She sighs through the speakers. “You can. Luckily for you, I’m wired to obey your request. And it’s not like anything you do interests me, puny human.”
I laugh. “Thanks.”
Ever the charmer, that one.
I know she’s a computer at her core, but it’s still strange to have her always watching me. It’s a little invasive.
Once the silence settles around me, I slide into bed with the pile of books. I feel like a kid on Christmas morning—or at least, that’s what they always say. I wouldn’t know. Christmases with my mother were celebrated with whatever food we could scavenge that day, if we were lucky. And that’s it.
I read until late at night and fall asleep with a book on my chest.
Vibrations wake me. My first instinct is to get on my feet, ready to run, but my legs get tangled in the comforter and I fall. When the ground shakes, it’s never a good sign, and you need to run as fast as possible.
But then I remember where I am, and I relax. It’s just theBeetle’s motion.
I rub sleep from my eyes and leave the room. The smell of toast immediately entices me as I walk through the passageways. There are small windows on the side of the main room, and I see the desert surrounding us. The sun is rising.
Griffin is in the galley, eating breakfast. I’m delighted to see that he’s not wearing his hood today, either.
“Is that bread?” I ask, pointing at his toast.
He nods. “I make my own.”
“You have flour?”
“Yes.”
“Oh my god.”
He gestures at the square-shaped loaf of bread. “Have some. The toaster is here.”
It takes a lot of land and water to grow wheat. It often comes from the North.
I cut myself a thin slice, put it in the toaster, and sit down to wait.
“Are we safe?” I ask.
I feel like a parrot, repeating the same question every day.
Because theBeetleis walking in the desert, still on Shai-Hulud’s territory.
“Of course, we are,” says Beet. “I use a special frequency that Shai-Hulud hates. He never comes nearme.”
“Really?” I ask. Griffin nods. “Good morning, Beet,” I add.
“Good morning to you too, creature of flesh and weaknesses.”
I laugh.
My toast bursts out of the toaster, and I grab it. Griffin offers me different choices among a few spreads, like peanut butter, almond butter, and jam. My first thought is that those have enough calories to last me for a few days.
“Have you thought about where you want us to drop you off?” Griffin asks.
His deep voice always surprises me.
I put my toast on the plate and decide to push my luck once again.
“I was taken prisoner near Denver,” I say. “I was with a group traveling north. I would like to go to Washington, to a village on the coast. I have family there.”
