“That’s all right,” Gus said. “Girl’s got to watch out for herself. Where’re you from?”

She took a moment to restore the dinette table, still fallen. It propped on a single light metal rod, now bent but not broken. Like Thatch’s glasses.

Where was she from? What was the safest answer? She felt she owed no further allegiance to the government, but she was not yet ready to set aside her commitment to secrecy.

A half-truth would have to do. “The Cape. I worked there—for a while. How about you?”

“Other side of the street,” Gus said, gesturing expansively. “State, I mean.” He seemed to carry no grudge. “Too hot for regular work, not much money, so Thatch got us this bus to drive north. The owner pays for gas and tolls, and we have a week to get it safely to Michigan.”

Zena shook her head silently. It was nice to know they had come by the vehicle honestly—but it would never see Michigan, now that the rain had started.

“Just in time, too,” Gus continued. “I figured the rain was coming, and I knew we had to get moving fast. We just stopped off for cheap gas—can’t get that on the main route—and then we saw you.”

Fine. Keep the men talking about themselves. “You had trouble finding decent work? Maybe you should have gone back to school to learn a trade.”

“I’ve been to school,” Gus said amiably. “You wouldn’t know it to look at me, but I’ve got a BA in Liberal Arts.”

Zena smiled carefully. Liberal arts, by one definition, was the way a dull student could get through college without having to learn anything. “You’re right. I wouldn’t know it.”

“Say—are you a karate instructor or something?”