Chapter 10

The note I'd written to Ryan burned a hole in my back pocket as Paul and I headed into the city. It hadn't been my intention for anyone to read it, but with the way things were going between the brothers, I felt I at least owed it to Ryan to give him an explanation about why I'd left.

It was dark out as the blue, lifted duo-toned truck bounced along the dirt trail. I'd helped Paul load up the crates of wool while Jay and Cory had gotten up even earlier than us to load up the tin containers they'd been busy filling with fresh sheep's milk.

I turned my head to stare out into the dark night.

"Have you been into town before?" Paul asked.

I turned to him. "No. I seem to have just missed it every time I come this way."

"Well, if you stick to the main highways, I'd imagine you would. You have to turn off onto a dirt road to get to it. There's not much there, a one-pump gas station that doubles as a trading post, a community building where the elders hold meetings for the tribe, and some houses. It used to be bigger, but many families fled under the threat of Ye'iitsoh. Only a few families remained in the town limits where the spirit rarely attacked."

I processed that, watching the glimpses of cactus and sage bush as the beam of the lights lit them up.

"Our community is expanding once more. Word got out about Ye'iitsoh being banished, and the year you've been gone we've had people moving back out to ranch the lands once more." He rolled his window down a crack when the sun started to crest on the distant horizon, a bright, red crescent that promised a great heat. "You did a great service for our people, yázhí. We will not tell anymore about your hand in banishing Ye'iitsoh, but I wanted you to hear from me that we had to tell the elders how we were sure that Ye'iitsoh was gone for good since it had a tendency to disappear for months at a time. They wanted to make sure that it would be safe for families to move back."

I turned to him, watching his face in the soft glow from the dashboard. "Why are you telling me all of this?"

"I didn't want you to think we had betrayed your trust when you asked us not to tell people of your involvement. The elders promised to keep the secrets among themselves, but they do know of you."

"But no one else does, right?"

He nodded and pointed out some lights in the far distance. Deserts were tricky. Things looked closer than they actually were because line of sight was so far. The lights could still be thirty minutes away. And it was. We'd been driving for a total of about forty-five minutes when we reached the first houses on the outskirts of the small town. The only lights on were some street lights, and the gas-station boasting an authentic Native American trading post.

"We sell some of our goods here," Paul commented, pulling into the gas station. "I'm going to top us off. Do you need anything?"

"No, I'm good. Thanks," I called. Then I remembered the letter in my pocket. I jumped out of the truck. "Actually, wait! Do you have a post office around here?"

He grinned at me and pointed behind him with his thumb. "All in one stop, this gas station. Come on, we'll get you a stamp, and I'll show you where the dropbox is."

I smiled in relief, realizing too late that I hadn't brought any money to buy a stamp. It was frustrating to me because I had a lot of money saved up in the bank, various payouts from injuries and stress received from doing my job-i.e. torture and being told to assassinate good people. Since I'd started so young with Nathan getting donations put into an account for me from a young age due to all the tests they ran on me, I had quite the nest egg saved up.

However, I had no way to access it without tipping off the government to where I was. I didn't hang around after the Black Sun to see if they'd try to pull another McGrath on me. For all I knew, McGrath himself could still be alive. I'd never actually seen him killed by the entities.

So, for the time being, I had to lay low and just assure my guilt that I would pay Paul back for everything.

The gas station was modern in the front with white walls and tiles lined with racks of food, soaps, and electronics. Further in the back there was an opening to another part of the store when they expanded to build the trading post, or vice versa. Though the lights were out back there still, I could make out the rough-hewn wood planks running along the walls, handmade racks holding up even more handmade goods covered in geometric patterns and earth-tone colors along with other oddities.

The man at the counter had wide lips, a tan, craggy face, and a stern expression. A small, hand-rolled cigarette hung loosely from his lips as his black eyes followed me.

Paul approached him with a smile, sending out what sounded like a greeting in Navajo. "Yá'át'ééh abiní." This was confirmed when the old man behind the counter returned it, though his was much surlier than Paul's.

Paul switched to English. "Hash, this here is Jodie. She's going to be living with us for a while. Jodie, this is Hash."

I nodded at him, and he nodded back, working the unlit cigarette in his mouth to the other side. "What can I do yeh for today, Paul?"

"Ah, of course," he said, opening his wallet. "Gas. We're heading into the city."

"Fascinating," Hash replied dryly, ringing him up.

"Oh, and a stamp, if you will. Jodie here has a letter to mail."

Hash's dark eyes travelled to my face. "Is that so?"

He handed over a stamp. I hurried to pull the rolled up envelope from my back pocket. The wrinkles didn't quite smooth out, and the paper looked well-worn, stained at the edges and handled a lot. I cleared my throat and put the stamp on in the upper corner. It had a picture of a cactus on it.

When I finished, I looked back up, seeing Hash hand Paul his change. "Uh, where's the dropbox?"

Hash spoke around the cigarette in his mouth as he handed Paul a receipt. "Didn't get it out. Some kids vandalized it. Leave it with me. I'll put it with the others."

"Oh," I said, surprised and feeling a bit odd as I handed over the letter to the impatient man. It felt a bit like handing over my unprotected heart.

His eyes glanced over the letter. "There's no return address on here. Don't yeh know where you're livin'?"

"I didn't want to put one on there. I don't want a response."

The man's eyes went back over the envelope. "Ryan Clayton. Huh, one of those letters, then."

I frowned, fidgeting in place. "I'm sorry, what?"

"A, what do they call it...dear John letter?" When I didn't say anything in response, he continued. "You know. Dear Ryan Clayton, I've fallen for one of the Hatathli boys. I'm breaking up with you."

"I know what a 'Dear John Letter' is, thanks," I said tightly. Maybe I did owe it to Ryan to give him an explanation in person. I also realized that this was the first time I'd heard Paul's last name because it was obvious that the Hatathli boys Hash was referring to were Cory and Jay. I watched as Hash put the letter down on the counter as he prepared to ink it with a rubber stamp. "You know what, I've changed my min-"

"Too late," he said, quickly stamping it at the corner and stashing it somewhere under his desk. "It's the property of the United States Postal Service now. It would be a felony to go rooting around for it now."

Oh, for fuck's sake. "Your town's population is what, 100? How many letters could you possibly have under there to have to 'rummage' through?"

"You'd be surprised."

Paul coughed into his fist, drawing my attention. He tried to hide it, but I got the feeling that he was amused right now.

"Let's go, Jodie. Hash, nice seeing you, as always. Yá'át'ééh."

Hash's eyes trailed me out the door. "Yá'át'ééh."

"Don't mind Hash," Paul said when we were back on the road again. "He's like that with everyone."

"Hmm," I mumbled in response. "What does yah-oo-tay mean? I thought it meant `` hello."

Paul smiled at me and corrected my pronunciation. "Yah-ut-aay. Yá'át'ééh. And it does mean hello," he said, throwing on his blinker to turn down a road.

I frowned. "But you used it when we left, too."

"Well, it also means 'see you later.' We believe in an efficiency of words. Why invent two when one will do the job?"

"But don't you need a word that means hello and one that means goodbye?"

"Why? When was the last time you heard someone say hello and goodbye in the same sentence, yázhí?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but then I paused, thinking about it. "Huh," I said to myself in wonder.

Paul chuckled. "Yá'át'ééh has a literal translation of 'it is good.' When I greeted Paul, I said 'Yá'át'ééh abiní.' Which means, 'It is good, the morning.'"

I repeated the phrase under my breath.

"Better," Paul grinned. He pointed out my window at a small building. "That's the community building I was telling you about earlier. If you decide to go to school, that's where you'll go."

"In the community center?"

"Why, yes? Who do you think teaches the classes?"

My brain processed that. "Wait, the elders teach the classes?"

"And why not?" Paul huffed. "They have nothing better to do than be busybodies and crack their wisdomisms all over other people's lives."

"Huh, sounds like someone else I know."

Paul shot me a side look. "Watch it, yázhí."

"Anyway, back to these volunteer elder teachers. Are you talking about elderly teachers, or as in The Elders, as in the same elders that know about my secret?"

"Don't worry. You stress too much. There's no one better to teach about the old ways than the people that have the most experience with it. And if they said they'd keep your secret, then they'll keep your secret."

"Which means every person in town will know before the week's out."

"Perhaps, but I doubt it."

I hunched down in my seat, leaning my forehead against the window to try and soak up the small bit of cool temperature before the sun came out in full force. It was already half-showing now, and the air was starting to warm up.

"How about you take a nap, huh? There's no radio signal until we get closer to the city, and there's not much to see until then."

And why not? I turned to the window, curled in on myself and nodded off.

When I jolted awake hours later at the sound of a static radio, I was in a different country. We were being chased by insurgents while Aiden possessed the driver. A man with a machete the size of my thigh busted out the window next to me, causing me to cry out and flinch away from the glass. "No!"

"Jodie!"

I jolted up, breathing heavily. "What?"

I looked around. Paul. I was in the truck with Paul. I wasn't getting shot at in one of the most dangerous places for Americans. I was in one of the safest places for Americans.

"Sorry, what?"

"I said, we're getting close. We started picking up the radio about a half-hour back, so it won't be long now." He kept his eye on the road as he drove. "Do you want to talk about it?"

I shook my head at first, but then I shrugged. "One of my worst missions for the CIA was to go to this country, Somalia, and assassinate what they told me was a warlord." I shook my head. "I was barely eighteen. They dropped me in, and I was on my own. I would only be extracted once I'd completed my objective. If I was caught, well, I was told the last American they caught was dragged behind a jeep through the city. They later found his head on a pike."

I blinked, trying to stay in the present. "I had six hours to make it to the middle of the city and get proof of the man's death and signal the team for pickup. It was tough. I'd been shot multiple times after killing the man and his protection detail. There were hundreds of people, all armed with guns. I made it into a small building and signaled, but there was no confirmation that they heard me. I thought the signal was bad. And all I could remember was how Ryan promised my death would not be easy if I failed."

"Ryan? The same Ryan you mailed that letter to?"

I nodded, swallowing hard and looking out the window.

"How did you get out?"

"There was a wood ladder that led to the roof. I climbed up there. They followed me up. That was when the chopper showed up. The only reason I survived was that they hadn't wanted a quick death for me. I still think about the hatred in their eyes, hearing the poison in their voices. You don't have to speak a language to understand the promise of torture when it's all but dripping from their tone." I remembered Salim, yelling at me over his dead father before turning his gun on me and shooting.

I let out a humorless laugh. "After that, I found out on the news that I'd killed the newly elected democratic president, Gemaal Sheik Charreif. Ryan had lied to me. He knew I wouldn't kill him if I'd known the truth, so he lied to me. Told me that the man was a warlord." My eyes teared up. "I trusted him, and he used me. I decided to go leave. Only, the CIA doesn't take too kindly to losing their special project. They accused me of treason, and just like that, I became a wanted person. I had to go on the run."

"You weren't running away from home. You were hiding from the government," Paul realized.

"Got it in one."

"Jodie, I know there's a lot that you're holding back, but I'm glad you're sharing, even if it's a small piece at a time. I know it can't be easy, and I feel honored that you have." He reached over and squeezed my shoulder.

Sparkling in the distance caught my eye. I turned and got my first glimpse of the city. It was enormous, seeming all the larger because we could see it without obstruction at our higher elevation. The glittering, I realized was the glaring sun reflecting off of the windows in the city. It was a dazzling effect that kept me mesmerized.

One of my lips tilted up.

Paul was right. A day out was just what I needed. The rest of the trip passed quickly. Paul treated us to lunch after we dropped off the supply with his buyer. They would process the milk and spin the wool. After that, we picked up a dozen chickens and a rooster. Apparently, with most of the chores list already covered by the well-running machine that were Paul, Jay, and Cory, Paul thought that I could keep busy raising chickens.

I wasn't so sure about that, but I'd give it a try. I'd broken into foreign strongholds, evaded the government, and survived torture. How hard could a few chickens be?