Whatever the fuck that was.
Right now I was deep in the gas station’s mini-mart, having been entrusted with the task of last-minute drinks and snacks for the evening. A wall of beef jerky lay stretched out before me; end to end, floor to ceiling. It was so formidable in size, it was actually intimidating.
“So, do you know about the law of inverse proportion for beef jerky?”
I jumped as Sawyer materialized behind me. His hands moved to my hips, making me even more distracted.
“No, can’t say I’ve heard that one.”
“That’s because it’s my own personal theory,” Sawyer declared proudly. “The further from New York City you get, the bigger the beef jerky display. It works for any major city, really. But especially for New York.”
“So… in the Midwest?”
“Entire stores of nothing but jerky,” he smiled, sweeping an arm grandly. “Acres of jerky.”
“I see.”
“Anywhere in the five boroughs though?” he went on. “One or two choices, at best. Not counting Slim Jims, of course, because they aren’t jerky. Not that there’s anything wrong with Slim Jims, they’re just in a different family when it comes to…”
If Sawyer continued talking, I no longer heard him. And that’s because I was too fixated by what was going on at the front of the store.
No way.
Up near the counter, a man stood talking to the cashier in an animated, arm-waving fashion. And not just any man, but a giant man. A giantblondman.
No fucking way.
He was the same height, same width, same obnoxious stature. But then he spoke… and I heard his voice.
Oh my GOD.
My gaze shifted outside. Through the giant glass windows I could see Carter and Bodie. They’d finished refueling, and were climbing back into the truck. But just beyond that, on the other side of the gas pumps…
Cole’s Mustang.
“Best thing to do is get one of each flavor,” Sawyer was saying. “That way we cover our bases. Besides, who knows if we’ll ever see this big of a jerky selection ever again. We could go our entire lives, and never—”
“Sawyer, let’s go!” I hissed.
He looked down at me, totally confused. “You don’t like jerky?”
“No! We have to get—”
“Something else then?” he cut me off. “Combos? Pringles? Takis?”
He began picking them up. I plucked them from his hands, frantically.
“No, Sawyer—”
“You’re right, Takis are shit,” he rambled on. “They stain your mouth, and teeth, and they taste like battery acid.”
Grabbing his wrist, I tried pulling him bodily out of the store. It was like trying to tow a tank with a turtle.
“Please,” I hissed, leaning in close. “Don’t talk, don’t ask questions, just… just leave with me.”
I pulled again, and this time he followed without hesitation. We exited the store and made our way to the truck, with me looking over my shoulder the whole time.
“Hayden…”
