It’s a lie. I have no family. But I’m hoping that they will take me as far as possible. Or he might just decide that he has already spent too much of his precious resources on me and dump me in the desert.
“Very well,” he says. “We’re heading that way anyway. We’ll just make a few stops on the journey. I have to get some flour and other things. It should take us two weeks if we’re lucky, three if we encounter trouble.”
“Really?”
He nods. I’m surprised he agreed to take me to Washington so easily.
He cleans his dishes and the table, then walks out of the galley. I eat my breakfast alone.
I spend the rest of the day doing chores that I asked Beet to assign to me. I want to make sure that I pull my weight and some more. Then, once I’ve done as much as possible, I settle on the couch in the main room, and pick up my books. I already finished one last night and started the second romance book. It’s heaven for me.
I read for hours until it’s time to cook lunch. But I haven’t seen Griffin since.
“Griffin?” I say loudly.
“He’s in the engine room,” Beet says. “He’s doing maintenance.”
The next two days are pretty much the same. I cook, clean, and read, and I barely see Griffin. I don’t know if he’s avoiding me or if it’s his natural behavior. Could be a bit of both, considering he usually lives alone and never has any guests.
Every evening, Beet finds us a nice hill or mountain to sleep on. She explained that we could travel at night too, but it would use more energy than necessary without the sun, and Griffin prefers it that way. She tells me he’s a light sleeper. I am too.
By the third day, I’m starting to question why Griffin really took me in. He seems to be able to cook well by himself, considering his pantry and greenhouse. I’ve gathered that he’s been doing everything on his own. He can hunt, cook, and do the repairs on theBeetle. Then why agree to take me in if he’s not even going to enjoy my company? Did he feel obligated after rescuing me? Somehow, I doubt it. He doesn’t seem to be the kind of man you can push around. He killed a few dozen slavers and mercenaries after all.
I decide to let him have his space, and I stop talking as much.
But it’s on the fourth day that something finally breaks our new routine. I’m reading in my bed when theBeetlecomes to a stop, and Beet announces, “Arrived at destination.”
I frown. What destination? We’re still in the desert. I walk through the passageways and find Griffin opening the main hatch. His hood is up. He points a finger outside, then exits. I follow him out. The heat outside is stifling; theBeetleis always at a perfect temperature. Dust rises around my legs as I jump. I turn and notice that theBeetlehas turned invisible again. The open door is hovering in the air. Now that I know she’s there, I can see a faint shimmer, like a distortion of light. I asked Beet a few times how she does that, but she never gave me a clear answer.
Griffin is walking away, and I run to catch up to him. There are ruins on the horizon. A big city. We’re close to the mountains.
“Where are we?” I ask.
“Denver,” says Griffin. “That’s where I started tracking the slavers, and where they captured you, right?”
My eyes widen. “Yes.”
So our rescue wasn’t just an accident. He didn’t stumble on the slavers and decided to help. He was hunting them down.
“You were with the group of nomads, right?” he asks.
I nod. “I was just traveling with them for a few days.”
“You said the slavers threw your bags away. They should be around here,” he says.
We walk to the remnants of a camp. The tents on the ground, torn by the wind and almost buried in sand. The blood of the nomads who died trying to defend their group is no longer visible. The ground drank it all.
“Should be…” I say, dumbfounded.
“What do your bags look like?”
“A red backpack and a smaller shoulder one, leather.”
Griffin starts looking through the debris. We would be lucky if no one found my bags. But the carts the nomads used to move around are still here, filled with wood, clothes, and other tools. The food was taken by the slavers, but they left the rest. Maybe we’re lucky and…
“Are those your bags?” Griffin asks, carrying my two bags. They’re covered in dust.
“Yes!” He shakes them and hands them to me. “Thank you.”
