Chapter Thirteen #2
“What? A blow dart? Seems pretty simple to me.” I step toward him and blow air in his face.
His lip curve up in a half smile. “Good, you’ve got that one down. But a blow dart will only get you so far. How would you hold a gun?”
I cross my arms. “I didn’t sign up for a weapons lesson.”
“Want to?”
What is he getting at?
Jasper lowers his voice to a whisper and says, “With a gun, you could defend yourself against nice guys—and not-so-nice guys.” He glances up at the moon. “I’ll let you think about it. I’m going inside, and you should, too. It’s not safe out here at night.”
“Is there a curfew?”
Jasper almost laughs. “No, we’re free to do as we please. That also means it can get dangerous in the dark.”
“Coyotes?”
Jasper leans down and whispers in my ear, “Raiders.”
A chill runs down my spine.
With a wave, Jasper says, “Later, Pegs,” then disappears into the dark house.
I should follow him inside. I will go inside. But I need a minute. A minute completely to myself. When was the last time I was truly alone? When I wasn’t under someone’s orders?
The day Mom died, six years ago, is the last I can remember. I swam laps in our neighborhood pool until my lungs nearly gave out, just like hers. Then Dad shoved us off to Grandma’s, and the weight of the world landed on my shoulders. My life was no longer my own.
For a moment, right now, it’s simply me and the wind.
I close my eyes and listen.
Cicadas chirp in the chattering trees, and water trickles gently down the creek.
There are a lot of things I miss about electricity: the yellow glow of my bedside lamp before bed, the mystic theme song of that Viking video game West played, a freezer for grape popsicles.
What I don’t miss? Electricity’s incessant hum.
As I stand outside Jasper’s home, every sound is loud enough to be heard.
A strong breeze twists through the air, plastering wet strands of hair to my right cheek.
I peel the hair off. Over my shoulder, pebbles skitter along the winding path that leads to the cottage.
Shadows dance in the woods. The shapes and sounds turn eerie, and my peace dissolves in the chilled air.
I’m the first line of defense if the raiders barge down that path—and I’m defenseless.
I should go inside.
I scurry back to the cottage and twist the front door’s cold knob, only to find it’s still locked. Fine. Back in the way I left, then. I shove myself through my room’s open window and manage to not bang my head this time. It’s a small win, but I’ll take it. I high-five myself.
I slam the window down and latch the lock. As I turn around, I catch my reflection in the mirror. I certainly wouldn’t win any beauty pageants, but at least the grime’s washed off my face and—wait. It’s not pitch black in here.
Two lit candles sit on the threadbare dresser. Their feathery flames cast a soft orange light throughout the room. My eyes fall to the bedstand, where a third candle burns next to a scrap of paper, my balisong, and a Quaker granola bar.
Oh my god.
I shove the balisong into my pocket, then cram the granola bar into my mouth and chew. Chocolate. Oats. Cinnamon. It’s the most magical taste in the world, and it’s gone much too soon.
I lick the sugary remnants off my lips and pick up the paper. Mom would’ve chastised me for not having done so before eating the bar. Before you open a present, sweetie, read the card first. Manners be damned.
As I pick up the note, my stomach cramps. And not because I ate too quickly.
All I ask in return is that you trust me.
Oh, that’s all Jasper asks? As if. As if he can buy my trust, just like . . . just like Peter did.
Jasper can’t have my trust, though. He hasn’t earned it.
I blow out all three candles and flop backward on the bed.
Why is he doing this? Giving me water, a room, sharing food that he stole from me? Jasper’s actions have seemed genuine, but I admit I don’t have the best track record for seeing through people.
No, Jasper’s hiding something. He must be. He and Chief can’t possibly believe I’m important enough to act as a political pawn.
I have to find another way back home. Bunny’s and Grandma’s lives depend on it.
I consider my options.
Option one: I do what they want. I wait it out and meet with Chandler in two days, knowing full well I’ll be stuck here anyway.
Chandler wouldn’t have taken two Macs—she has no reason to.
But if Chandler says as much, why should Chief believe her?
He went so far as to kidnap me. In Chief’s mind, Chandler’s guilty.
He’ll keep me in Macoby until he has proof otherwise.
Option two: I make a run for it. Right now. Hungry, tired, and defenseless. I bolt and hope for the best.
Option three: I manipulate. I trick Jasper into leaving the Split tomorrow and go to Costco. I escape when the doughboys arrive.
I chuck option two out the window. I may be reckless, but I’m not stupid. I’ve got to go with option three. It’s the quickest route home, and if luck’s on my side, I can scavenge and smuggle some insulin for Bunny. The boys would be none the wiser.
Then, it’ll be smooth sailing back home. I can win back Chandler’s favor by divulging what Chief and Jasper think she’s done, in case they retaliate.
Soon, it will be like this adventure never happened. Soon, I will mourn this plush bed like I mourned my mother, my father, West.
Soon, I will return to my rations and routine, and memories of Macoby will float away in the wind.