“So you think I’ll stay alive then?” He sounds almost disappointed.
“Yes, I think you’ll stay alive. But I will still hate you. Remember that. My dislike for you will keep you alive today.”
That shuts him up. There’s no more speaking. No more banter. No more stories or filling in on lost time. Instead, Adam drives, his jaw locked in irritation. I turn my back to him and watch the wind blow the trees. Leaves that have barely turned, still mostly green, litter the ground and blow across the road. There’s a storm coming.
chapter twenty-two
We pass only two other vehicles; a dusty red sedan pulled over on the side of the road and another truck, loaded down with men sitting along the edge of the truck-bed. I tense, expecting them to turn around and follow us.
“We’re fine,” Adam says as though he’s sensing my apprehension to the truckload of men passing us.
“Will they come after us?” I ask.
“Nope.” He grips the steering wheel a little tighter. “They looked like they were headed home for the night.”
“How do you know?” I ask.
“They looked tired.”
I wait, half expecting to see the truck spin around and come speeding after us. After all, they are Survivors. But it never happens. Instead, Adam continues driving for hours along the winding country roads. It’s not long before the scenery starts looking familiar. Even on the back roads I recognize the forests of New York. The roadsides are thick with evergreens and inter-dispersed with maple and oak trees. I can even feel it in my body. I am almost home.
Adam continues north. The wind howling around the truck, the branches of the trees shaking as we pass, and just as the last of the evening sun begins to dip behind the tree-line, I feel the truck take a steep incline. Adam doesn’t need to tell me where we are. I know. We are passing the city. I remember this drive, from when I used to commute back and forth from work. I know once the hill crests, if we drive at a steady sixty-five miles an hour I will be home in forty-five minutes. The anticipation tingles throughout my body, and then, Adam takes a sharp right turn in the wrong direction.
“What are you doing?” My voice sounds louder than it should, filling the truck cabin. “You’re going in the wrong direction.”
He taps a finger on the gas gauge. “Too close to empty. I have to get some gas.”
I look out all of the windows and behind us. “Where? There’s nothing here.”
“There’s a small settlement up here.”
“How do you know?”
“Just trust me.”
I might trust him, a little, I just don’t trust the weather. Looking to the early darkening sky, thick gray clouds roll over, dousing out the last of the evening light. The wind blows harder.
Adam takes another right, then a left. As he slows, I focus on the road ahead of us. It’s barricaded with cars parked perpendicular across the road. Then, I see movement. People with guns. Survivors.
“Adam!” I twist in my seat, uneasy. “What are you doing? They have guns!”
“I can see that.” His voice has no concern.
“Then why are you continuing on? Stop and turn around.”
“I asked you to trust me, Andie.”
“But they have guns.”
“It’s okay. Just settle down.” He stops the truck and reaches for the door handle. Two of the people at the barricade walk towards us, a man and a woman, weapons drawn. “Stay in the truck,” Adam orders.
Adam gets out and walks towards the two people, palms up, speaking. I can’t hear what he says, but whatever he tells them, they lower their guns, nod, look at me and then turn and motion for the others to open the barricade.
The wind whips at Adam’s jacket and his hair. As he opens the door to the truck a cold wind blows in.
“What was that all about?” I ask.
“Not all the Survivors are terrible people. They have gas for us.”
“Are you sure?” I eye them as Adam drives past the barricade.
“Yeah.”
Adam drives down a road lined with small houses, trailers, campers and tents.
“What is this place?”
Adam shrugs. “Just a community. People who protect each other, get along for the greater good.”
“But it’s so close to Phoenix. How did they not find us? How did Crane not find them?”
Adam parks the truck next to a convenience store. “What makes you think one doesn’t know about the other?” He reaches for the door handle. “You’re coming with me. Get out of the truck and don’t leave my side.” He gets out, pushes the driver’s seat forward and pulls out a black bag.
“What’s that?”
“None of your business. Let’s go.” He closes the door and heads around to the passenger side. Getting out, the cold wind blows through my sweatshirt and I immediately wish I had something warmer to wear. “Come on,” Adam says as I close the door.
I follow him as he heads towards the convenience store. As Adam reaches for the door, I notice a sign taped at eye level. It says, Buy, Barter, Trade.
A man and a woman stand behind the counter, both looking middle aged and unafraid of us. The man tips his head.
“Hello, Steven.” Adam walks to the counter at a quick pace and holds his hand out to shake.
“Sir,” the man named Steven replies. The woman at the counter looks between the men, before focusing on me. “What can I do for you?”
“Need a few gallons of gas. Then we’ll be on our way.”
“Barter or trade?” Steven asks.
“Trade.” Adam holds up the bag in his hand. “You have a private place to talk?”
Steven points at a door in the rear of the store. “We can go back there. Betsy can run the place while we talk.”
Steven walks around the counter, motioning for Adam to follow.
“Stay right here,” he whispers to me as he passes, following Steven towards the door.
I nod, watch them as the door closes, then wander around the store. There are a few pre-packaged snacks, medical supplies, gallons of bleach, a few jugs of water, tools, rope, empty containers. Walking towards the cashier counter, I notice the most valuable things are kept there. Batteries, cigarettes, bullets and guns for sale.
I reach forward to pick up a package of lip balm that’s hanging next to the counter. The cashier, Betsy, watches and I notice she’s focused on the strap tied across my wrist, covering up my Sovereign mark. I pull my hand back and retract it into my sleeve.
“Want to trade?” Betsy asks. “For the lip balm?”
I lick my lips and back up. “No.”
“You want it.”
“No. I’m fine. It’s just been so long since I’ve seen stuff like that.”
“You sure you don’t want it?” Her eyes narrow on me, specifically the arm I’ve drawn up into my sleeve. “You look like you want it.”
“No. Really. Besides, I have no way to pay for it. I was just looking.” My eyes flick towards the closed door where Adam went with the man.
Betsy rounds the counter. “Sometimes we take payment in the form of information.” She takes a few steps towards me. I head for the door, but she moves fast, running around me and blocking me from reaching the door. “I get the feeling you know a lot of important information.”
“No.” I take a few steps back. “I don’t know anything.”
“You sure, Hon?” She crosses her arms. “Why you got that tie around your wrist? That man in there hurt you or something?”
I take a few steps back, wondering if I might be able to circle around the store and get away from her. “No,” I respond.
“Not at all? Big, scary looking guy like that didn’t harm one hair on your pretty little head?” She looks me up and down. “You’re a little young for him, aren’t you? What are you, like, eighteen or something? Not right, a grown man like that dragging you around. I’ve seen a lot of that lately.”
Eighteen, what a compliment. I shake my head. “
No. It’s fine. We’re fine.”
“You sure now?” She presses on.
“Yes.” I raise my voice to a near shout. “Adam would NEVER HURT ME.”
Betsy tips her head and narrows her eyes at me. “Adam-”
Before she can finish, the door whips open and Adam is standing in the doorway. “What’s wrong?” he asks.
Betsy moves to her place behind the register, focusing on something under the counter.
“Uh… nothing,” I finally respond.
Adam looks around the store before turning to Steven.
“It’s a deal,” Steven says from inside the room. “Let’s get your gas.”
Adam moves and through the open door I can see three handguns and a box of bullets on the table. Adam avoids my eyes for the remainder of the time we are there; while we walk through the store to the garage behind the building where he drives the truck and Steven pours ten gallons of gasoline into the truck’s gas tank.
It’s when the men at the barricade let us through and we are finally driving down the highway in the dark that I finally ask him, “Where did the guns come from, Adam?”
“Don’t worry about it.” His jaw twitches when he closes his mouth.
“Why?”
“Just don’t.”
He accelerates into the darkness and before he can turn north, a heavy rain starts pelting the windshield. Adam turns on the windshield wipers and the heat. It’s not long before the rain thickens and turns into a pelting hail storm. I grip the door, barely able to see the sides of the road. The cabin cools further until Adam has the heat on its highest setting. Then, it starts snowing, so bad that the road is covered and Adam can’t drive any further.
I want to ask Adam about the guns, I want answers from him. But this is the kind of storm you don’t argue in, not with the driver. When Adam slows the truck to a crawl, disappointment hits me in the bottom of the gut like a lead ball. We are so close to home.
“It’s too dangerous to drive any further than this,” Adam tells me as he stops the truck and puts it in park. Leaving the engine running, he presses his fingers to the heat vents. “We’ll just have to wait it out.”
“I don’t want to wait it out,” I tell him. “This could last for hours or days.”
He shakes his head. “Every storm ends in time, Andie.”
“Unless it turns to snow, Adam. Unless it’s snowing and summer is almost here.”
Adam looks out the window at the large snowflakes settling all around us.
“The the weather is so unpredictable. This is probably going to ruin our crops,” I point out.
“Thought the Entities reformed everything to stop this sort of thing from happening.”
“They did. But then Norman Eckstein seeded the ocean with iron, and there was a massive population die-off. The atmosphere must have overcorrected or something. I’m not sure. You could ask the brains in Hanford, I’m sure they have a meteorologist there. Weather patterns are not my specialty.” My breath fogs the window as I look out the passenger side. I reach up and wipe it away. “I can’t believe we are so close.”
“You can walk the rest of the way.”
“I would like to.” Actually, I think I’d like to run the rest of the way.
“Well, we can wait until morning. I think that’s the best thing to do.”
I stare longingly out the window into the night. The wind blows stronger, snow and ice pelts the truck. I jump as a flash of lightning brightens the night sky.
“Wasn’t expecting that,” I mumble, turning back to Adam. He’s looking at me, strangely. “What?” I ask.
“What if…” he starts, his face taking on some expression I am not familiar with. He sighs, closes his eyes and then looks at me again with his striking blue eyes. “What if I never see you like this again?” he asks.
“Like what? Waiting to go home?” I unclip my seatbelt and pull my legs up to my chest.
“No. All trusting and eager and, just a tiny bit, still… innocent.”
I laugh a little. “I think you have me confused with someone else,” I tell him flatly.
“I don’t.” The strange expression continues.
“I’m sure you do. Because right now I may be trusting you for five minutes while you bring me home, but I hate you. Remember that, Adam. I may have really enjoyed your company at one point, but now I hate you now. You lied, you died, you lied some more. You will never see me like this again because you will never see me again. Ever.”
“Yeah. I was hoping that would make this easier.” He turns to look out his window as another crack of thunder erupts, followed by another flash of lightening. At that instant he looks back to me and my stomach growls loudly, at what seems to be the most inappropriate time; it seems Adam has something to tell me.
“You hungry? I have some rations here.” He reaches behind his seat and pulls out a bag. He takes out two aluminum bottles and a container filled with what looks like dried meat.
“What’s that?” I ask him.
“Deer jerky.” He hands me one of the bottles. “Water.” He motions to the shiny bottle. I take a piece of jerky from the container and bite into it. At first, the flavor is mild, not too dry, and then the salt hits me. I set the jerky on my lap and swallow, my mouth puckered. Hurriedly opening the bottle of water, I catch a glimpse of Adam watching me from across the seat. I drink, washing the strong taste of salt out of my mouth. When my mouth has been thoroughly rinsed I catch the hint of an aftertaste in the water. Looking at the metal container I wonder if it’s from the aluminum and wherever the water came from. I look up to find Adam staring at me, a frown on his face.
“What?” I ask, feeling my tongue slur a bit, and I wonder if it’s from the strong salt.
“I’m sorry,” he tells me, putting his water back into the bag along with his portion of the jerky.
“That was really salty,” I tell him as I take another long pull from the bottle. This time when I stop drinking, I recognize the aftertaste. It’s sweet, just like someone added a little sugar, just like what I tasted in the water the Survivors gave me.
Oh no.
“You asshole!” I yell at Adam as I throw the bottle it at him. He catches it with a magnificent finesse, as though I merely tossed it to him and didn’t chuck it with all the energy left in my body.
“I’m sorry,” he repeats.
“I trusted you!”
“I know.”
“What was in there?”
“Just something to help you sleep.” He reaches out, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
“Don’ touch meh,” I slur at him and wave my hand, missing his arm by a mile. He smiles. This time, though, it’s not his mischievous smile that I once loved. It’s sad. “Who ‘r you?” I ask.
He clears his throat. “My real name is Christian Whitmarsh.”
chapter twenty-three
Christian, the one who is running the East Coast, the one who wants Crane, and the one using me to get him. I should have known something was odd when we were not interrupted, not even once, on our drive here, even though we passed a truck of men. They must’ve known who he was as they looked at us through the windshield.
I raise my hand to point at him but my finger barely stretches out from a relaxed curve. Whatever he gave me is hitting me hard. “Lied, again.”
“I may have lied about a few things but never about how I felt about you.”
“Why?” I ask, feeling a sudden surge of coherence. “Why’d you do this now?”
“I have family, too.”
“No you don’t. They died. I’ve already seen the Whitmarsh grave. I figured that much out.”
“All except for one person. I have a sister. And like you’ve protected your family, I have to protect mine.”
“Where?”
“In Phoenix.”
“Who?”
“Blithe.”
I reach for the door handle and hear it click as Adam locks the door from his side of t
he truck. “You should get some rest,” he suggests.
“I hate you for this,” I remind him as my eyes seem to close on their own.
The last thing I hear is Adam, or Christian, let out a heavy sigh as he responds, “Me too.”
--
There are people talking. The murmuring of male voices. I can smell something familiar. It’s sweet and musky, makes my stomach churn. My eyes flutter open, still feeling heavy from whatever Adam gave me to help me sleep. Someone is close to me, too close.
“She’s awake,” I hear Adam’s irritated voice.
“Ah, Andromeda.” The body turns towards me and as I lift my head, I see it is none other than Burton Crane sitting terribly too close to me. I throw myself back, feeling the cold glass of the truck window on the back of my head. Looking between Adam and Crane, I wonder if perhaps I am still dreaming.
“Why?” I ask. It’s the only word I can seem to get out.
“Because you needed to deal with Adam’s death. Your relationship with him was a loose string. I let you flutter about for two years. It had to end.”
“He’s not dead.”
“Oh, but he is,” Crane replies as Adam simply watches from the seat next to him. “He is dead to you now. After this betrayal. That string is cut. Now you can move on from him. He is no longer a distraction.”
“Is this another one of your lessons?”
“In a sense. You need to be of sound mind.”
“My initiation is done. I completed all of your tasks in each of the Districts.”
“No, it’s not. You need to be of sound mind.” Crane reaches forward with one speckled finger and taps me on the top of the head. “You are too soft. You contemplate too much. You need to be able to react quickly. You can’t have things like love and family swaying your choices. They will get in the way of your judgment.”
“I sort genes. That’s all Crane.”
“Yes, a very important task in this time. But you will do much more.”
“What are you saying?”
“I might die soon.”
“What?”
The Phoenix Project Series: Books 1-3: The Phoenix Project, The Reformation, and Revelation Page 79