She’s lost. And not a little bit lost, either—hopelessly. She ripped the map from the atlas before she left, following the route Asher marked in pen. She looks it over now, using her thumb and forefinger to try to measure out distance. It’s futile. The road ahead is wide and flat and empty. Behind her is more of the same.
She walks a little faster. Poppy did something to her hair to make it feel like satin. It sits tucked behind her ears in a severe slash of gold. Her cross heats against her skin, Asher’s spoon and Lys’s gear clinking with each step. She should have chucked them both into the sea.
Beneath the dress, she wears a wooden stake strapped to her thigh. Not a stunted bolt or a narrow palisade, but one with heft. White ash, whittled sharp.
At this point, she’d be better off falling on it herself.
There’s no sign of life in any direction. She’s hyperaware of the time, her eyes on the sun. Already, it’s tipping out of the sky’s midpoint. Any moment, Asher might wander out to the RV and find her gone. If he and Lys come after her now, she’ll be outpaced within the hour. She can’t think of anything more humiliating.
She walks a little faster, wicking sweat from her brow, and checks the map again.
There’s a good possibility that she’s grossly misjudged the distance.
She’s gone another mile or so when she notices the car following her. She sees it along her periphery—a black jeep, windows tinted. It slows to a crawl without passing, tailing her at a snail’s pace that raises the hair on the back of her neck.
She keeps going, waiting for it to move on. It doesn’t. Instead, it pulls up beside her. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the window roll down. A quick glance shows her the profile of a boy. He looks to be about her age, fair skin freckled by the sun, the wind ruffling a head of chestnut curls. His eyes are shaded behind a pair of dark sunglasses, but his grin is wide and bright and disarming.
“Need a ride?”
“No.” She walks a little faster.
He matches her pace, the engine humming. “Where are you headed?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“You’re right,” he admits, grinning still. “But you’re deep in Keeling territory, and it’s not too often you see a girl walking alone out here. At least not in the middle of the day. Are you going to the revel?”
She falters a step and then continues on. “That’s also none of your business.”
“That’s a yes, then.” He hits the brakes, sliding to a halt. “Just so you know—you’re going the wrong direction.”
She frowns down at the torn bit of road atlas. “That can’t be right.”
“Tragically true.” He hooks his elbow out the window, keeping one hand on the wheel. Waiting as she turns the map this way, then that, grumbling all the while.
With a curse, she crushes the map into a ball. “I don’t know how to read this.”
“Let me give you a ride. Look, I’ve got— Hold on.” He reaches into his glove compartment and comes up with a little black canister. “I’ve got pepper spray. If I do anything that makes you uncomfortable, you canzzzt”—he mimes spraying it—“spray it right in my eyes.”
She looks at the road one more time. It veers out of sight up ahead, heat snapping against the asphalt. Her shoulders burn. Her feet ache. She’s getting nowhere, fast.
“Fine,” she says. “But only because I’m desperate.”
He smiles as she rounds the front of the car, leaning across the passenger seat to push open the door. It’s cool in the cabin. A fabricated chill envelops her the moment she climbs inside. The seats are leather, buttery and new. Everything in Little Hill is secondhand, rusted and reupholstered, and the newness of the interior strikes her momentarily numb.
“I’m Max,” says the boy, when she’s seated. “Hansen.”
She reaches for her seat belt. “I’d say thanks for the ride, but I’m reserving that until you deliver me there alive.”
“No thanks needed.” Max glances over the top of his sunglasses. “I’d settle for a name, though.”
Unease worms its way into her. She looks out the window, clinging to the pepper spray like it’s a lifeline.
“Or,” says Max, drawing it out, “we can sit here in friendly silence.”
“Friendly silence, please.”
“You got it.”
