Road to Eugenica (Eugenica Chronicles)

by A. M. Rose

  That’s exactly my next thought. It’s a big freeway, with lots of people. It’s not so crazy to think.

  “For the last hundred and fifty miles.” Dylan throws Maddox a dirty look in the rearview mirror. “Don’t believe me? Watch.” Dylan turns off the radio and pulls my sun visor down. “Use this.”

  I open the mirror and position it so I can watch behind us without having to turn around. My heart drums in my chest. I want Dylan to be wrong, but something tells me he’s not. Dylan moves the rearview mirror so Maddox can see, too.

  He pulls into the far right lane with an intersection approaching. If we stay on this path, we’ll continue on the I-5 Freeway. If we get into the left lanes, we’ll start heading toward San Francisco and Tracy on the 580 Freeway.

  “Watch the black SUV about five cars back and hold on.” Dylan’s voice is taut and I grip the door handle.

  At the last second, Dylan yanks the wheel to the left cutting across three lanes just before the intersection. My body jerks, and the seat belt holds me tight. Horns blare. A guy leans out his window, yelling at us. The black SUV quickly moves left, getting behind us. Silence falls over the car.

  My gaze darts back and forth. Dylan. The car in the mirror. This is crazy. Absolutely crazy. It can’t be happening. But in the mirror the SUV is still there. Following us.

  “I don’t understand. Why would anyone follow us?” Maddox sounds panicked, which doesn’t help my rising nerves.

  “I’m sure they have their reasons.” Dylan flashes me a look of concern. “Maybe they heard we have Maddox Georgas in the car and they want your autograph, bro.”

  “Very funny.” Maddox sneers. “But seriously. What are you guys wrapped up in?”

  Dylan and I ignore him for now. I need to focus. The Green-eyed man has followed me around almost my whole life—the pictures in my room proved that. It has to be him. But how did he find me? How does he keep finding me? I wipe my hands on my jeans and squeeze my eyes shut. Come on. How do we get out of this? But the harder I concentrate, the fuzzier my head gets.

  What’s wrong with me?

  Ever since I’ve gotten these abilities, when I haven’t known what to do, my mind and body have figured it out. Or at least most of the time they do. Last night when I thought Dylan was the Green-eyed man I was frozen like I am now. But then my body figured it out as soon as I was confident I could do something. Maybe that’s the key. I need to believe I can. My eyes focus back on the SUV in the mirror. Piercing green eyes is all I can think about. A shiver races up my spine. I need to calm down, but the more I try the more I can’t.

  “Maybe we should call the police.” I pull out my phone. But I don’t do anything. I just stare at the case.

  “Drea, I—” Dylan starts.

  Unicorn vs Narwhal, my two favorite creatures in the midst of a battle. My hand skims over my phone case. Mom isn’t about cute. This isn’t like a pair of jeans. No. “This is an expensive piece of electronics.” That’s what she’d say. Functionality is all she cares about. She’d get me an OtterBox. But when this was on the counter two nights ago I was sure she left it for me. Now I’m not so sure.

  Yanking the case off, I inspect it more carefully. It seems like any other phone case, except this little bump at the bottom. Screw it. I can buy a new one. I snap it in half and a microchip slips into my hand. Boom. I figured this one out on my own.

  Dylan glances at me and flashes a worried expression.

  Maddox leans over the seat to get a closer look. “What the hell is that?”

  “What does it look like? I guess you are just a pretty face,” Dylan mocks.

  “Screw you, man.”

  I ignore their bickering and shift the microchip from one hand to the other, and then back again. It doesn’t look like any microchip I’ve seen before, not that I’ve seen many. But it’s gold, not green. It’s not plastic or even metal, more like glass. Suddenly it hits me. I’ve got it. “You trust me, right?”

  “Of course I do.” Dylan’s voice doesn’t waver.

  Good.

  I hand him the microchip. “Hold this.” I clench my jaw tight and unbuckle my seat belt. This better work. “I’m coming over.”

  “Drea, I don’t think you should—” Dylan starts, then sucks in a quick breath as I climb into his lap. His body is rigid, and he doesn’t know where to put his hands. “Uhh…”

  I grab the wheel and adjust the mirrors. This is going to be interesting. “Hold on.”

  Dylan unclips his seat belt and loops it around me, clipping me in with him. “Just in case.”

  After a Honda passes, I jerk the car left and press the gas pedal to the floor. Dylan tenses under me, and his hand grips my hip. His breath is deep and tickles the back of my arms. He’s scared. But I’m not. I hold the wheel steady as I weave the car back and forth across the freeway. My heart beats fast with adrenaline, not fear. This is invigorating. A red sports car blares its horn at me, and I flip him off.

  Dylan’s grip tightens. “Both hands on the wheel.”

  The SUV is keeping up, despite my efforts. Damn it. A stupid smart car zips into my lane, and I have to yank the wheel hard to avoid hitting it. “Asshole.”

  “I really don’t want to die today,” Maddox chimes in from the back seat.

  “Shut up,” Dylan yells.

  I check my mirrors. “Maddox, pull out one of those sandwiches from the cooler and pass it to Dylan.” I hit the gas again and zoom ahead another two car lengths.

  “What am I doing with this?” Dylan asks, the sandwich now in his hand.

  Even with all of this going on, my head is clear, my nerves completely under control. Not because I want to be, but I need to be. I have to get us out of this. “Take the bread, roll it into a ball and shove that microchip inside.” I switch lanes again as the SUV weaves around a silver Toyota and gets back in the middle lane, trying to catch up to us. It’s about three car lengths behind us now and closing the distance. I guess they aren’t worried about looking obvious.

  A huge big rig pulling a tractor trailer comes up on my right. As soon as it blocks the view to the SUV, I take my foot off the gas and the car responds, losing speed. The Mercedes behind us lays on his horn and flips us off. Sorry, dude. Deal with it. As soon as the big rig passes, I cut all the way over to the right lane.

  The SUV is a few cars ahead of us now, to our left. Its taillights come on like it’s trying to slow down, but the car behind it slams on its horn so the SUV keeps moving. A pickup truck blocks it from getting to the right.

  Again, I jerk the wheel and take the off ramp marked Hopyard Road.

  The SUV doesn’t have a chance. They’ve already passed it. I pull onto the exit ramp and slow the Jeep down. Horns serenade as a red Chevy truck pulls around side of us and the driver flips us off.

  I roll down my window, wave politely, and throw the bread ball, with the microchip tucked inside, into the bed of the truck. It speeds ahead and gets onto the ramp leading to the 680 Freeway. I don’t follow. Instead, I take the cloverleaf and loop back around getting on the 580 in the opposite direction. Then I take the next cloverleaf and get back on the 580 going our original direction. I pull into the middle lane and hold our pace steady, keeping an eye out for the SUV.

  For a few minutes, it’s tense as we search for any signs of the SUV. Finally, Dylan lets out a long breath and I unbuckle the seat belt. “Here, take the wheel back. I think we lost them.” I slide back into my seat.

  Dylan and I glance at each other, our eyes connect. A grin grows on his face, and I can’t help but smile back. We scream, whoop in excitement, and high five.

  Maddox doesn’t join in on our excitement. He stays quiet and checks behind us. He seems distant, lost in his own head. Maybe he isn’t as optimistic of our great escape. Or maybe he wanted them to catch us. That’s the thought that has my body humming, but I keep quiet. Not with Dylan here, I remind myself.

  Thirty minutes later, Dylan is pumping gas while Maddox and I sit in the Jeep
. It’s pretty busy for a gas station as people pull in and out. A girl about my age gets out of her car to fill up and must realize she’s on the wrong side. Her head falls back and she smacks the top of her car before getting in and turning her car around. I guess she doesn’t know about the little arrow by the gas gauge trick.

  Dylan pokes his head inside. “I’m gonna hit up the bathroom, then grab the change, and some snacks. Anyone need anything?”

  It’s a good thing we ran to the bank before we left. True to her word, Mom had more than enough cash waiting in my account. I gave most of it to Dylan to help cover expenses and kept a little for myself.

  “Nope.” Maddox doesn’t peel his eyes away from his phone.

  I grin. “Blue Gatorade.”

  Dylan’s brow scrunches. “You don’t want to come in?”

  I shake my head. “No. I’m good here.” I pull out my own phone.

  The car door slams shut.

  Maddox leans forward, his breath on the back of my neck. “Now, do you want to tell me what that whole car chase was about?”

  My gaze shoots to the door Dylan just walked through. That’s why he asked me if I wanted to go. Sometimes you are so oblivious, Drea. I spin toward him, trying to keep my expression neutral. He’s watching me, with those blue eyes.

  “No. You need to tell me what happened in Hollywood. And don’t give the story about how I hit my head. Something else happened there. You and I were alone, somewhere…different. I think people were following or chasing us or something.” I dig my nails into my palms. My head aches trying to recall that night. The words coming out of my mouth sound insane, and by the blank expression on Maddox’s face, I think he feels the same.

  He leans in closer. He smells like the ocean. And there’s this pull, like the one I felt when we first met in the classroom. One I can’t explain. “I watched you fall and I ran to your side. I wish we could’ve been anywhere but there at that moment. It was a bad idea. I want to spend some time alone with you, Drea. But you hit your head really hard and whatever you think we did, didn’t happen. I’m sorry.” There’s something in his voice, maybe pity.

  I shake my head. This can’t be the same thing as the Green-eyed man. I knew somewhere deep in my mind he was real, and he is. Just like now I feel so sure there was more that happened on that trip. If I could just remember something. I reach over and turn the key to roll down the window. It smells like gasoline and manure. A big gust of wind flutters my hair in my face, and an image pops in my mind, the picture in Dad’s office. “Turbines. That use the wind. Does that mean anything to you?” I sound desperate, and maybe I am. He has to know something.

  His eyes soften, and he slowly shakes his head. “I’m sorry.” He reaches forward but doesn’t touch me. His hand is close enough that the heat from it sends tingles to my toes and back. “Now can you tell me why people are chasing us?”

  My stomach rolls, pushed up toward my throat. “That’s what we’re trying to figure out.” I stare into kind sapphires, begging them to understand. To tell me something. Anything. That he’ll confirm I’m not making all this up.

  He leans forward, his mouth slightly open, and my heart stutters. “I’ll help protect you.”

  The car door opens, and I jerk away from Maddox. Dylan’s gaze swings back and forth. “Everything okay in here?” He hands me my Gatorade, his voice stiff with apprehension.

  I swallow hard, trying to push back feelings of confusion, hurt, disappointment, I don’t know. “Yeah, great. Let’s go.” I keep my tone light, even though all I want to do is curl into a ball.

  Dylan nods, throws a bag of stuff in the back seat, climbs inside, and starts the engine.

  Maddox rips open a bag of chips, but other than that he’s quiet. Why did I even bother bringing Hollywood up again? But I know the answer. Because I thought his story would change without Dylan around. Except it didn’t. “I’m still a little confused. Where exactly are we going?” Maddox asks.

  “North.” Dylan glances at me before he pulls out on the main road and heads back toward the freeway. “We should pick somewhere to stay for the night.”

  “How about San Francisco?” Maddox suggests. “I’ve always wanted to check it out myself.”

  The city. I’ve always wanted to check it out, too. See Lombard Street. Eat clam chowder at Fisherman’s Wharf. And it might be exactly the place to go to blend in. With lots of people around, we should be able to go unnoticed, in case anyone comes looking. “Sounds good.”

  Dylan nods and throws his blinker on as he merges onto the freeway.

  The sun has dipped under the horizon, and the freeway is emptying out. As much as I’d love to be in my own bed right now, I know I’m doing the right thing.

  So with that, it’s settled and we head toward the city. A tinge of anxiety and excitement stirs inside me. We’re one step closer to whatever’s in Nevada. This trip won’t be for nothing. It can’t be.

  My whole world is growing, changing. As scary as it is, this is what I’ve got to do.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  We pull up to the check-in and valet area of a beautiful Renaissance-style hotel. The windows are set in arches and a dome towers over us, with white stone, gold accents, and doormen dressed in these crazy-amazing suits with gold crests on the front.

  “Stay here. I’ll go get us checked in.” Dylan hops out and disappears into the hotel. While we were driving, I used my phone to hack into the hotel’s system and booked us a complimentary room. It’s not the most honest thing, but we couldn’t risk using any of our real names. I make a mental note to pay them back someday.

  A limo parks next to us, a long black one, and a group of people file out. Men in tuxedos, women in long dresses. They all look so elegant. The chauffeur stands at attention until the last one slides out and stands. The final man shakes the driver’s hand. Before he leaves, the chauffeur slips his hand in his pocket and closes the door, then races around to the driver’s seat. I wonder where they went. A party, maybe, or the opera. They seem like opera people.

  Before I know it, the car door opens. Dylan pokes his head inside. “Good news. We’re all set.”

  The outside of the hotel may have looked historic, but the inside is modern. And there seems to be some intense party or something going on downstairs. Not that Dylan lets us linger, but there’s music thumping from somewhere in the lobby when we step into the elevator.

  Our room is beyond beautiful. It’s big, with a king-size bed and a small sitting area with a black leather couch in front of floor-to-ceiling windows. In a way it reminds me of Dylan’s room. Clean lines. Sharp angles. Except this room is bigger and much shinier. There’s a long glossy white table attached to one wall, with a white leather roll-away chair, giant screen TV, and a huge silver-framed mirror hanging on the wall.

  I walk across the room and draw back the sheer silver curtains to a view of the city. All the lights from the buildings cut through the darkness. It’s breathtaking. A chill of excitement runs up my spine as I stare out over Union Square. I wish we had a balcony so I could stand among the landscape of the city and take a million pictures.

  “We’ll have to make it work,” Dylan says, gesturing at the king-size bed.

  I spin around, wrapping myself in the curtain sheers. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Don’t start singing now.” Dylan pulls a heavy curtain in front of me.

  “Hey.” I pull it back and poke Dylan in the side, his most ticklish spot, making him laugh. “Don’t tempt me.”

  He tickles me back, and I burst out laughing. “I’m not sure my ears are up for it, sweetheart.” He grins, but gradually that grin fades, and we stare at each other, something heavy filling the space between us. He turns away. “Her singing voice is like a cat orgy,” he tells Maddox. What does he know? Maybe I can sing perfectly now. I can do lots of other things I’ve never been able to before.

  Maddox throws his backpack onto a chair. His glance bounces between the two of us. “I’m goi
ng down to the lobby to stretch my legs.” He doesn’t wait for a response before he walks out of the room and closes the door behind him.

  Maybe he’s weirded out by everything. Or weirded out by me. This whole trip has been a lot, that’s for sure. Finding the microchip, losing the Green-eyed man. Or at least I hope we have. That’s the thought I’m trying to hold on to. The one that’s going to make it so I might be able to sleep tonight.

  Dylan takes a long breath and picks up a binder off the nightstand. “Let’s order room service.” He studies the menu while I flop down on the bed making snow angels out of the overstuffed duvet. I’m hungry but I don’t care what we eat. I’m not sure I even want to leave this bed. “Guess how much they want for a burger.”

  “How much?” I ask.

  He holds the menu out, pointing to the price.

  “Thirty bucks? They’re crazy.”

  Dylan throws the menu inside the drawer and slams it shut.

  Now thirty bucks I’d pay for this amazing duvet. I slip my hands over the soft fabric and test a few of the pillows. They’re a little firm, but I’m not about to complain.

  He scrolls through his phone, slides it in his pocket, and lets out a long breath. “Maybe I should go get us something to eat.”

  I flip over and stare at him. “Do you think it’s safe for us to go out?”

  Dylan shakes his head. “I didn’t say you were coming. You need to stay here.”

  I grab a fist full of blanket. I’m not staying here alone. “No way. I’m coming.”

  “Drea, this isn’t a negotiation. In here with the door locked, you’re safe. Out there…” He points to the window. “Who knows what could happen.”

  “Exactly. There’s strength in numbers, right?” My voice sounds desperate and maybe I am. Maddox already took off, and if Dylan leaves, we’re all split up. Safety in numbers—that’s why we should stick together.

  His jaw tightens. “No. You’re staying here. And that’s final.” He rubs the back of his neck, dark circles hanging under his eyes.

  I take a deep breath. He’s driven all this way and he’s tired and hungry. That why he’s been terse, grumpy. Bossy. Understandable. It’s still not okay, but there’s no use fighting with him when he’s like this.