Trans America

There was something wrong with the run.

I could feel it, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. My partner could feel it too; I saw her nervously fiddling with her hair.

Something wasn’t sitting right.

I ran over what I knew as I drove. What we were doing was only quasi-legal. If we got caught in this state, we couldn’t get arrested exactly, because we had our passports. But our passenger? Assignment at birth certainly didn’t match appearance, and though they weren’t a minor, they would be hauled off. And the “training camps” were not even close to benign when it came to “their kind.” Disgusting, but what do you expect nowadays from the Moron States of ‘Murica?

I kept glancing nervously in the rear view mirror. It was the holidays, and traffic was light right now, but I was missing time with my family to do this run. My significant other had stayed behind to celebrate; I wouldn’t let them get involved with this stuff. Way too risky. My Ess-Oh’s a softie, couldn’t handle these goings on. Or what we might be forced to do, if push came to shove. My partner, riding shotgun with a well-used Glock, was tough as nails. She knew how to use it, too. And had. We’d left bodies behind us on previous runs, in places where they wouldn’t be missed or mourned. But not here, so we should be okay on that front.

But the hairs on the back of my head wouldn’t settle, and it was making me edgy.

We weren’t being followed in line of sight, of that we were certain.

But.

I also glanced at our passenger curled up in the back seat. Literally curled up, as tense as we were. If it was a set-up, I would bet my life that it wasn’t the kid. And I was, betting our lives. Whatever else, this was real to our passenger-cargo.

I sighed. Partner picked up on it, looked over. “Hungry?”

Ah, code words. Yep, time to consider our choices. “Yeah, a little. I could use a break.”

She nodded. “Restaurant’s up ahead, I’ll go in.”

Which meant that I would stay with the kid. Take a sneaky walk, see who or what came a-sniffing after.

I nodded, raised my voice a touch. Kid had battered headphones in and eyes closed, the last thing I wanted to do was scare the crap outta ‘em. “Hey, kid, there’s a restaurant up ahead. Feel like some food? We’ll get it to go, but I need to stretch my legs a bit.”

Kid only jumped a little, but also perked up a bit at the thought. “Milkshake?” I barely heard the word over the sound of the engine.

My partner chuckled. “Sure thing. Chocolate?” There was a tiny nod. “All right, but real food too. Club sandwich? With lots of pickles? Something else?” The kid thought for a minute, and this time I could hear the words “Burger and cheese? Fries?”

She chuckled. “You got it, kiddo.” I was pulling into the parking lot, and partner hopped out and hustled. She knew my usual. I pulled into our regular space, important because the cameras that focused on every spot seemed to miss this one corner somehow. We’d coached the kid on standard procedure, so all their stuff was shoved in a special duffle bag and passed through a hatch into a hidden cargo box. We got out leisurely, stretched, and I led the kiddo off to the side where there were picnic tables. No windows here, so the diners couldn’t see us.

The owner was a sympathizer. They sold their house when the world went to hell, and now lived in the attic of the restaurant, using it as a pit stop for the runners. No one but us knew that, of course. If hunters came sniffing, they get a cooperative diner owner, and video that showed diddly squat.

But we weren’t there to eat. We were there to hide away from the car, and see what happened. I pulled out a mylar tent, and we crawled inside. Behind some bushes and a boulder. Put up a minicam with a clear view to the parking lot, flipped it on.

Sure enough… Damn.

The kid gave a gasp when the sleek black car slid into the parking lot. I put a protective arm around them. “You were expecting this? Someone you know?”

The poor kid was shaking. “Dad,” they whispered.

My equipment’s good. Small, compact, but good. I knew the asshole who crawled out, oozed his way around the parking lot, peering into windows. This could get dicey.

We picked the kid up in this state, not the one beyond it. Smart kid, because neither partner nor I would be allowed past that border, passport or no. There, we were Public Enemies, and would be treated accordingly. I wondered how the kid got to the pickup spot, and how they’d gotten assistance, and if some of the network was compromised. Problems for a later moment, but I would be setting up some texts to go out automatically after we were out of this mylar. When it was safe to send some texts that wouldn’t get intercepted, if there was equipment in that car.

I could feel the weight of the my own Ruger on my hip. This was an open-carry state. They hadn’t gotten around to taking that right away from those of us who happened to have tits, in either the present or the past.

We waited.

My partner came out, with a huge takeout bag, smiling and waving as the door shut. She ambled to the car, swinging the bag a little. Code signal. I squeezed the kid’s shoulder. “We stay put,” I whispered low. “I’m guessing there are other people in that Edison.”

The kid nodded. “My dad travels in packs. There are at least two bodyguards near him. I’m surprised he went in alone. He’s pissed I finally slipped his leash. Well, that, and the papers I stole as I left. Proof of his money laundering, and proof of his affairs. If we get across the border, I’m breaking his life, like he’s broken mine.”

“Damn, kid, you got some balls.”

“Not yet. But I will.”

“Know the feeling well. Whatever you want. Oh, heya-” I stopped, because Governor Asswipe was stomping back to his car like a petulant toddler. He was screaming before he got in, slamming car doors, spittle flying everywhere. He finally deigned to get in the back seat, and the car backed up, left the parking lot – and importantly, turned back the way it came.

My partner watched it all, though to anyone observing, she was eating and scrolling on her phone. Like she got food to go for her family, but was taking a break to scarf some fries before facing the ravenous horde back home. Which was the cover story she always gave a particular waitress, like she was a local picking up some takeout regularly. Nonfictional kids ate a lot.

Another signal, the driver window opened. Then we moved fast. Camera scooped up, tent folded dark-side out, approach from a particular angle, sneak through the back door conveniently unlocked right before I touched the handle. We piled in, and my partner was already moving the car to get back on the road.

“Dig in, it’s still fresh,” she said gleefully. “Sorry I took some fries, but wow to see that fecking blowhard get taken down a peg or ten! This is still a purple state, and they do not appreciate when the red out-of-state boys come and throw their weight around. Waitress sent them packing, and everyone could truthfully say they’d never seen a kid since morning breakfast rush. Ahh, warmed the cockles of my cold little demon heart. Abomination heart? Abominable heart. I’ll drive to the gas station, if you can feed me food?”

I got myself up front to the passenger seat, got our food settled to nosh, and the kid was already two-thirds of the way through the burger. I slurped my own milkshake, feeding bits of club sandwich to my partner. I warned my partner with a tap on sleeve, then addressed the kid between bites of my own food. “I’m assuming the Gubbnah tried to air-tag you, and you got rid of it?”

Mouth full, kid nodded. Chewed, swallowed. “You know the tech level took a nose dive when the states broke apart. Blue States United had all the good stuff, but because of who my sperm donor is, we of course got decent stuff smuggled in. He didn’t think I knew how to use my phone, being AFAB.”

“Where is it now?”

“Dropped in the trash before I left Red ‘Murica.”

“I wonder if there was a second air tag you missed, so let your stuff stay in the special duffle. It blocks electronic signals. We’ll check once we’re safe. It could be a coincidence, since it’s the quickest route to the nearest Blue border for you, but let’s not take chances. Gas station break will be next in a few hours, then the border crossing hours after that. You know the job johnny is in the wheel well, with janie adapter, and cleaning wipes. We’ll make do to keep ahead of them. Security up here’s deliberately lax for smugglers, but they only mean for the ones moving stuff, not people. We’ll still put you in the hidey-hole when we cross, so your paternal genetic anomaly won’t cause trouble when he learns where we crossed.”

Kiddo was now stuffing their face with fries. “Mmpf.” Chewed impatiently, slowed down, swallowed. “College. Awesome tech. And decent health care. Real doctors. Real hormone therapy. Top surgery... Ooooh, pickles!”

Me and my partner chuckled. We well know that trans kids usually crave pickles during transition.

That prickly sensation had gone away when Gubbnah Dinkleberry left, and stayed away during the last gas stop, but returned when we approached the border. Partner and I traded glances. “Okay, kid, into the hidey hole. There might be more trouble than I anticipated.” Kiddo lifted the seat, and slid into the compartment built to conceal a body. No trace remained of someone in the back seat, my partner had made sure our trash had been taken care of at the gas station. Though we kept our drink cups, in case the food smell was stronger than we thought.

Yes, we take care to get the details right. Our lives, and those of the kids we save, depend on it.

And my warning texts had already gone out, telling the other runners and safe homes of Gubbah Tinkleschnotz and his efforts to recover his kid.

I slowed the car at the border gate. That wasn’t the usual guard, and he was clutching a chain leash…

Aw, hell.

Any bets this was a Reddie Boy, fresh out of guard school, eager to get the evil trans runners?

The dog was already barking and lunging when I stopped the car and rolled down the window. “Evening, Officer.” Those that don’t deserve respect are the ones that demand it the most.

“Out! Open the trunk! Rex here says you’ve got contraband!”

Partner and I know the laws here. “Not anymore. We’re returning from our run.” But we shrugged and exited, keeping our hands far from our guns. Wouldn’t help here, really. Partner sauntered to the trunk, popped it open. Guard came over, dog yanking on the chain, snarling.

Nothing but a road kit.

I stayed away from the dog, but noticed the guard had to drag him over to the trunk. “Come on, boy, find it! Find the stuff!”

Dog was supremely uninterested in the trunk. He was lunging at the driver’s door.

And it hit me.

I just gave That Look to my partner. She had the grace to look ashamed. But secretly, we were both very, very relieved. What I had thought…. What I had been contemplating…

Reddie Guard was still trying to drag a choking and hoarse dog to the trunk. Do I call attention? Keep my mouth shut? I decided to wait and let this play out.

A second guard stepped out of the booth.

Wasn’t expecting that either. Glad neither of us did anything drastic.

“Yo, asshole! Greenie ears! What’s wrong wit’ ya?”

Guard Number One’s head came out of the trunk so fast he smacked his head on the open lid. Idiot. “OW! What?”

“You’re an asshole. Look at your fucking dog. Look what he’s telling you!”

“What?”

The second one sighed. “God, you’re an idiot. How did you graduate? I’m going to have to look at your papers again. Did you forge them?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to the dog. “Rex. Stand down! Sit!”

The dog happily took three steps back and parked butt on asphalt, wheezing but trying to pant happily.

The guard opened my door, then gestured to the dog. “Rex, find it.”

And the dog darted right in, shoved as much of its head and shoulders under my seat as would fit, and thrashed and kicked around.

Guard Asshole was thrilled. “See? See? I told you! I finally got one of these mother-”

The dog popped out, happily chewing.

French fries.

I glared at my partner, and she hung her head. “I’m sorry dear, I’m a slob when I’m eating while driving, you know that.”

I didn’t let up. “You really, really need to knock that crap off.” She heard the subtext, loud and clear: your bad habit almost had us shooting up a border crossing, what the ever-loving effing hell??

She knew it. She heard it. She whispered, “I’m sorry, dear, I really am.”

Rex did not care. Rex was cleaning up, and sniffing for more.

Guard Asshole was deflated. He sighed. “You always did signal on Freedom fries… and any other junk food...”

Guard Two was unimpressed. “Right. Sorry to bother you folks, have a nice night, maybe swing by and let me know when you’re smuggling something next time so I can get a deal? Let me get this moron and his dog outta your face…” And off they went to their booth, and we heard the dressing down start up as the gate went up.

Off we went. They never looked at our passports.

We drove in silence for a minute, then I sighed. “Okay, let it out before you explode.”

Giggles erupted from a hidey hole, and the kid popped out. “Freedom fries!”

I snorted, but my mouth quirked into a small smile.

Even my partner chuckled a bit. “Well, that was… different. But you’re free, kid, and we’ll get you to the next stop. And a decent breakfast, in a Blue state where we can sit in a diner and relax.”

I snorted again. “Next time, we’re getting pizza, and I’m hiding a slice myself under your seat!”