invasive.
    I have to admit to an unhealthy liking of the Batman movies when I was growing up. After my conversation with Carol I actually spent time thinking about possible