You want coffee. Get some coffee.

“But—”

I already made you drink a hooker from Candyland once today. I can show a little mercy. There was amusement tinged with sadness in her tone. It took me a while to learn to read how she was feeling—I wasn’t used to watching for cues in a disembodied voice—but now that I knew, I couldn’t un-know. Besides, you’ve earned it.

“Blow up one employee for one cup of coffee, huh?” I murmured, stepping away from the coolers and heading for the steaming prehistoric coffee. George always hated the taste of the stuff. I just don’t understand why anyone would want to get their caffeine in a less-efficient form.

Alaric must have lost the “who has to leave the car” coin toss; he was coming into the convenience store as I was coming out, the biggest cup of coffee they were willing to sell me clenched firmly in my hands. Alaric glanced at the steaming cup and blinked, raising his eyebrows. The question was clear in his expression. Lucky for me, I’ve had a lot of time to practice being the oblivious one.

“I’m going to go double-check the bike and make sure all the windows on the van are clean while you take care of things in here.” I sipped my coffee, reveling in the feeling of it searing its way down my throat. It was as thick and bitter as I’d hoped. “Make sure you remember to get something for Becks and the Doc to snack on. It’s a long way to Weed, and Maggie may not have dinner on the table when we get there.”

Alaric frowned. “Boss—”

“Go ahead and use the company card. When I get the bill, I’ll tell me that I authorized it, and I’m sure I’ll be willing to let the charge stand.” I offered him a bright, disingenuous smile and brushed quickly past as I left the convenience store, heading for the fueling stations.

The sun was dipping lower in the sky; we’d be making most of the drive to Weed in full darkness. Even in today’s safety-oriented society, there aren’t lights on most of I-5; just around the exits to inhabited areas. Those are also the places where the guard stations are actually staffed, and where nice men with guns will be happy to “help” if you go and get yourself infected. Good Samaritans, every single one of them. Thanks to the laws regarding infection, they don’t even have to be certain before they shoot; anything that can stand up as reasonable doubt in a court of law is enough to excuse them putting a bullet through your skull. The farther into the wild you go, the less reasonable that doubt has to be.