Chapter 63 - Mars
The silence between us is thick and heavy with all the words that still need to be said.
After what I told Torrin, I don’t know what I expected.
Maybe a fight, maybe some understanding?
Instead, I get nothing but the steady thrum of tires on pavement and the occasional creak of the truck’s suspension.
I watch the cracked moon through the windshield.
It feels closer than ever, a monster eye watching everything unravel below it.
My throat’s still raw from confessing, from finally saying out loud that it’s my fault Atlas and his parents are gone. That I ruined Luna’s entire life. That I walked away not because I stopped loving her, but because I did love her and couldn’t live with what I’d done.
Torrin hasn’t looked at me since. Not once. But he also didn’t throw me out of the truck. So maybe that’s something.
I lean my head against the window and close my eyes.
Each mile that passes tightens the knot in my gut.
We’re getting close now. I can feel it. I want to talk with him, tell him about what I’ve learned from the Pixie and the new powers I have, but now doesn’t feel like the right time.
Things are fragile enough between us without adding that weight to it.
It’s not until we hit the town’s outskirts that anything breaks the silence.
A dusty SUV coming toward us slows down, the window rolling down as it gets closer with an arm waving at us to stop.
Torrin slows and pulls to the shoulder as the other car coasts to a stop beside us.
Inside is a family with the parents in the front and two kids crammed in the backseat.
The man driving leans out, waving a warning hand.
"You don’t want to go that way," he tells us, his voice tight with nerves. "There’s a roadblock up ahead with soldiers. They’re stopping every car, pulling people out, and forcing them onto buses."
Torrin straightens, eyes narrowing. "What kind of soldiers?"
The man glances around before replying. "The kind wearing fatigues and carrying big ass guns. I don’t know who they are, but they’re sure as hell not Canadian.
They sounded English, but none of them would show IDs when people asked.
My guess? It’s not official. It didn’t feel official, you know?
There’s a bunch of English soldiers at the base so maybe that's where they're from? I have no idea what they would be doing here, manning a roadblock and forcing people on a bus. They were rough with some of the people we saw. They grabbed a woman, and when her teenage son started to argue, they hit him really damn hard and slammed him to the ground. They won’t say where they’re taking anyone.
We were just going in to check on my parents, but fuck that.
Not taking the chance of having my family hauled away.
I didn’t wait around to talk to them myself when I saw what was going on.
I was far enough back that I could spin around and leave.
We’re heading east again to see if we can loop back through on a different route. "
I lean forward. "You’re sure they weren’t just helping evacuate?"
The man scoffs bitterly. "If that’s helping, then I’m the goddamn Prime Minister.
Look, just be careful. Shit’s getting worse out here.
People are scared and desperate. Some of them have weird powers now, too.
Others just have guns." He shrugs. “Maybe the soldiers are helping with all that madness, but we don’t want to get rounded up with the rest.”
With a nod, he rolls up his window, and the car takes off with a growl of its engine and quickly dwindles in the distance.
Torrin pulls forward a few feet, then stops again. We sit there in silence, both digesting what we just heard.
"So," he mutters, finally breaking it. "Now what?"
I rub my jaw, tension radiating down my spine. "Well, this is the Trans-Canada, the main highway. Stands to reason that it would have the most guards, right?"
He nods slowly. "Yup."
"Then maybe we try back roads. There’s a few smaller highways that loop into town from the north. Think they’ll be guarded too?"
He considers that for a second, then shakes his head. "Not likely. If they’re expecting people to flee or come in, they’ll hit the major arteries, not the secondary roads."
I glance out at the prairie stretching endlessly in every direction. Golden fields, low fences, and distant farmhouses under the eye of the fractured moon.
"We’re so fucking close," I whisper. "She’s right there and I’ve already wasted too much time."
Torrin exhales through his nose and shifts the truck into gear. "Then let’s not waste any more."
He spins the wheel, and we flip a U-turn, tires crunching on the gravel shoulder as we head back to find another way in. Neither of us says it out loud, but the same thought is twisting in both our guts.
If something’s happening in town… if Luna’s caught in the middle of it…
We might already be too late.