Chapter 17 Shopping Trip #2
“Plenty of ammo, a couple backpacks,” the blond man greeted them, pulling away from the store as if he stole both cars and bullets every day of the week. “Plus a couple burners. Figured it was worth a try.”
“Since payphones have gone the way of the dodo.” Nigel checked to make sure Cass was buckled in—it was also overwhelmingly strange to be fussed over as if she couldn’t open doors or take care of her own seatbelt.
“Do you remember dodos?” It seemed a serious question, or at least, Ed delivered it with a straight face.
“Never saw one,” the older man fired back. “But I don’t rule it out.”
Several items stacked on the middle of the backseat still had antitheft tags attached. Nigel simply cupped each plastic doohickey in his palm for a moment, a colorless shimmer nearly solidifying around his fist, and voila, they clicked open with no trouble at all.
Now that was useful; she watched closely through a heavy veil of fatigue. Were these guys really blurred past recognition on security cameras too?
What Bern wouldn’t give for that little trick. Trille would be bursting with curiosity, Steve watching with his narrow I’m gonna pretend I didn’t see that cop stare.
Cass’s eyes prickled; she had to shut off that line of thought in a hurry.
Lunch was another drive-thru, Tex-Mex she barely tasted. It probably wasn’t as good as the burritos the guys had eaten while waiting for her to return from recon.
Everything was disconnected, the sound of the tires on pavement burrowing into her cotton-stuffed head.
They had swung away from the river between Washington and Oregon, into a landscape rolling yellow and taupe with bits of dusty olive and simmering green.
It looked a little like some parts of California, and once or twice she felt a hazy sense of shock when she realized she wasn’t riding shotgun in the pickup or RV, but in a stolen car with two strangers, bogey-hunters with outright miraculous abilities.
Nigel attempted more conversation a few times, but Cass pulled further into herself with each passing mile.
Until a very good question occurred to her. “Hey.” Breaking the thick silence felt rude, but she was committed now. “Um… do you guys have any nods?”
Everything about this was eerie, but the way their attention fastened on her—Ed stiffening at the wheel, Nigel pausing while folding up the remains of lunch into a single, easily-discarded bag—was thought-provoking as well.
“I’m sorry, ma’am, I don’t quite understand.” A faint hint of puzzlement crossed Nigel’s expression. “Nods?”
She was too tired to repeat you’ve kidnapped me, for Chrissake just call me Cass. “You know, painkillers, downers, anything like that?”
“Drugs?” Paper crinkled, Nigel’s fingers tensing on the bag. “The… people you were with, they drugged you?”
I drugged myself, thanks. And long before Trille showed up to do it right. “How do you think I didn’t go crazy? Whatever you call what I am, it’s not fun, okay? I can’t do things like shoplift an entire store or make bogeys explode. All I can do is—”
Oops. Cass shut up so fast her teeth clicked together.
These weren’t her crew, she couldn’t yell at them. Trille would look sheepish, Apoc roll his eyes while doing what she told him to, Steve fold his arms and wait for someone else to calm her down, Grik would snap to attention, and poor Frank…
Stop fooling yourself. They’re all dead, because of you.
“You perform miracles.” Nigel glanced to the front, checking traffic through the windshield. The shift strangely didn’t change the sensation of his attention centered on her, like strong sunshine through glass. “To be precise. Are you in pain?”
I’m alive, if that’s what you mean. “I just need something to take the edge off.” Since you basically shoplifted half a Bi-Mart, why couldn’t you knock over the pharmacy as well?
She couldn’t say that, either. She had to stay on her toes, watch these men carefully—but she was so fucking tired, withdrawal throbbing in her muscles, banging between her temples.
Some of the ache could be dehydration; she didn’t even want to drink too much water in case they wouldn’t stop for a bathroom break.
Being kidnapped was goddamn stressful.
“We should keep moving,” Ed said, as if someone had suggested otherwise.
Nigel dropped the bag into the front seat, dusting his palms together, then settled back and extended a hand in Cass’s direction. “May I?”
Depends on what you’re gonna do. Cass eyed him mistrustfully, weighing her options.
“A simple diagnostic,” he continued. “It may even alleviate some discomfort. But I won’t, without your consent.”
That’s so nice of you. “Very polite for a kidnapper.” How much snark would they allow? Better to find out now.
“It’s a situational hazard, my lady. Not an avocation.”
It took her a moment to untangle the words, and even though she was trapped in a stolen car with two magical bogey-hunters, her mouth twitched.
A panicked, screaming laugh boiled up in her throat, was sternly repressed, and retreated leaving a strong taste of steak, tortilla, and Spanish rice in its wake.
The SUV’s air conditioning was better than the RV’s, but its breath against suddenly sweating skin made her feel feverish.
It took more courage than Cass thought she had left to lay her fingers gingerly in his palm. Nigel nodded approvingly, as if she’d done something difficult, and invisible, heavy prickling moved over her in a wave.
The sensation strictly avoided anything impolite, almost like being patted down by a bored juvie guard, and it wasn’t painful.
However, it made the various aches, bruises, bumps and scrapes—from dumping the Ducati to being thrown flat under live fire—all light up, and Cass discovered there wasn’t a single part of her which didn’t hurt.
“We’ll stop in the next urban area large enough to provide cover.” Nigel let go of her hand like she’d burned him, and began filling stolen backpacks with the clothes and ammo. “You’re right that we should keep moving, my Elder, but our lirai is in pain.”