Eli stirred beside him, the new day’s sunlight bright on his cheeks. He straightened in his seat and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Ran his small fingers through his disheveled hair and yawned. “Are we close?” he asked.

Ben adjusted his grip on the steering wheel and nodded. “Only a couple of days, I imagine.”

Eli slid down in his seat and propped his stocking feet up on the dashboard, letting the sun warm his toes. “Who knew Tennessee was so far away from California.”

“Anyone with a map or GPS,” Ben teased.

Even though he was the butt of the joke, Eli giggled. A welcome change to the steady silence that had accompanied Ben while the boy slept. He could feel Eli’s gaze on him but kept his eyes on the road.

“Yes?” Ben asked.

“How are you feeling?” Eli replied.

Ben took a deep breath and, though he wasn’t sure why, tried to mask the ever-present discomfort. Eli knew he was sick, knew he was dying. There was no reason to hide it from the boy.

“The same,” Ben said. “But before you suggest it, I don’t want to stop yet. I can go a few more hours before I need to rest.”

“Not even to pee?”

“Well, okay. You gotta go, you gotta go.”

“I gotta go.”

“Then we gotta stop. Soon as we find a spot.”

Eli stared at him a moment longer, then turned his attention forward and out the windshield.

Ben’s mind wandered to his lost children. With any luck, he’d see them both in two days’ time. A good thing, considering the fact that his own days were numbered not much more than that. Only a few minutes, that’s all he needed with them. It might be all he’d get.

“She calls her Bobbie,” Eli said.

“Who calls who Bobbie?”

“Grace is calling the one who’s trying to protect her ‘Bobbie,’” he said.

Ben thought about that. Eli rarely spoke about the particulars of the world at large, enslaved to darkness as it was. And Ben had long ago realized that it wasn’t his place to ask for particulars. So much was beyond his understanding. All he knew was to trust in simple truths and leave the details alone. They did little but tie his thoughts into knots.

That Grace was calling someone who was trying to protect her “Bobbie” might be good news.

“Interesting,” he finally said.

“Yup.”

And that was the end of it.

A familiar melody broke through his thoughts. He glanced at the radio. The words Kansas—Carry On Wayward Son scrolled across the digital screen. Eli began to hum in tune, grooving his head back and forth with the notes. He pressed one of the buttons on his door, and the window dropped, letting in the cold morning air. His humming turned to soft singing that quickly became loud.