Buddy Holly is Alive and Well on Ganymede by Bradley Denton (love books to read txt) 📖

over if you ride back there with her. There isn’t enough room up here for more than one more anyway.”

“That’s me,” Gretchen said.

The passenger door of the truck opened, and the boy jumped out. “Hop in,” he told Gretchen, and she did. Then he nodded toward the back of the truck and said, “I’ll give you a hand with your motorcycle, sir.”

I rolled Peggy Sue backward as the driver emerged. He was broad-shouldered and walked as if he were strong. He and the boy dragged a sheet of plywood from the flatbed and propped it on the tail.

The man vaulted up onto the bed. “Push her up, and I’ll grab the handlebars when she’s high enough,” he said.

Peggy Sue and I were at the bottom of the ramp now, but I hesitated. It had occurred to me that I had no idea of what I was getting myself into.

“You sure you want to take us all the way into Lawton?” I asked.

“If you want,” the man said. “To tell you the truth, though, it’s awful late, and we live just a couple of miles from here. I’ve got a shop, so I could probably fix you up for less money than they’d stiff you in town.”

I became suspicious. “Why would you want to do that?”

“I’m getting wet,” the boy said.

“Be polite, son,” the man said as he waved for me to bring the bike up. “We’ve got a spare room. You and your wife look honest, and you could probably use some sleep. I promise we aren’t thieves or backwoods cannibals.”

I pushed Peggy Sue up the ramp, and the man reached down to help. When we were almost up, I slipped and fell to one knee on the wet plywood, but the man caught the bike and kept her from falling.

“I’m Pete Holden,” he said as I scrambled to my feet.

“Thanks, Pete,” I said. “I’m—Charles Hardin. I owe you one.”

“At least,” the boy muttered.

I rolled the bike to the front of the flatbed and propped her on the kickstand while Pete and his son shoved the ramp in after me. I would have to crouch beside the bike to hold her steady.

“I’ll take it slow,” Pete said.

As they walked past on either side, my suspicion increased. They hadn’t asked what Gretchen and I were doing out here. They hadn’t asked why she was wearing such inadequate clothing. They were being far too helpful to possess entirely altruistic motives.

“Seen any TV lately?” I blurted.

Pete got into the cab without answering, but the boy paused and looked up at me.

“Television is the new opiate of the masses,” he said. “It tells them lies of peace and prosperity while they’re slowly crushed by the iron heel of an oppressive and greedy aristocratic minority.” He got into the cab.

The truck started moving, and now I couldn’t escape without abandoning Peggy Sue. All I could do was huddle in the cold rain as a stranger drove me toward whatever would happen next.

Soon, the truck left the highway for a muddy road and proceeded through countryside that alternated between flat, open fields and stands of soggy trees. The silhouettes of oil pumps nodded like rocking horses. The truck turned twice onto muddier, bumpier roads, and I was afraid that Peggy Sue and I would be jostled into the ditch. My arms, shoulders, and back ached from holding the Ariel, and my fingers were numb.

Finally, the truck turned into a rock driveway that entered a grove, and I saw a mailbox with an attached sign that read “Holden Welding and Motor Works.” Far back in the trees stood a one-story frame house with a porch light that illuminated a separate garage and a satellite dish. The truck stopped beside the garage, and I let go of the bike. When Gretchen, Pete, and the two kids came back to the bed, I was lying on my side.

“Rough ride?” Pete asked.

Gretchen didn’t give me a chance to answer. “Hey, phi-brain, did you tell this guy that I was your wife?”

I felt so lousy that being killed by Gretchen wasn’t such a horrible prospect. “No,” I croaked. “I told him you’re my concubine.”

Pete stepped between Gretchen and the bed before she could grab me. “If we get your bike into the garage,” he said, “it’ll be dry by the time we’re ready to work on it.”

I forced myself up and helped Pete and his son with the ramp and with Peggy Sue. The girl pulled open the garage door, and I pushed the Ariel inside onto a concrete floor. There was a fast-looking white car occupying one quarter of the garage, and most of the rest of the place was cluttered with toolboxes, welding equipment, and electronic and mechanical doohickeys that I couldn’t identify. Pete called for me to come into the house and get warm.

I patted Peggy Sue on her fuel tank and went out. The girl closed the door, and then Gretchen and I followed the Holdens to the back door of their home. Gretchen thumped my helmet with the side of her fist to demonstrate her displeasure with my “concubine” remark.

We entered the house through a mud room, and I hung my helmet and the Moonsuit on pegs that Pete indicated. It was at this point that I had my first clear look at the Holdens. Pete was tall and ruddy, with blue eyes and sandy hair cut down to bristles; the girl had the same coloring, but wore her hair in an anachronistic ponytail; and the boy, who was shorter and more slender than the girl, was darker than either his father or sister. The way he looked at me made me feel as if he were judging my life at a glance.

The girl, who introduced herself as Laura, gave Gretchen a robe so that she could get out of her wet clothes, and the boy, whom Pete called Mike, brought us each a towel. I took off my Nikes and socks, hanging them with the Moonsuit and helmet, and dried my feet.

“I hate to ask since you’re already doing so much,” I said, “but do any of you wear hard contact lenses? I, uh, lost my case and soaking solution.”

“We all wear ‘em,” Pete said. “We can probably scrounge up what you need.”

“I want the new kind,” Laura said. “The kind that you can wear for weeks or months without taking them out. But Dad says they cost too much.”

Mike looked at his sister disdainfully. “How can you ask for luxuries when the majority of the human race lives in conditions of poverty and oppression?”

Gretchen leaned close to me and muttered, “Jesus, this kid sounds like my father.”

“Here’s the bathroom,” Pete said, leading us into a hallway and stopping beside a door. “There are new toothbrushes in the drawer under the sink, and I’ll see if I can find a case for your lenses, Mr. Hardin. Come down the hall when you’re finished, and I’ll set one of you up in the spare bedroom and the other one on the livingroom couch.” He and the kids went on.

“I have dibs on the john,” Gretchen said, shoving past me. “And guess which one of us is taking the couch.” She entered the bathroom and shut the door.

I leaned against the opposite wall and thought again that there was something wrong here. Normal people simply weren’t such Good Samaritans. Not without a reason.

Pete reappeared and handed me a plastic contact lens case. “There’s soaking solution in the medicine cabinet,” he said, peering at me. “You okay? You look dizzy.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” I said, too loud. “I’m just tired. Cold. Wet. You know.”

Pete turned away. “Hope the soaking solution’s your brand,” he said, and left.

I dropped the plastic case, and my fingers could hardly pick it up again. I had come to the conclusion that a reward had been offered for my capture, and that Pete Holden was planning to collect it.

Gretchen came out of the bathroom wearing the robe that Laura had loaned her. “Your turn, bozo. I hung my clothes on the towel rack, and I’ve memorized their exact positions, so if you touch them, I’ll know.”

“They’re going to turn us in,” I said. “It’s the only explanation.”

She shook her head. “I talked with them in the truck, and they don’t seem the type to do that.” Her eyes hardened. “Besides, what’s this ‘they’re going to turn us in’ crap? There is no us, bud. I’ve severed our association, remember? It’s only coincidence that we’re stuck together for now. And as soon as I get some sleep, I’ll take care of that.” She started down the hall.

“Good night,” I said.

“Up yours,” she answered.

When I had finished in the bathroom, I walked down the hall barefoot and blurry-visioned with my sweatshirt draped over a shoulder. The hall took me to the kitchen, and I went through to a small dining area. From there I could see Pete sitting on a couch in the living room. I could also see a big Sony TV set like mine. Its screen was dark.

“Feel better?” Pete asked as I approached.

“Some,” I said, eyeing the Sony. Surely it had been turned on at least once in the past two days, and surely the satellite dish beside the garage had fed it the same thing from every channel in the world….

Pete squinted at my T-shirt. ” ‘Rock-chalk, chicken-hawk,’ ” he read. “Eff blank blank blank blank KU. What’s that mean?”

“I’ve never been sure.”

He pointed past me. “That’s my bedroom on the other side of the dining room. If you need anything, just give a knock.”

“Sure,” I said. “Great.” The Sony was staring at me.

“And you don’t need to worry that the kids’ll bother you before morning,” Pete said, jerking a thumb at a door beside the couch. “Their rooms are in the basement.”

“Oh. Good.” I began to inch backward.

Pete stood. “I’ll get you a blanket.”

“Terrific,” I said, still inching away. I was too great a coward to run.

Pete sighed. “All right, then.” He looked at my eyes. “I know that your name is Oliver Vale, but you can hide here without being afraid that I’ll turn you in.”

I stopped inching. “How do I know that?”

He reached into a back pocket and pulled out a wallet. “Here,” he said, removing a photograph. “I would’ve told you about this when I found you, but I was afraid you’d think I was making up a story to lure you. Not everyone believes in Fate.”

I took the photo and held it close to my face so that I could see it clearly. It was a black-and-white snapshot of two young men in Army fatigues. Their faces were dirty and sweat-streaked, but they had their arms around each other’s shoulders and were grinning.

“Your mother’s name is Michelle,” Pete said. “I used to read all of her letters.”

I handed the photo back. “Thank you,” I said, and lay down on the couch. Pete brought two blankets and a pillow, then turned off the light and went to this room.

I covered myself with the blankets and noticed for the first time that the Holdens’ house smelled as if a pot roast had been cooked there within the past twenty-four hours. Pot roast had been Mother’s specialty. It was the only thing she could prepare that didn’t taste like everything else she had ever cooked.

I hadn’t felt so safe in years.

When I awoke, the room was lit by filtered sunlight, and Laura and Mike were standing over me. They were both wearing jeans and sweatshirts, and Mike was holding a