The gray-haired man closes in on the girl and presses the gun to her forehead. Her shaking body rattles against the counter.
“I’m sorry,” the gray-haired man says. “We’re really not here for you. It’s just not your lucky day.”
Bam.
The restaurant is filled with noise. Clicking. Popping. Slamming. Window shades descend around me, blocking the sunlight and the air, locking me in. The restaurant descends into a gray darkness.
And then the air around us shatters. Napkin dispensers, rows of paper cups, pieces of the ceiling fly through the air, pelting my head and my hands. I duck, wrapping my arms around my head and my ears and face.
Something large crashes into my head, and I stumble forward. I can’t stay here. I need shelter. Finding the edge of the counter, I curl my fingers around the far edge, pulling myself forward. Large strong hands grip my shoulders and flip me over. The gray-haired man’s face presses into mine.
He stares at me without a word. His black eyes slam into me. They catch me and reel me and drag me in, like he is the hunter and I am his prey. A black spiral of nothingness, his eyes squeeze me until I am part of them. My stomach stretches and tears, and my heart explodes. I grab for the counter, but my hands can’t hold it. They’re shaking and tired.
I fall.
The floor catches me. Slams into me. Cold cement pounding against my arms and legs and head. It hurts and blisters and breaks.
I curl into the cold, the blackness still clawing and sucking at me. Broken and alone. I’m dying, dying, dying. This is it. This is where it all ends.
The haze clears above me, and I can see the ceiling and the jagged cracks in the tiles. A napkin floats above me, drifting like a lazy feather.
The haze returns, and it’s a smear of colors and red.
So much red.
I’m dying.
I’m—
I’m warm. Like soothing honey flowing through my veins. I’m wrapped in shiny gold light and there are eyes pressing into mine. Adam’s eyes, yet not Adam’s eyes. Gray, not blue. Hair paler than the sun and lips wider than Adam’s.
“Don’t move until I tell you to.” The lips move, speak. The unfamiliar voice is like smoke and gravel. “Trust me.”
I blink and the eyes are gone. I turn my head to see the girl from the counter sprawled across the floor just feet from me. Blood trickles from her eyes and her nose and her mouth. Her dim gaze locks with mine.
She tries to say something, but she chokes on the words.
The life fades from her eyes.
My hands reach for her, but she’s too far. I can’t stop it, I can’t save her, and it’s my fault. My fault for being here and for not flying and for suggesting food.
She’s my age, probably still in high school. I wonder if she’s more like me or more like Brianna or more like somebody completely different. I wonder if she has an Adam. I wonder if her dad ever twirled her across the kitchen floor.
Her eyes are empty. I’m the last thing they ever saw, and I shift my gaze because I can’t bear to look anymore. Smoke and haze and debris still waft above my aching, burning body. I wonder if this will be the last thing I ever see.
The guy with the gray eyes reappears.
“Adam is waiting for you out the back door of the restaurant. I’ll help you up and steer you in the right direction. When I say go, run until you hit a wall. That will be the door. Open it and get out of here. Got it?”
I think I nod, but I can’t say for sure. Everything is numb like I’m stuck in a dream or a nightmare.
He pulls me to my feet.
“Take this and give it to Adam,” he whispers in my ear as he presses something into my palm and forces my fingers closed around it. “Now go.”
It takes a moment for my brain and feet to connect, but I push through the soupy air. I run with my hands outstretched. It’s only a few feet before I hit something solid. My hands grope to find the door handle, and I push and fall into Adam’s arms.
“Sage.” He’s all tears and forehead kisses and wrapping himself around me. The air is light and I breathe it in.
Breathe him in.
Chapter Twenty
Adam drives fast. Too fast. His eyes dart between the road and the rearview mirror. He says nothing, but every few minutes his hand reaches for mine and squeezes before returning to its death grip on the steering wheel. I lean back against the seat, my head throbbing and throbbing with the images of the girl screaming, of the girl lying in blood, of the girl’s empty eyes.
He takes the next exit ramp and wheels squeal as the car turns off the road and pulls onto the shoulder. Adam parks before unstrapping his seatbelt and wrapping his arms around me. His lips brush my forehead.
“Are you okay?” He squeezes me before leaving a trail of shaky kisses across the skin beneath my hairline. “Please, be okay.”
“Yeah, I think so. What happened? You were in the bathroom—”
“I don’t know,” he says. “It’s weird. I walked into the bathroom and then…I don’t know. Something hit me from behind. And the next thing I know I was laying on the cement outside the back door with the empty car running next to me. I could hear gunfire, and I knew you were in there, and I was just coming in to get you when…well there you were. And I just knew…I knew I needed to get you out of there fast.”
“Those men. Who were they?” I shiver. Images of the girl behind the counter flood my mind again and I gasp.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “This is all my own selfish stupidity, bringing you along. I shouldn’t have done that. I should have never brought you.”
Tears threaten and burn beneath my lids, but I know they won’t appear. I can’t cry. I don’t deserve to cry.
I heave the words, my breath painfully shallow. “They killed that girl, Adam. They killed her.”
Adam shakes his head. “This is my fault.”
“Why’d they kill her?”
“They’re looking for me,” Adam whispers. “They want the Nexus.”
“But why? Were they with your dad? Did he send them?”
“Not with my dad, Sage. They wouldn’t have killed the girl. No they’re far worse than that. They’re Nexians, Sage. I shouldn’t have brought you. They know—they know about you and that I’m--” He puts his head to the steering wheel and then reaches for his pocket.
He lifts his face a moment later; he’s pale, his eyes wide. “No, oh no, no.”
Thoughts click together in my head. The Nexus. He’s looking for the Nexus. My right hand is still curled into a fist on my lap, holding whatever the guy with the gray eyes had given me back at the restaurant.
“Adam,” I say and I lift out my hand and open my palm.
It’s empty. Just my palm. Although I can feel weight and mass resting on my skin, it’s empty. But Adam’s eyes widen and he reaches for it.
That thing he can see, but I only feel.
The Nexus.
“How?”
“There was a guy with gray eyes.”
Adam glances up, his eyes widening. “What?”
“In the restaurant. He helped me get out. Told me you’d be waiting for me. Told me to give it to you.”
“Really,” Adam says quietly. “Hmm. I wonder if he’s one of my father’s guys. Maybe my dad did find us. Can you describe him?”
“No, sorry. It all happened so fast. I just know he had gray eyes and he seemed safe somehow.”
“Safe?”
“I don’t know. There was something in his eyes. I can’t explain it. I just knew…knew I could trust him or something. He wasn’t with the other men in there.” I shudder as I remember the gray-haired man.
“Maybe, but just because he wasn’t with them doesn’t make him on our side. We have to be careful about who we trust.” He pats my hand like I’m a child. “Really careful, Sage.”
“He did help me…us, Adam.”
“I know—maybe he’s one of my dad’s guys. In which case, we better get moving before my
dad shows up. And if he’s not—well the Nexians, they're on to us now and we can’t trust anybody—even those with ‘safe eyes’. I need you to tell me if you see him again. And from here on out, we’re together all the time.”
“Yeah, sure.” I lean my head against the window. I know Adam’s trying to protect me. But, somehow his words feel dismissive. As if he almost doesn't believe me. Or maybe I’m just tired. And sensitive. I close my eyes and try to rest. I’m inundated with images. The men. The guns. The noise. The blood.
The girl dying and dying and dying.
Chapter Twenty-One
Over the next day, we cross into Nebraska and Colorado and then drive south into New Mexico before heading west into Arizona. Adam says he’s trying to take a roundabout way to throw off anyone who might be looking for us. We spend Saturday night in a hotel outside of Denver, where I curl into the sheets facing a drab beige wall, willing the nightmares out of my head. It’s useless. No matter how much the scenery changes, from the rows of farms to the dusty fields to the lush forests, I can’t get the image of the girl behind the counter out of my mind. Her lifeless eyes, the blood staining her hair, the shadows of the men standing around us.
The guy with the gray eyes telling me to go.
While driving, Adam’s eyes never leave the rearview mirror for long, and my heart races whenever he reaches into his pocket for the Nexus. He seems alert, but weariness and pain are dulling his eyes. There is little conversation, only tense silence. Ever since he assumed blame for the event, bitter determination has been rolling off him in powerful waves. Every minute brings more tension and thickens the air between us. He is an Adam I don't know.
In Arizona, the mountains melt to colorful rock and a colorless desert. I ache at the sight. The dust, the sand, the shrub. The ghost of my dad is here. The ghost of my happy mother. The ghost of me, young and carefree growing up in the cocoon of my parent’s love.
For a moment, I consider asking Adam if we can find my childhood home. The house with the pink and white bedroom, the kitchen island, the pool in the backyard. Where my dad twirled me around the kitchen, and my mom served lemonade and popsicles to my friends all summer. Where I had friends. Where I had love.
But the muscles in Adam’s jaw jerk and his face steels, and the images of a dying girl hurtle through me.
The girl who will never see her family again.
I don’t ask.
Adam pulls into a rest stop before lunch. The parking lot is full, and we have to park with the trucks. Families roam around us, having picnics, walking their pets, laughing and smiling and happy. There are tents set up overflowing with colorful trinkets for sale.
It’s noisy and busy and safe. A perfect place to escape this heaviness for a moment and clear my head.
“I’m going in.” I say unbuckling my seat belt. “Need anything?”
“Wait,” His hand clamps down on my arm, but I shake him off and climb out anyways.
“Please, Adam, can’t I at least go to the bathroom by myself?”
Adam sighs. “Fine. Don’t talk to anybody. And hurry.”
I merge with the crowd, inhaling the light air while the warm sunshine soaks my skin. I’m light, free, and for the briefest of moments, normal. The main building is wall-to-wall people, and the line for the woman’s bathroom wraps around the corner and down a hallway. My grumbling stomach searches for the vending machines. They’re tucked in a corner, and I have to cut through the bathroom line to reach them. There are two machines, one for food, one for beverages, both nearly empty. My choices are limited to licorice, sun chips, and a sad looking cookie. The only option in the drink machine is grape soda.
“I’d suggest the Twizzlers,” a voice says from behind me. It’s rough and familiar and I spin to find him. Pale hair. Gray eyes.
“You?”
He lifts the corner of his mouth and crosses his arms. A tattoo of a wolf peeks from underneath the right sleeve of his black t-shirt and muscles bulge from his chest and my mouth is dry. Desert dry.
“Who are you?” His eyes darken and lighten like storm clouds blowing through.
“A friend,” he says. “Here to help.”
“Help?”
“Yeah, help. Did you miss what happened in Iowa?” Ice squeezes through me pooling in my wobbly knees.
“But why? Who are you?”
“I told you, I’m a friend. A friend who saved your ass.”
“Yeah, but how? The Nexus?” I lower my voice. “Are you with Adam’s dad? Or are you one of them?”
He lowers his voice and leans in. “One of who?”
“One of Adam’s enemies,” I whisper the word and glance around.
“Ahh. Well there’s a lot of those. But no, I’m not an enemy. I told you I’m a friend.” He leans in closer until I can feel the heat of his breath on my ear. “A friend here to warn you that this little trip you’re on is a dead end.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Adam’s getting a little too anxious waiting for you,” he says leaning in to my ear. “So not here and not now. Just a little after sunset, you’ll pass Kingman. The minute you see the sign for the exit tell your boyfriend that you’re hungry.”
“What?”
“Just do it,” he says. “We’re out of time. Keep your mouth shut and do what I told you.”
“Hey lady, are you getting something?” An impatient woman calls from behind us.
“Get the licorice,” he says. “It’s the last one.”
I glance at the machine and turn back to him, but he is gone.
“Hey where did he go?” I ask the woman behind me, but she shakes her head and moves past me to the vending machines. I scan the room, but there is no flash of blond hair, no hint of gray eyes. There is, however, an angry Adam walking in my direction, his cold eyes sweeping the room.
He crosses his arms when he reaches me. “I thought you were going to the bathroom.”
“The line was long and I was hungry.”
“This isn’t some game. These are dangerous people, Sage. And they’re looking for us. How am I supposed to protect you if I don’t know where you are?”
“I’m sorry,” I peek over his shoulder, still looking for blond hair.
“What? Who were you talking to?” He circles around, his eyes flashing wildly. His jaw tenses. I should tell him I saw the stranger again. I should tell him about stopping in Kingman. I should tell him everything. But I remember the doubtful look in Adam’s eyes and how he insisted I was wrong about the guy with the gray eyes.
“Nobody,” I say.
He sighs. “Let’s go.” I follow him, but stop inside the doorway in front of a big poster plastered on one of the glass doors.
Vote Brian Holmes for Governor.
Beneath the words, a gray-haired man with chilling eyes smiles broadly. “Adam, wait. That’s him. He’s the man who killed that girl.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Adam says little as we drive across Arizona. I ask him about his enemies, about Brian Holmes, but all I get is one-word answers and annoyed grunts. I flip on the radio, craving noise to break the tension, but he turns it off. I stare at him, the tired sagging eyes, the sheen of sweat, the tight, taut muscles in his jaw and his arms. I don’t know how to stop this growing wall between us.
When we stop for gas, I head for the bathrooms. Adam shadows me through the door, down the narrow hallway. He stops with me in front of the restroom. With my hand on the door handle, I turn and ask, “Do you want to come in too?”
With a tight frown, he shakes his head and leans against the wall in the hallway. “Just hurry it up. I’ll wait here.” When did Adam get so mean?
It’s sunset when we pass the green sign labeled Kingman. The words run through my head. Tell him you’re hungry. My heart drums inside of me, threatening to explode. I can’t do this. I can do this. I can’t do this.
“I’m hungry.” The words slip before I can change my mind and lose my courage again.
&n
bsp; "Hungry?" He glances in my direction. “Seriously?” He rolls his eyes and mumbles under his breath several times, but when we reach the Holbrook exit, he follows the signs. At the end of the ramp he turns right and pulls into a parking lot. We’re in front of a generic freeway diner, one of the thousands off I-40 advertising $3.99 weekday specials and kids-eat-free Fridays in giant neon letters across tinted windows.
He wordlessly climbs out of the car, crossing the parking lot before my seatbelt is even unbuckled. Okay, who is this jerk and what did he do with my Adam? Maybe I should forget this whole road trip thing and find a bus home or something.
But I know my Adam is in there. Deep down. He’s just drained from the Nexus and scared. Scared for him. Scared for me. So, I slam the car door hard and follow him to the door.
Once inside, a peroxide-haired and a toothy smile waitress leads us to a booth in the back. I grab the menu and scan the selection, mostly greasy breakfast entrees and soups and sandwiches. Nothing looks appealing. I’m too nervous to eat.
"So, what will it be?" The waitress stands over us tapping her red, chipped fingernails against the table edge.
"Coffee," Adam says. "And pancakes."
"Just coffee." I say.
"Just coffee?" Adam lifts his eyebrows and snarls. “You said were hungry.”
"I guess I was wrong." I rub teeth along my lower lip and cross my fingers under the table. I should have ordered something. What am I doing?
"You were wrong. I pulled off so you could eat because you were hungry."
"I’m sorry." I say. "I'm not hungry anymore. I thought I was, but I guess I’m not." Adam’s face grows tighter with each passing minute.
"Yes, but I stopped because you said you were hungry." He’s not about to let this go, and I don’t know whether to be mad or cry. Adam and I don’t fight. Our friendship has always been a harmony of laughter and understanding. He’s never talked to me like this, with so much disdain and annoyance. A sliver of guilt creeps in as I think of how this drive wouldn’t have happened, shouldn’t have happened. If only I wasn’t scared to fly. If only I hadn’t come.
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