To: Tabby
Dixon. He’s making odd little snorting noises and talking to himself under his breath. And there’s a muscle in his jaw that keeps twitching.
August 5
From: Tabby
Sam says we’ll drive for another hour or two. Then we’ll have to sleep. I’ll text Roger your plans. He was going to come back to watch over filming with you for a day.
August 5
To: Tabby
Come back? Dammit, if he’s with the Essex team, that means they are ahead of us!
August 5
From: Tabby
Hell. Pretend you didn’t see that.
—
I eyed Dixon and considered whether or not I wanted to tell him that the Essex team was definitely ahead of us. As I watched, he growled something and flexed his fingers on the steering wheel. I was grateful I couldn’t see his eyes through the lenses of his red goggles, because I had a feeling they would be shooting laser beams in my general direction.
We rolled into Kazan at about six in the morning. Neither one of us had slept much in the car, although Vitale appeared to snooze the entire trip. We stopped at a skanky-looking hotel, the kind where you don’t want to touch anything inside, and took turns taking a shower and changing our clothing.
“Do you want to sleep?” Dixon asked, his face haggard and his eyes red-rimmed with exhaustion.
I looked at the bed and shuddered. “In the car, yes. Not here.”
“Fine. Our guest can sleep here, and we’ll take the car.”
And that’s how it worked out. Vitale was a bit confused, but grateful to have a room to himself, while Dixon and I curled up in the car for two hours. We had more than five hundred miles to go to Moscow, and I feared we wouldn’t get there safely with only two hours’ rest, but I couldn’t complain since Dixon was doing as I’d asked.
I just hoped it wouldn’t kill us.
JOURNAL OF DIXON AINSLEY
6 August
11:47 p.m.
Suburb of Moscow, Russia
We made it.
Barely.
Going to sleep for a week. Paid garage attendant to watch car.
Bonus: Roger caught up with us five hours out of Moscow, along with the second camera crew. Roger said we’d passed the Essex team while they slept in Novgorod. Ha. Take that, you bastards.
Paulie fell asleep on bed without even taking off her clothes. Managed to get her shirt and corset off. She didn’t wake. Left the rest of her clothing. Too tired to take off so much as my tie. Screw the costume department. Sleeping in my clothes as well.
JOURNAL OF DIXON AINSLEY
7 August
