Gabriel knew it was ungrateful to complain about the truck. They’d been lucky to find the old square body in a dusty barn. An old eighties model Chevy with rusted-over paint and a questionable undercarriage. Years of driving over salted roads had done its damage, but the thing was holding on. Even the EMPs couldn’t kill it. Not permanently. Tommy and Judd had been able to get it working again.
The door creaked when Gabriel stepped out, stretching out his sore back. He caught a whiff of himself and grimaced.Bathing was a luxury at the best of times, but they’d been going flat out for so long he couldn’t remember the last time he’d even wiped himself down. Or changed his clothes.
Victoria came around the truck. Her boots crunched in the slushy snow as she hefted her backpack. “You taking this to Irving?”
Gabriel looked at the dark motel. He could see candles flickering in a few of the windows. It wasn’t too late yet—although time was funny when it didn’t have a label. He wanted to go to his room and kiss Blake breathless. Wanted Blake to tell him all about what he was reading while he washed up. Crawl under the covers and just exist next to him.
But he took the bag. “Yeah. He’ll be up my ass otherwise.”
Her lips quirked. “Better you than me.”
He didn’t watch her walk toward her room, swallowing down the burning jealousy. Sighing, he watched his breath plume white in front of his lips before hefting the backpack and beginning his walk toward Irving’s office.
Phin was long gone, but Judd had one hand on the driver’s side door, his face blank as he stared at the spot Victoria had vacated.
“Don’t start anything,” Gabriel warned him, voice low.
Judd blinked once before smiling slyly. “Who me? Nah, not tonight. I’m wrung out like last week’s laundry.” Judd glanced down at the bag in Gabriel’s hand. “It’ll keep, you know.”
Gabriel didn’t answer, just knocked on Judd’s helmet before striding past him. With every step it felt like someone had poured concrete in his boots, but if the army had taught him anything, it was to run on fumes. Pulling off his helmet, he navigated the motel parking lot on his way to the lobby.
There wasn’t much to dodge—a couple of older vehicles in various stages of operation, a flatbed trailer for scavenging, and the occasional chicken that hadn’t yet found its way to roost.
Someone left candles burning in the lobby, and it took a minute for Gabriel’s eyes to adjust. It had been a few weeks since he’d had any kind of light. He set his helmet on the front desk and scrubbed his hand through his greasy, matted hair. It felt unpleasant. It needed a trim. So did his beard. It had grown in thick and dark, and he’d long since gotten used to the feel of it.
Blake said he liked it.
Irving’s door was open, but Gabriel knocked anyway. If he was surprised to see Gabriel, he didn’t show it. Leaning forward on his elbows, he steepled his fingers and appraised Gabriel in that way he did.
They’d known each other for years, but Irving still looked the same. His dark skin was pockmarked with a few acne scars, but it didn’t detract from his overall blandness. Perhaps it was intentional, or maybe a twist of genetics, but Irving had the kind of face that was difficult to picture. Were it not for his thin glasses—the ones Judd swore he didn’t actually need—Irving might be entirely forgettable.
“It’s about time.”
Until he opened his mouth. Theneveryoneremembered Irving. Most with distaste.
Over the years, Gabriel and Irving had developed a sort of mutual understanding. Not respect, because Gabriel was certain Irving didn’t respect anyone, but they needed each other. They had skills the other didn’t, and together they made a pretty decent team.
“You know,” Gabriel started airily. “Traffic was a bitch.”
Irving made a face. “That boy has been a bad influence on you.”
Gabriel didn’t respond to that. Irving usedboylike bait. One Gabriel was too tired to bite.
Still dressed in a crisp button down, hair perfectly trimmed, and somehow smelling like vanilla. Irving was looking for a risein Gabriel. Why, he didn’t know. A couple of years ago, it might have worked.
Dropping the backpack on Irving’s desk, Gabriel bit back a smile when the man yelped, snatching the filthy bag off his notebooks and holding it up with two fingers.
Before he could start up, Gabriel spoke, “Three days.”
Irving’s face twisted. “What?” he paused, and then glanced at the bag. “You did it?”
“That was the mission.”
Forgetting the filth, Irving set the bag down and greedily ripped open the zipper. He pulled out the camera, a stack of Polaroids, and a notebook they’d taken turns writing observations in.
Tossing the empty bag to the floor, Irving tugged a candle closer so he could peer down over the Polaroids. “Unbelievable.”
“Blake was right,” Gabriel pushed. “They have short life spans. Designed solely to fight the Off Formers.”
