I toss the car keys to Chill. He nearly drops them, catching them clumsily against his body. He squints at them for a moment before placing them in Woody’s hand.
“It’s okay. Woody can drive.” Chill takes off his glasses, wrapping his fingers around the holes where the lenses should be. He taps the glasses against his palm, and with a reassuring nod to himself, he dumps them in the trash along with all the other unnecessary things we’re ready to leave behind. “Let’s get out of here. I want to see as much of Mexico as I can before Chronos comes to kick our asses.” He helps Poppy into the back seat of the SUV and climbs in behind her.
I bite my lip as I watch them, hoping I’m not making a mistake. Our survival depends on so many choices—choices we can only make in the moment, from our hearts—in order for this plan to work. As I look out over the Pacific, every doubt and second thought glares back at me. We could steal a boat. Keep running. But it would feel too much like going back to the beginning. And we’ve already come so far.
The other three cars fall in behind our SUV, waiting for me.
“You ready?” Woody asks, spinning the keys on his finger. Hunter’s combat knife hangs from the belt loop of his jeans.
I shake my head at the improbability of it all. We’re waging war against Father Time. It’s hard to imagine any ending to this story that isn’t a tragedy. We’re probably all going to die. Maybe, if I’m lucky, just me.
“Yeah,” I say. “I’m ready.”
45
Border Crossing
FLEUR
Our caravan reaches the border crossing at Tecate by midmorning. The eight members of our original group lead in the SUV, followed closely by Noelle’s group of nine. They’ve segregated themselves into vehicles by season, with the exception of the lone Spring, who reluctantly agreed to ride in the back seat of the Autumns’ car.
Jack watches them in the passenger-side mirror, the furrow in his brow teetering between worry and distrust. He’s been quiet since we left the coast. Every few miles, I reach over his headrest and touch him—a reassuring hand on the cool nape of his neck—letting him borrow whatever strength he needs from me. Getting across the border won’t be easy. Four of us are wanted in three US states. The other four don’t have passports, or any other legal form of identification, for that matter. And now we have nine more to worry about.
Woody eases the SUV into a parking space. Jack watches peopleshuffle in and out of the immigration offices, carrying passports and customs declaration papers. Armed border guards patrol the vehicle inspection lanes with telescoping mirrors and drug-sniffing dogs.
Julio gets out of the car with Amber in tow, her bright hair tucked into a baseball cap and dark dollar-store sunglasses obscuring her eyes. He pauses to ask a border guard for directions to the bathrooms, sliding effortlessly into Spanish while Amber’s attention drifts to the junction boxes powering the building’s computers and phones.
“Everyone ready?” Jack’s eyes slide to Noelle’s group in the mirror. They’re already out of their cars, clustered in the parking lot, waiting for our signal. We strap on our backpacks and huddle close to the doors.
Julio thanks the guard for his help. He follows Amber behind the building toward a row of portable toilets, glancing back at us with a barely perceptible nod.
Jack and I get out of the SUV. He slips his hands in mine and seductively backs me against the door until we’re eye to eye. The handful of random travelers in the parking lot obligingly look away. But I can’t tear my eyes from them.
“Ready?” he asks, his forehead pressed to mine.
“There are too many people. What if I can’t control it? What if I’m not strong enough?”
“We’restrong enough.” The kiss he steals doesn’t feel staged. Doesn’t feel like it’s for anyone but me.
I nod. Then I close my eyes and let my mind reach through the pavement. I feel it snake into the ground, through rhizomes and roots, into a capillary network of cells. Then deeper, into the earth itself. My body trembles with the effort. Jack braces me against the hot metal ofthe door as I shove my mind into a narrow fault line and push.
The ground responds with a series of low tremors. Concrete dust sheds from the arched overhang of the immigration building. Bits of debris pepper the ground. Sweat trails down my neck as I stretch my mind, widening the rift. The SUV begins to sway as the asphalt shakes.
I hear the sharp intake of breaths. Hear the scramble of feet as people retreat into their cars. I feel the pavement crack and splinter, every movement of the quake echoing in the fibers of my own body. A fissure splits the sidewalk. The jagged line creeps past the immigration building through the entry ports, then under the electronic gates.
“That’s it,” Jack says low in my ear as the crack turns, stretching across the highway. “Just a little more.” The windows of the immigration building rattle. Shouts ring out.
There’s a hiss and pop as Amber and Julio blow the electrical transformers. The wind carries the scent of smoke. Boots pound the pavement, border guards calling out orders as they rush toward the fire.
Jack’s voice grows urgent. “More, Fleur.”
I keep pushing. Grit my teeth as the earth stretches and tears. Jack catches me as I slide down the side of the car.
“Now!” he shouts.
Suddenly, I’m on my feet, one arm slung around him. Noelle and the others, all of us running, not away from the chaos, but toward it. Border patrol officers disappear into the building, shouting“¡Terremoto!”and calling forbomberosinto their radios. We duck under the collapsing archway, dodging cracks in the ground.
Amber and Julio shout from the other side of the gates, waving us on. A sinkhole opens behind them, the ground devouring itself in increasingly large bites. I grope for the falling pieces with my mind,desperate to put them back, but it feels like I’m grasping for an animal that’s slipped its leash.
