24. Knox
TWENTY-FOUR
KNOX
Horse hooves on the asphalt, creaking leather, and clanking food cans fill the late morning as I saddle Rooster. It’s muscle memory at this point, and I go through the motions while Ava sorts through our provisions. With nothing more than our backpacks and horses to carry supplies, everything has to be reassessed, and quickly.
Lucy and the horses eat the last full meal they’ll likely get for a while, and though we should probably eat something as well, I’m too nauseous to think about food at the moment. Too...numb.
I figured the horses might come in handy, but we’ve barely started the journey and we’re already truckless; most of our supplies will be left behind. My mind is elsewhere as I slide Rooster’s bit into his mouth, grateful the horses are okay, even if our prepping and planning has been for nothing. Half the shit I got from Scott is useless. Everything that happened at the warehouse and him dying was for what, exactly? Because we’re in the middle of fucking nowhere with who knows how long to go before we get to Julio’s, and hundreds of miles still before I get to Mason’s.
All of this feels pointless, and the more I think about it, the more my hands tremble, the more my chest burns, and my throat begins to close. Eventually, I can’t even see the damn cinch belt.
I step over the trailer hitch and cross the road, marching under the bridge where I can lose my shit in private, because it’s all too much. “Goddammit, Knox.” I can hear my father’s voice like he’s hot on my heels. I should have been more careful. I should have driven slower. I should not have come to Sweetwater to begin with—we should’ve driven straight for Kansas.
I stop at the edge of the creek and tear my baseball cap off, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. Gritting my teeth, I will the acidic burn of defeat and disappointment away and I blow out a breath, then another, and crouch by the water’s edge. The sound of a babbling brook should be peaceful, but it’s only a reminder that we can’t even rely on drinkable water.
Elbows on my knees, I hang my head. I should be grateful I’m not alone in this, but it’s only a matter of time before I am, and the reality of that hits the hardest.
Lucy trots over and nudges my arm with her wet nose, licks the side of my face, and nestles her way into my hold. She’s a lifeline I never knew I needed, and I wrap my arms around her neck, holding on as tightly as I dare as I soak her energy in.
“Come on, Knox,” I mutter. “Get your shit together.” I exhale, wiping the dampness from my eyes. One task at a time. Just like I have been doing since all of this started. I need something to focus on—one single purpose to fulfill. I need to get Ava to Julio, and I’ll figure out my next step after.
I fill my lungs with a long, tension-easing breath, welcoming the burn as I wait for the lump in my throat to subside. With all the determination I can manage, I adjust my ball cap and hike back to the road, wiping my eyes for a final time.
Ava averts her gaze when I get to the trailer. She’s not dumb. Ava knows I’m barely holding myself together, and I appreciate that she keeps her unsolicited reassurances to herself. We both know the past four days have been the worst of our lives, and words change nothing. For now, her presence is enough, even if it’s only temporary.
“Ready?” I tighten the cinch on Loca’s saddle and move to Rooster’s next.
“Ready.” Ava hands me my N95 mask, but I shove it into my back pocket instead of putting it on. The smoke in the air is the least of my concerns right now. I take stock of my shotgun and handgun, and all the ammo and gear we can manage between our two backpacks and the saddlebags.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” I grumble, and after patting the pistol holstered at my side, I climb into Rooster’s saddle.
Ava dons a Toxic Positivity ball cap with rainbow lettering, and I almost snort. Her eyes skirt to mine as she pulls her ponytail through the back with a knowing smile. Her black hair falls long and straight down her back. “It was a gag gift,” she explains.
“Obviously,” I mutter.
She mounts Loca, and it’s more graceful than expected for a first-time rider.
The mare cranes her neck, watching Ava curiously as she situates herself in the saddle, like the buckskin knows Ava is a newbie.
“I would be remiss,” Ava starts, staring Loca in the eyes, “not to point out the fact that you have given me the horse named Loca.”
I grin. “She’s sweet, Ava. You don’t have to worry about her.”
Nervously, Ava licks her lips. “Remember who fed you,” she says, leaning down to give Loca a pat. “And who snuck you an apple back at the ranch.”
I try to stifle my amusement, though in truth, I appreciate the distraction. “Time for a crash course,” I tell her, and I lift my reins. “Hold them about here so you aren’t tugging back on her head while we’re walking. You want to give her some slack to move comfortably.”
Ava mimics my grip on the leather reins, and I demonstrate the rest of the commands. “Gently pull back to slow or stop her. Move the reins left and right, depending which way you want her to go. She’ll move as she feels the pressure against her neck, and you don’t have to yank.”
Ava nods like a bobble head. “It’s the height of the fall that worries me most,” she explains.
“She’s a good girl, she’ll listen,” I promise. “And when you want her to start walking, squeeze your thighs a little or click your tongue. It’s as simple as that.”
“I’ve seen the movies,” Ava says, her brown eyes shifting between me and Loca in distrust. “What if something spooks her and she takes off running?”
This time, I can’t resist a chuckle at the pitch of panic in her voice. “You hold on for dear life.”
Ava’s eyes widen so much their amber flecks shimmer despite the shadow of her hat.
My laugh deepens. “You’ll be fine. Rooster is more likely to spook than Loca, but if something does happen, hold on to that saddle horn, pull back on the reins if you can, and eventually, she’ll stop. I’ll come after you, if it’s that bad.”
Ava licks her lips, gripping the saddle horn until her knuckles whiten.
“Ava?”
She peers down at the asphalt like she’s peeking over a plunging ledge. At sixteen hands, Loca is a tall horse, but even if she wasn’t, I imagine Ava would be just as leery.
“Ava.”
Her gaze darts to me.
“You’ll be fine. There’s a reason my dad kept Poppy and not Loca.” The truth hurts to admit. “Loca’s seasoned and has a good temperament—she’s used to cutting cattle and working in more chaos than this.” I gesture to the empty road and sporadic trees. “This is a cakewalk for her, and I’m right here if something happens.” Obviously anything could happen, but I don’t dare say that.
“All right, then.” Ava squares her shoulders with determination.
Lifting my reins again, I pull back for Rooster to reverse and turn him away from the trailer, toward the road.
“You didn’t show me that one,” Ava grumbles, and I flash her a smile over my shoulder. Slow and hesitant, she mimics the command, and Loca obeys, falling easily into step beside me.
I whistle for Lucy, and gritting my teeth, I glance at the truck and trailer we’re leaving behind for a final time.
“Julio might have a spare vehicle you can take,” Ava offers, and while I appreciate the thought, I can’t think about him right now. My head aches enough already.
Lucy trots ahead, sniffing the blackberry bushes at the end of the bridge. A butterfly lands on a blossom, and as Lucy’s snout nuzzles deeper, a bird flutters out. It strikes me how small pockets of the world are unaffected, at least for now, and I appreciate how normal it seems.
“My ass is so going to hurt after this,” Ava mutters. I try not to stare as I watch her settle into the saddle from the corner of my eye. She eases her grip on the reins and pommel, and eventually, as Ava loosens up, her body sways with each step Loca takes, like Ava is part of the rhythm.
We continue around a bend with scant trees or shade for a while. The sun heats the back of my neck and arms, and soon my jeans feel stuck to my thighs.
“This heat is killer,” Ava grumbles, and she knocks her ponytail off her shoulder. Sweat dampens the back of her gray tank top and my t-shirt clings to me like a second skin.
“Tell me about it.”
Ava glares up at the sun. “So,” she drawls, “do you want the good news or the not-so-good news first?”
Whatever tension had left my body coils back into place. “Let’s start with the good news.”
“All right, then. West Bradford,” she starts, tilting her head at me, “the street Julio lives on, is right off this road. So, we won’t have to trek through town or anything.”
I stare at her, reluctant to ask, “And the not-so-good news?”
She shrugs. “It’s still about two miles away.”
I frown. “Why is that bad news?” I assumed we had more than a couple of miles to go.
A hint of a smile tugs at Ava’s full lips. “It’s not. But you looked like you needed a break from whatever that scowl was about.” She mimics me with an exaggerated expression, and I smile despite myself.
“If I really look like that, please, just shoot me now and put me out of my misery.”
Ava’s shoulders rise with a soft chuckle, and she pats a trifold sticking out of her back pocket. “I found a map in the glove box. I figured it would come in handy since Google Maps is no longer an option.”
“Smart.”
Ava winks at me, and I know what she’s doing. She’s distracting me from myself, and I appreciate the diversion.
We fall into companionable silence, scanning every shadow, dirt road, and driveway for danger, hyperaware of our surroundings as we ride closer to Sweetwater.
The hotter it becomes, the more I pray Julio has drinkable water for us and the horses when we finally get there.
I notice Ava fidgeting from the corner of my eye, picking at the dried blood on her hairline.
“How are you feeling?” I can’t see her wound from this side.
“Fine. I have a headache, but I’ll survive.”
“When we can take a real break, we’ll put some ointment on it.”
She waves my concern away. “Seriously, I’ll be fine. We’ve been through worse.”
There were never truer words, and our eyes linger on one another this time. The accident was nothing compared to what happened with Lars. “I can’t believe this is our life,” I mutter.
Ava snorts. “I can. It seems like my entire life has been building up to this.” Her voice is filled with as much derision as exhaustion. “Like the universe has been preparing me for things to get shittier and shittier.”
“There you go, touting that toxic positivity again.”
Ava grins—a real one this time. “What can I say? It pours out of me effortlessly.”
A distant hum meets our ears, loudening as a car whizzes down the road. Ava grips on the saddle horn tighter, and I nod for us to move farther off the shoulder, steering the horses as far away from the asphalt as we can. We pull them to a stop and wait for the car to pass. My hand goes to my pistol, and I nod for Ava to unstrap the shotgun on her saddle, just in case. Her eyes are wide and her chest heaves in time with my pounding heart.
“If you need to,” I tell her, my gaze flicking to the car as it slows, “ride for Julio’s.”
“Yeah—” Ava nods and licks her lips. “Okay.”
I hold my breath as the Volvo station wagon rolls to a stop, it’s diesel engine idling a few yards from us. The back seat is packed to the gills with belongings, and two older women sit in the front. That makes me feel slightly less apprehensive, but not much.
Tilting their heads, they peer at us through the windshield. They converse in the safety of the car for a moment, and I nod in greeting, attempting to look as non-threatening as possible.
Finally, the driver rolls down her window. “Where are you two headed?” Her gaze darts from me to Ava.
“We know someone in Sweetwater.”
“It’s a nuthouse,” the woman in the passenger seat says, her voice barely reaching my ears over the sound of the engine.
The driver eyes us carefully. “You been south?” Her gray hair is piled on top of her head, and she’s wearing a short-sleeved grocer’s uniform.
“We came from Sonora.”
She blinks. “And?”
“Don’t go,” I tell her easily. “There’s nothing left.”
The two women exchange a glance and look at us again. “The fires?”
Dipping my chin, I peer up the road toward town. Nuthouse to them could mean anything, so I ask, “How bad is it that direction?”
“The ground is splitting in the Panhandle Plains, our firefighters are deployed throughout Hill Country, our police force is too small to manage the amount of scared and desperate people coming through, and the government is threatening martial law, but we have yet to see a single uniform. They’re all too busy dealing with the big cities. So, how do you think?”
“Point taken,” I mutter. “And your militias?”
“Same as they’ve always been,” she says dryly. “Present.”
“Well, there is nothing for you south of here,” I tell her. “Only wildfires and a spreading sinkhole. Trust me, you don’t want to head that way.” The instant the woman in the passenger seat breaks into tears, I feel horrible for being so callous about it.
The driver murmurs something to her and rubs the woman’s shoulder before meeting my gaze. “Evacuation centers?”
I shake my head. The driver purses her lips and glances between me and Ava again. “Safe travels,” she says, and then rolls her window up, continuing down the road without a single look back.
I meet Ava’s gaze, and I watch the tension in her shoulders deflate as she takes a deep breath.
“Let’s keep moving,” I say, glancing at the disappearing car once more, and we continue down the road.
“What do you think she meant by the ground splitting?” Ava asks, sounding withdrawn and apprehensive.
“From the earthquakes, maybe?” I lift the bill of my ball cap and run my hand over my head. “Hopefully Julio will know.”
We ride for a few minutes in silence, speaking nothing of what we’ve learned because it doesn’t change anything. Instead, I stew in thought and consider our chances of getting into Sweetwater without seeing another person.
Lucy trots beside us, exhausted but keeping pace with the horses. I can almost appreciate the eerily still world since the last thing we want is to run into people.
The horses spook as a gunshot rings through the air somewhere in the distance. Ava and I look at each other, her chest heaving as much as mine. Two more shots ring out. They are far away but hair-raising nonetheless.
“We need to get off this road,” we say at once.
I lift my reins, waiting for Ava to follow suit. “Settle into your saddle and push your heels down. It’s about to get bumpy.” I grip my saddle horn for Ava’s benefit, and she follows my demonstration as I click my tongue and nudge Rooster into a trot along the shoulder. Ava lurches in her saddle as Loca follows us with little persuasion, and Lucy lopes beside us, her tongue hanging from her mouth.
When Ava seems to have gotten the hang of it, we break into a canter, keeping to the shade trees and out of direct sight.
The road seems to stretch on and on before West Bradford finally comes into view.
“Left or right?” I call over my shoulder.
“Right!”
When we get to the fork in the road, we veer off, slowing our horses to a trot as we take in the country road. Lucy all but collapses in the shade of an ash tree as our horses catch their breath. “We’re looking for lot four-eleven,” Ava says.
We press the horses onward, and I let Lucy rest until she’s ready to catch up. Ava and I pass fenced horse pastures and open fields. There are No Trespassing signs posted in some areas, and one lot looks fortified for the end of times. But all of that fades away as the weight of where I am going and who I am about to see finally, really hits me with a slow, cold trickle of dread.
This is the guy who killed my mother.
Julio is the man who upturned everything, and I’m about to come face-to-face with him.
The realization is paralyzing for a moment. Then anger consumes me, followed by an unexpected flood of resentment, but not because of my mom, and that gives me pause.
If it weren’t for Julio, Ava and I might still be on our way to Kansas. We might still have the truck, and I wouldn’t be taking her to him, only to be on my own for the rest of my journey.
I watch Ava and Loca as they take the lead a few strides ahead.
When did my future become so entangled with Ava’s? When did my level of comfort and fortitude become dependent on her presence? Of all the sobering thoughts I’ve had today, continuing on without Ava is the most looming.
Ava pulls Loca to a stop in front of a white fence.
Rooster and I halt beside them, but I don’t see a lot number. “Is this it?” I glance behind us for Lucy, who leisurely follows behind us.
“I just had this moment of clarity,” she says. Her eyes meet mine. “I’m about to see my uncle, who I haven’t seen since the night of the accident. And you’re about to see the man who—who ruined your life,” she adds more quietly.
“Don’t worry about me, Ava. I’m more worried about what happens when I leave you here—that this is somewhere you should even be right now.” I can’t help the sharpness in my voice, because all of this feels wrong.
Ava stares at me, her eyes shifting from my eyes to my hat and then back to the white fence, but she says nothing more. What can she say? We’ve come all this way to bring her here. Neither of us knows what will happen next.
Ava worries her bottom lip like she’s having second thoughts, then nudges Loca down the dirt drive.
Instead of overthinking Ava’s hesitation, I un-holster my pistol, resting it against my thigh as I keep pace beside her. I don’t think Julio would go out of his way to hurt Ava, but I don’t trust the son of a bitch either. I heard he was on the straight and narrow since being released from prison, but that means nothing to me. Not when the world is falling to shit and Julio has a track record of selfish tendencies and zero coping skills, which left Ava an orphan.
Eventually, a house comes into view through an apple orchard. Its chipped, white paint has seen better days, and a rusted Chevy pickup is parked under a dilapidated carport built off to the side. The only thing that makes the place look lived-in are the fresh tire tracks in the gravel, and a couple of cushioned chairs on the porch.
As we ride closer, I note the large, raised planter beds and vegetable gardens that run along the right side of the house, and a dozen or so apple trees stretch beyond them.
Ava looks skeptical as she brings Loca to a stop in front of the porch. Her eyes lock with mine for only a second before she dismounts and lands on her feet with a thud. The weight of her backpack makes her teeter.
I dismount. “Do you want me to go in with you?” I help her shrug off her pack, and the whole time a part of me is screaming that I shouldn’t let her out of my sight. The other part of me is wound so tight, I’m afraid to go inside for my own well-being.
“No, I’ll be fine.” Ava hands me Loca’s reins. “Julio told me to come. He’s probably been waiting for me.” She nods toward a rolled-up hose at the corner of the house. “You should water the horses. I’ll, uh, be out in a minute.”
I nod, grateful to postpone my meeting with Julio for as long as I can, and holster my gun. Lucy sniffs around the old truck, finding more shade out of the heat, and I peel my backpack off, giving my sweaty back some air. Clothes, water, a bedroll, and first aid kit—all of it is crammed in there, filling the Osprey bag to near bursting
“Here goes,” Ava mutters, and clearing her throat, she readjusts her hat. “Julio?” Ava steps onto the porch and peers through the screen door. “It’s Ava.” As she opens the screen and steps inside, I lead the horses to the hose by the garden. I can’t help the way my heart pounds, how dry my throat is, or the way my neck is so tight, it aches to move it.
“No.” I tug Rooster’s reins away from the vegetables growing over the side of the garden bed. “That’s not for you.” I angle him toward the hose instead, occupying him with the promise of water. It hasn’t smelled like sulfur since Sutton County, so I assume it’s drinkable, in small amounts at least. There’s an upturned water bucket with shears on it that I flip over to fill.
The horses nip at each other, battling for the water bucket, and I take their reins again. “Easy,” I soothe, lifting the hose to Loca’s mouth while Rooster slurps from the bucket.
Her ears perk up, and she lips at the cool spray. I’m half tempted to run the water over my head to cool myself off when Rooster’s head jolts from the bucket, his eyes wide and nervous, and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
I feel the press of metal against my neck, and my heart stops beating.
“I don’t want any trouble,” a familiar, gravelly voice says. It’s low with warning, but there’s a tinge of fear too.
“No? Then maybe you should remove the barrel of your gun from my neck,” I grit out. My fingers itch to reach for my pistol, but Julio is too close to risk it.
“Leave my property,” he demands. “Or I will shoot you. Just like your friend.”
My blood runs cold and every ounce of bravado I have drains away. “What?”
“Come on, now. Move.” The barrel presses harder into my flesh, but all I see is red.
“Or what?” I seethe. “You’ll kill me like you killed my mother?” For some ungodly reason, I turn around to face him.
Julio’s brow is etched with deep lines, his skin weatherworn, and his mouth agape as he stumbles back. His mustache trembles with his lip.
“Knox Bennett?” He looks horrified to see me. His tanned skin pales, and his brown eyes are...wrong.
“Julio,” I grind out. I mean to knock the gun from his hand, but there’s something about his shock—his awe in seeing me—that gives me pause. His gaze shifts over my face in utter confusion. “Where the hell is Ava?”
He stumbles back. “Ava?” Julio’s eyes flare with apprehension.
“She went into the house. We thought you were in there.” Fear grips hold of me as I imagine Ava inside with someone who is not Julio—someone dangerous enough to warrant my being held at gunpoint. “Ava!” I barely hear her name as it leaves my lips, drowned out by the sound of her scream.
Julio lunges for the front door, tripping over himself.
I bypass him and run inside.