“He’s going to face them,” she says. “Or else they’ll follow us for days.”
“How did they even see us?”
“I’m not always invisible. It takes too much energy.”
“I need to go help him.”
“Not really.”
But I ignore her. “Do you have weapons?”
“There’s a gun in that drawer under the screen.”
I find the gun easily and go to the hatch.
“Helios, that’s a dumb idea,” Beet says.
But she slows down for me, and I lean over the edge to watch. Griffin is standing in the middle of the desert, swords at his sides. In the distance, I see vehicles rapidly approaching, trailing dark smoke and dust. TheHighwaymenare some the rare ones still using and trading fossil fuel. The rumor says that in the first months after the Rise, their leaders made their base near an oil refinery.
“He’s crazy!”
There are a dozen vehicles. Is he going to face them all by himself with swords?
Beet finally comes to a stop, and I jump to the desert floor. Even if I run, I’m not sure that I’ll be able to reach him in time. And then what? Do I shoot them with my gun? My survival instinct kicks in and I stay where I am. I haven’t survived twenty-three years by being a fool. I know my limits.
The first vehicle reaches Griffin. They shoot at him, but he jumps over them. I can’t see clearly from here, but he swipes his sword through the windshield and seconds later, they crash farther into the rocks.
Three more vehicles reach him, two desert buggies and a bike. They circle him, and I think for a heartbeat that he might be fucked. But no. The bike crashes against another vehicle, and the other one drives in the other direction, as if realizing they can’t win.
This goes on for another minute. Griffin destroys half of theHighwaymenlittle army, while the other half gives up and disappears in the opposite direction.
I whistle. “Remind me to never make Griffin angry.”
“Angry? That’s not angry. He’s just having fun,” Beet says. “You’ll know when he’s angry. Come on, get back in. We’re losing the air-conditioning.”
Going back inside, I put the gun in the drawer. I hear an audible click. I guess that’s as far as Beet trusts me with weapons on board theBeetle.
I wait in the living room for Griffin’s return. After five minutes, he opens the hatch and enters. He didn’t even break a sweat. But his swords are bloody. He hesitates as he notices me. Maybe he thinks I’ll be scared of him now. But I already knew that he was deadly. He killed the slavers and mercenaries on the day he rescued me. Although I don’t remember seeing him with swords on that day. He must have used their guns.
Not knowing how to react, I stupidly give a thumbs up.
I think it was enough to relax him, because he chuckles then walks to the massive chest. He pulls out a clean cloth, to wipe the blood of his swords, and what looks like sharpening tools.
TheBeetlestarts moving again, taking us away from the carnage.
He takes off his bomber jacket, freeing his arms. He’s wearing a sleeveless large t-shirt underneath. Now that I’ve seen his scales yesterday, he doesn’t feel the need to hide anymore. I watch him for a moment as he works on his swords. His movements are precise and assured. The muscles along his arms flex and I’m mesmerized. His red scales stop under his shoulders, then start again near the wrists. They shine slightly with the sunlight that pours from the small window.
Griffin’s nostrils flare, and he looks up at me. I clear my throat and grab the book that fell off the table during our mad dash through the desert.
“So, does that happen often?” I ask him. “People chasing you.”
He shrugs. “At least once a month. I’ve made a lot of enemies over the years and they know theBeetle. Some even spend their time tracking us.”
“I’m very popular,” says Beet. “And so is he. They call him theDevil of the Wastes.”
Griffin grimaces. “Yeah… No. That’s just a dumb name.”
“Never heard it,” I say.
