Quentin gives us his hotel address—a place just outside of town that seems to be operating normally. Jackson and I agree to meet him and Annalise there. We say quick goodbyes, and I walk with Jackson to the car. But when he climbs into the driver’s seat, he doesn’t start the engine.
I watch him, my chest heavy. Life is complicated whether you’re AI or a human, especially when it comes to our hearts.
“I’m sorry about your father,” I say. He looks down at his lap, offering a curt nod.
“And I’m sorry for the things he’s done,” he replies quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t know. I’m sorry I didn’t stop him.” His voice cracks, and he squeezes his eyes shut.
“I’m sorry that he’s dead,” I explain. “I know he’s done terrible things, but you’re allowed to feel multiple emotions at once. It doesn’t have to just be hatred.”
“You sure?” he asks, looking over at me miserably. “Because that seems like the right one to latch on to. So what if he was my father? I’m glad he’s…” But he stops before he finishes the sentence. A sharp cry escapes before he can hold it back. He reachesout and grabs the steering wheel, steadying himself.
I rest my hand on his, but he doesn’t let go of the wheel.
“I’m all alone now, Mena,” he says. “I’m all alone in the world. No parents. No aunts or uncles. They’re all fucking dead.”
“What about your sister?” I suggest. “Your half sister,” I correct.
He blinks when I mention her, as if he’d forgotten. But then his expression sags even more. “I’ll have to tell her,” he says. “He was her father too, I have to…”
The words die on his lips. What would he tell her? Certainly not the truth, not when the world doesn’t know that girls like us exist.
“What am I going to do?” he asks, mostly to himself, while he rakes his fingers through his hair. “Who am I going to call about this? I can’t just let him…”
Rot, I think, remembering the smell that had already started to permeate the air.
Jackson looks over at the house, and then he takes out his phone. He stares down at it, his thumb hovering over the 9 key. After a moment, he puts the phone away and turns to me. “I’ll have to call the sheriff in the next town over,” he says. “But we should be gone before I do. This is going to be a major story. It would have to be, right?”
“You would think,” I say. “I mean, even more than your father’s murder, how would they explain all these missing people?” I glance around. “Jackson, why wouldn’t the people who left have called someone?” I ask. “Why not report it?” We stare at each other.
“They could have threatened them or their families,” he offers. “Who knows, at this point.”
“I don’t get why they left your father’s body to be discovered, though,” I say.
Jackson swallows hard, his throat clicking. He tilts his head to the side as if the answer is obvious.
“A warning?” I ask, guessing at his thought.
“To us, to the other investors, to the entire fucking world—I don’t know,” he says. “But you don’t accidently leave a dead body in a newly minted ghost town. Or maybe… Maybe they’re not done. These people could still be in town, cleaning up their mess. We need to go.”
Jackson starts the car. He shifts into gear, looking over his shoulder before pulling into the street even though there’s no one left in this town. We head west toward the hotel where Quentin and Annalise are waiting.
The town remains dark, and we cross through a rural area, no way to tell what’s lurking in the dark houses set far back from the road. But then, suddenly, there’s a traffic light. Almost like magic, the world comes back to life the moment we cross the threshold into the neighboring town of Lakewood.
There’s a group of people exiting a roadside diner with Styrofoam boxes in their hands. A man pumps gas while staring down at his phone across the street. I’m so entirely relieved to see people moving about again, and I lower the window and listen to the sound of cars whizzing by, electricity humming on the power lines, dogs barking in the distance.
We arrive at the hotel, and park toward the back of the lot, out of view but with quick access to the exit. The Sundowner Hotel is a step up from where Jackson was staying in Connecticut. There’s a stone fountain out front, lush plants and trees, and a stacked stone façade. It’s not fancy, but it’s nice—almost homey. It’s exactly what we need right now. But when I turn to Jackson, he still has a haunted expression, his hands turning his phone over and over in his palm.
“We’ll figure out what to do next, but it’s going to be okay,” I tell him. “You believe that, right?”
He pauses a long time before nodding. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, of course.”
It isn’t a fair question, I realize. Are any of us okay? Within a very short time, I’ve found out I’m not a real human, that some of my friends had been burned in an incinerator, that my other friend is a budding serial killer, and oh, yes—now an entire town is missing while maniacs chase us so we can be deactivated. Even if all of this righted itself tomorrow, will I really ever beokay?
Jackson motions toward the lobby. “You want to meet them on the second floor, and I’ll see if I can get us a room? I think he said it was room two-two-six.”
“Two-two-eight,” I correct, and he curses.
“What would I do without you?” he says with a smile. His dark eyes hold mine, sad and lost. But when I match his smile, his face warms and he rests his head back against the seat.
