Ten - First Road Trip
All of the fire, the crackling light, it was gone. When she opened her eyes, she was engulfed by darkness. Oh. She was in the trunk of a car.
Anxiety and guilt had created this nightmare for her and she was so used to the reruns that today, she didn't scream. Instead she nestled into her arm and tried to get back to sleep.
No luck. Muffled voices outside were certainly not part of her dreamscape. Her eyes snapped open.
Knife. Her hands grappled for the pocket on her boots, until she remembered she was no longer a Jack, and besides, a North Carolina summer was too hot for all that.
Stretching as much as she could, she cleared her throat, which felt as rough and hot as sand. Her muscles were tight, like she'd just climbed Mount Everest, completed a celebratory triathlon, and then went straight to bed without a bath. Yup, she smelled bad enough to gag the maggots.
Unfortunately, her wounds were nothing compared to the memories of last night. Did it count as a memory if you were still reliving it, still trapped in it? When she closed her eyes, she was staring at her father. His eyes, wide and serious like hers. The look of terror on his face was burned into her brain. There had been something like peace as he fell. No, it was..indifference. Disturbing. Had he known she would let go?
Karen scratched her cheek. Did she let go? It had just happened, yet the entire night felt fuzzy. She wouldn't murder her own father, would she? Betray, badmouth, or beat up, if given the chance, but to drop him into an inferno, that went beyond the pale. Stress and trauma had pushed her to the limit and she simply wasn't strong enough to hold on. After all, since the night of The Seven and Neco, she'd barely exercised. Her father had asked too much of her, far too much. It was all an awful, pitiful accident.
"I'm not ashamed of saving you, Apollo."
"Really? Even though I've made your life a living hell?"
Of course, her father had pissed her off. He'd pushed her buttons and filled her head with a bunch of lies and garbage. No denying it, she hated him at that moment. Anger rose to the surface even now, of the reminder that she had failed. She'd failed Yasmina and Paola. She almost sat up in shock. Where were they?
There were places to find them. At school, their church... Paola had always said if things went wrong, to go to her father's office on the East Side and wait for her. Time was elusive, but she wasn't dehydrated like crazy. It hadn't been days, probably only a few hours. The two of them were probably looking for her. She had to meet them halfway.
Surprisingly, her wrists and ankles weren't bound. Someone either was in a hurry, or they didn't think much of the slight teenager they'd snatched. Karen's offense was lessened by her relief. Mustering all the strength one can after such an ordeal, she kneed the wall, seeing if it gave way to the backseats. It didn't. She looked for an emergency latch, but her kidnappers had the foresight to get rid of that. Maybe she could punch out a tail light. Little burns decorated her hands. They screamed when she made a fist. Maybe not.
The voices outside returned, growing louder.
Apollo had told her this: you can fight your way out or play your way out. Commit to one until it fails.
The trunk opened. Karen chose to play. Play dead, to be exact.
Sunlight poured over her face but not a muscle twitched. She smelled gasoline and fried food.
"Still knocked out. Well, extra chicken for me, then," a man's voice said. He had a deep Southern twang.
"Really? She been asleep all day?" said the other man. He sounded older and gruffer.
The first guy whistled. "Half-dead, I think. She was laying at the gates outside Skylight Hills last night."
"She's from the Skylight fire? What family?"
"Hey, if you want more information, do your own digging. I'm just a delivery guy."
"You expect me to pay for a half-dead girl who may or not be an heiress? For all we know she's a cheap escort some Mr. Big left behind."
"Oh, come on, Hal. She's a kid."
"No deal."
The younger man sighed. "I shoulda known better. You're tighter than a bull's ass at fly time. But I'll get my cash somewhere."
"Yeah? With who?"
"Ah, you know. That gang with the hoods."
"The KKK?!"
"No, genius, black hoods. Rumor has it they're looking for a Skylight Hills girl. I'm taking her over to their southern base, cheapskate."
"Oh, please. Those guys are imaginary. You're getting conned again. Even if they are real, they're probably up to some freaky experimentation. You're a worse crook than me, sending a kid to -"
The trunk slammed shut but Karen could hear their angry voices right outside. Damn it. Had she wasted her last chance to escape? What would Paola do? Oh, right. She would bewitch them like a snake charmer. But that was easier to pull off when you were a beautiful woman and outside of a trunk. And her father… he wouldn't be in this mess, far as she knew. He was slippery, sneaky. He was the damn snake. Trouble seemed to fall off him with just one shake.
Karen was a good athlete, especially for her age, but by no means was she the strongest or the quickest. That never stopped her before. Not when survival was on the line.
It didn't matter if she was weak. Punching or kicking out a tail light would be too risky an exit. She rolled onto her stomach and squinted in the dark. Nothing was in the car, but herself. She wielded no weapon, she owned no tool. With great effort, she pushed herself down, army-crawling backwards until her bare feet touched the carpeted wall. Nothing again. Her hand scraped against the latch. The latch! But...how would she pry it open.
What bad luck, to be so close to victory and never reaching it. Her fluffy party dress had no pockets, yet she patted her skirt uselessly, looking for something, anything. As she turned over, she felt something cut into her skin. She reached into the belt of her bodice. Tucked between the fabric was a necklace. The one her father had used last night. How odd it was. The diamond-shaped pendant was no jewel. From the feel of it, it was only iron. Why would Apollo Marks have a necklace like this? At least, she knew it could open things - it was a key.
The pendant was long-ish, enough that she could comfortably hold one end and push it against the latch. She felt silly when nothing gave. A waste of time! They were going to hear her! But after a minute or so, the trunk popped open. She lunged for the exit.
At the same moment, the car turned on, hummed to life. They were heading back on the road.
Karen grabbed the edge, held it in place, with just a slight gap. She didn't want her kidnapper to notice, if he hadn't already gotten a warning light. And she really didn't want to go flying out the back onto the pavement when she was already hurt. Carefully, nervously, she stayed frozen in place, trapped between two dangers.
After what seemed like forever, they stopped at a red light. Karen took a deep breath, then let go of the trunk, throwing herself back into the world.
The lurch to her feet on the gravel road had her swaying, but adrenaline kicked in. She ignored honking drivers and the commotion behind her. She raced through an intersection to get to a sidewalk. Passerby shouted in her direction but she kept on running, never to return, just as she should have done with her father when she quit his gang.
She turned and turned, trying to create the most confusing route possible. Her bare feet hurt and cringed away from the ground they pounded on. A bodega. A pawn shop. A check-cashing center. All of these buildings bore no resemblance to Kindle City. Was this the rougher part of town where most of their Jacks lived? Maybe someone could help her. Adrien would be willing. Tobias, too, if she could bribe him.
A diner seemed safe enough. She slowed her walk. After all, this was a busy area. If someone bothered her, a brave civilian might step in to defend her. Or, at the very least, she could snag a kitchen knife. A group of elderly women sat in a booth near the front. A young woman with a baby sat at the counter. A group of men in suits, maybe clergy, were by the window. She wondered why teens were there too, until she realized it was Sunday. A large, apple-shaped clock faced the doorway. Sunday at three in the afternoon. Great.
She didn't need to get these people's attention, but she needed help. The cheery silver, red, and black patterns were almost familiar. There was a similar diner she went to with Nana. That put her in lighter, more hopeful spirits. It was showtime.
Karen walked with her head held high, like it was the latest fashion to don tattered semi-formal dresses and no shoes as weekend wear. It did the trick. Mostly. She heard an old woman whisper about "loose young girls" as she went by.
Karen slouched as she got to the counter. She allowed her shell to crack, for her fear to shine through. She asked the young waitress at the counter, "Could you help me?"
The woman seemed to know intrinsically what to do. She returned a minute later with a glass of water and the owner, a brown-skinned woman in a yellow vintage swing dress. Her name tag read 'Yolanda'. "What's wrong, sweetheart?" she asked lightly.
Karen's eyes welled with tears. "Someone drugged me and I woke up in a strange building. I hit the guy and ran. I - I'm so scared he followed me I - I -"
"Say no more," Yolanda soothed. She guided Karen to the back of the diner. Walking over to a cabinet, she produced a waitressing uniform. "Why don't you change into something while I call the police?"
"Oh no, if you don't mind, I want to call my mother to come get me."
Yolanda frowned, but then smiled sweetly. "I understand. You can use my phone and wait for her in my office. Are you sure this man didn't follow you?"
Karen wiped her eyes. "I didn't see him at all, he was knocked out after I hit him. I'm just worried."
"Alright. I'll be out front if you need anything."
Karen took her clothes to the bathroom, where she washed up at the sink. In the mirror, she looked like ten miles of bad road after just one day of stress, most of it spent sleeping. The scratches on her exposed skin were superficial but they hurt as she rinsed them off. Getting off the dress was a struggle. She could feel how the fabric had dried with the blood on her back. When she finally eased it off she examined the ruined bodice. She hadn't fooled any of those people who stared at her. After some debate, curiosity won out and she twisted in the mirror. What a nasty cut. She'd need stitches and antibiotics, stat.
One of the servers had offered up her gym sneakers. They were a little tight but anything would be an improvement. The waitressing uniform was buttercup yellow on top, like Yolanda's dress, and dark brown on bottom. The colors vaguely reminded her of her home. She thought of the party as she went to the phone in the manager's office. She'd give anything to be dancing with stupid Monty Matthews Junior now.
Like as not, Paola's phone was lost to the fire. She tested it anyway, waiting until the last ring. No answer. Next, she dialed her father's office at Roaming Enterprises, his private line. No one picked up. Her palms began to sweat as she called her house phone, then her dad's home office, then finally, her own cell phone, wherever the hell it was. Each call was met with silence.
THe backs of her eyes stun as she walked out of the office and into the hustle and bustle of the kitchen. Yolanda was sprinkling something onto a beautiful chocolate pie while two cooks fried and baked and seasoned at the stoves. She smiled as Karen entered. "How'd it go?"
Karen hesitated. "I haven't called yet, I want to give her the address to pick me up. What street are we on?"
"248 Nightingale Street, hon. Your mama knows the Grotto?"
"The Grotto? What part of the city is that?"
"I didn't think so," Yolanda chuckled. "The Grotto is the northern side of Scarlow."
"Scarlow? We're in Scarlow?" It was like they were speaking different languages.
"Yeah, hon. Scarlow, Oklahoma. You know it? Oh, are you a Clarksburg girl? I should've guessed by that dress."
"No, a little further out." A lot further out. How had she gotten so far from home so fast? Oh, right. Her kidnapper had mentioned driving all day. He'd mentioned a lot of things… She wondered if he'd been the one to find her and how deep his connection to The Seven was. Something told her she wouldn't like the answers. Paola had to fetch her this instant. Karen drained the rest of her water, thinking. She was miles from home with no money, no contacts, no nothing. An escape was needed. Soon.
Yolanda gave her a concerned look. "Hey, hon, got a hankerin' for anything in particular?"
"Uh, no." Her stomach rumbled. "Got any biscuits?"
Karen returned to the counter, feeling more confident now that her hideous dress was in the trash. Now she looked smarter, older, like she belonged. The best kind of disguise.
Still, she hated being scared and here she was, scared. She ate her biscuits and sausage gravy like she was late for school, moving onto the scrambled eggs within the minute.
Yolanda came over. "Listen, sweetie, if there's somewhere you've got to go, me or one of the girls can take you there. Or to the police station. Your choice. Do you have family near here?"
Karen opened her mouth to answer. The door jingled open. Everyone seemed to swivel to the new addition.
In the doorway, silhouetted by the sun, stood a man with a cowboy hat and a bandana around his face. He raised a gun. The diners screamed and dove under their tables. Karen slipped beneath her stool, tucking into the counter.
He shouted through his mask, and his ridiculous, overdone cowboy-speak was familiar. "I'm looking for a little chickadee, a tall black girl in a pink ball gown. Anyone seen her?"
The frightened customers only mumbled or flinched, too afraid.
"I guess I'll have to get compensation for my item," the cowboy drawled.
Karen heard Yolonda's voice above her. "Not on my watch, scumbag."
"Well, well, I think you'll do the trick, pretty lady."
Karen flipped onto the counter, kicking out her plate as she did so. Like a frisbee, it flung out toward the cowboy knocking into his outstretched arm. He cried out.
"Looking for me, ugly?" she taunted.
She flung a napkin dispenser at his head. He ducked. She jumped off, kicking him in the shoulder. The gun clattered to the floor. He nabbed her with an uppercut, but her heel spun out, getting his chest. With a thud, he fell.
Everyone cheered. Standing with one foot on the stranger's chest, Karen felt proud of herself, a feeling she thought was long gone.
A few of the young white-collar men held the guy while a waitress called the police. Most of the families rushed out while the teens took photos on their cell phones. Karen's smile grew as people patted her on the back, and she had to remind herself to avoid the photos. She raced off to the kitchen before she got anymore unneeded attention.
And once again, that pride faded as she looked up at the horrified face of Yolonda. The woman's lip trembled and her eyes were locked on Karen's.
"Miss Yolanda -"
"I know you." Her voice was almost too quiet to hear above the din in the front, but it held Karen's attention just the same. "I've seen you before."
"I'm not from around here. I think there's been a mistake."
"No. In Tennessee. You were with a guy. My family runs Golden Egg Diners all over. You used that same kick-jump thing on my cousin."
"Miss Yolanda, I have no idea what you're talking about." Karen's throat went dry. A lie or the truth? Karen didn't know. Her mind checked all her hits over the last year, since the fall she turned fourteen. They'd gone all over the place. Had they gone out to a diner in Tennessee? Unlikely. Apollo kept his minions busy with the most lucrative spots unless there was a specific person to threaten. But sometimes, Karen remembered, sometimes the Jacks would go where they liked, abuse their power and take their anger out on anyone, regardless of the profit. Karen could recall an incident here and there where after a hard night, she and Tobias would act out in a convenience store or test their skills out for fun. They never hurt anyone seriously. Not that she recalled. But your mind loves to paint things the way you'd like to see it.
Yolanda paused for a long moment, then she shook her head. "I'm sorry, child. I must be going nuts to think that. It's been a long day. If you still want a ride, wait in the break room. I'll be back in a jiffy."
"It's alright, ma'am. And thank you."
Karen shuffled out of the kitchen, then went to the manager's office. The lockbox in the bottom desk drawer was impossible to open, with or without the pendant. She found a few twenty-dollar bills under a notebook with a note that said "For Georgie". Poor Georgie. Finders keepers. Next, she snagged the drawstring backpack in the corner and stuffed its smelly gym clothes under the desk. A water bottle from the mini fridge, and ooh, a deli sandwich. A sweater on the coat hook. A letter-opener from the drawer. She took one last frantic glance around the room but could find nothing of importance. Hopefully, nothing useful was being left behind.
Then Karen made a beeline for the back door. When the police were on your back, you didn't go sprinting down the boulevard. You hid in plain sight. Across the alley was a dimly lit bar, which was surprisingly loud and hectic for so early in the afternoon. Karen held her breath as she walked toward the back. Luckily, on the TV, some sports game was holding everyone's attention.
Karen slunk into the women's bathroom and leaned against a stall. She sat on the toilet and allowed herself just a few minutes to cry. It wasn't like her at all, but she needed to let go of her grief to move forward. What on earth was she supposed to do? Where was she supposed to go? The father she resented was dead. The stepmother she respected was missing (or dead, she tried not to think). Likely her stepsister, too. Everyone else she wholeheartedly trusted was in another country.
Maybe she should have just accepted Yolanda's help. But if that woman could recognize her from a brush in a little town, if she could remember her that quickly… then the people she'd actually ruined would have more than a bone to pick with her. Sure, she had left her daddy's gang and stopped a gunman. Bravo, very inspiring. What did she expect, the Carnegie Medal? Just because she could've turned out worse did not excuse her from how heartless she'd become.
Her few tears dried quickly and she sobered. Good, bad. Normal girl, criminal. These labels meant nothing if she died. If she threw herself on the mercy of the police, she could just as easily end up in juvie, then in another gang, then running away, with greater infamy than before. That would be the right thing to do. That would be the good thing to do, to atone for what she'd done. But it wasn't worth it if she didn't survive. It wasn't worth it if she died.
Karen heard a clatter of commotion coming from the bar. She unlocked the door and rushed to the window. One foot was on the sink when the washroom door banged open.
Cowboy stood there, huffing and puffing. He snatched his bandana off. "Hi there. We really need to talk."
"About?"
"How about a little deal between you and me?" He winced, holding his shoulder. "And please, no more kicking."
Karen stared at the window, though they were so far from it she could only see the outlines of people heading into the eatery. It had gotten dark out since they left Oklahoma. They had just gotten in the car and drove. It didn't matter where, she'd told him, they just couldn't be there.
Her kidnapper - ahem, reluctant ally - brought her attention back. "What do you think?"
"I mean…" She flipped through the notebook he'd pushed in front of her. "Your plan kind of sucks."
"How do you figure?"
"It lacks vision. Go big or go home." That was her upbringing. Apollo forced you to see the whole picture, to dream the impossible. He could've done great things if so inclined. "And it's sloppy. You can't just grab any product and expect to strike gold. You didn't even know my family, our wealth. You just traded with a pal who hinted I was worth something. Do your research. What's the end goal here?"
His eyes were bright, with either mischief or earnest. "Money. I owe someone plenty of it. I was gonna get it selling you, but you can see how that's going."
"I see." She kind of pitied him. She knew what it was like to have to answer to a person who made demands you couldn't keep up with. "Here's some advice: tie up your prisoner."
Billy scribbled a new note. A bit of sandy-blonde hair escaped his hat, grazing his tanned skin. Besides his cowboy getup and strong chin, he was unremarkable. Hunched over his notebook, looking intent, his face seemed softer. Karen wondered how she could have been kidnapped so easily by this lameo. Oh, right. She was half-dead.
She leaned back in her chair, sipping her coke. She may have been far from home, but there was a great sense of normalcy that came with sitting in the same cruddy fast-food restaurant that was a block away from her high school. Her fingers tensed, almost crushing the paper cup. By the time summer break was over she might be back in her house, safe. That felt so far from the present.
Billy laughed. "You keep looking at me like I'm gonna pull something."
"Will you?"
"I'm betting on you. You still haven't told me your name."
"Why should I?" she replied. "I'm trying to figure out if you're a pedophile."
"Hey! I'm only seventeen! Do I look that old?"
She squinted. "That's the part you take offense to?"
"I didn't offer you a ride for creepy reasons," he insisted. "I told you, when those jerks had me, I heard the diner was calling the police on you, not for you. I realized you were probably in a bad spot like me. I felt bad."
"I got quite a different impression when I was in the trunk of your deathtrap of a vehicle."
He scratched the back of his neck. "About that...sorry."
"You think an apology makes us even?!" she cried.
He glanced around the burger joint. "Keep it down. Mind you, missy, we are both on the run."
She glared. "We've been here for a half-hour and you have yet to explain yourself. If the police find us, it'll be bad for me, but not as bad as it'll be for you," she lied. "Once again, tell me why I should help out my kidnapper. You know, besides the free grease meal."
He scoffed. "Rich girls." Then he reached across the table. She jerked away, thinking he was going to grab her hand, but he laid his palms flat on the table instead. "Give me a minute," he murmured.
Karen crossed her arms. "I'm beginning to feel real -"
"Stupid?"
She swiveled to her left, where Billy sat next to her in the booth, hat and all. But - she turned around - there he was! A hand clamped over her mouth, stopping the shout. Her widened eyes traveled up the arm. A third Billy was on her right.
And then, they were all gone. Billy, the real original cowboy, looked up at her. "I'm a metahuman," he whispered. "I can't go home, not until I pay my friend. He's threatening to spill my secret. Until then, I'm not...safe."
"Really? Not safe?" She put on a brave face, trying to push down the feeling of dread swirling to the surface like crap in a clogged toilet. "You think travelling with me is going to stop that?"
He frowned, considering. "Maybe. Maybe not. I like to gamble. But I'm lonely and I'm bored. Life on the run sucks alone."
"On the run?" she scoffed. "I'm not on the run. I'm just trying to find my way back to my family. My mother is looking for me as we speak. I'll be home tomorrow, like as not."
Billy shook his head. He gave her a sad smile. "No, hon, I don't think you will be." He got up to throw away his trash. "I'll be in the car. If you wanna come with me. I'm leaving in ten minutes. Thanks for your input. You're good at this stuff."
Karen watched him go out. Her fingernails clacked on the table as she contemplated. DIsappointingly, it didn't take her long to decide.
She could see the car's lights turning on. "Wait!" she called, running out the restaurant.
In the driver side of his beat-up sedan, Billy grinned. "Well, look who made a friend. If ma could see me now."
She leaned into the window. "If I go with you, we do things my way. I'm not getting killed after a week of travel. And don't even think of crossing me. I'm a much better use to you alive than dead. That's my deal."
"Fair." Billy scratched his chin. "My car, my music."
She exhaled. "Deal."
"Well then, where to, little missy?"
