When I reopen my eyes, the light has subsided, and I'm not staring at Detective Murphy or Officer Roberts. Instead, I'm staring up at a cedar ceiling that I know all too well, listening to the growl of an engine that I've complained is in a desperate need of an oil change. How many times have I been in this van, staring up at the ceiling and watching the patterns in the wood blur as I took a drag from a blunt.

We're actually moving, though—the engine is sputtering louder than it usually is.

I try to sit up, but realize I'm not wearing the same clothes I had on earlier. My tank top, shorts and sandals are gone in exchange for a hoodie and jeans, and a pair of high tops. My arms feel sore and squished, pressure building in my forearms. Panic runs through me for a minute, and I start to fear that maybe I was wrong about Wade. The first time I met him, I searched his van while he was out catching a wave, checking his wallet to make sure I didn't find some sort of card that read LIUETENANT EVIL MOG or something. Maybe I should have checked again. The last thing I remember is getting my picture taken—the horror of that memory is overwhelming enough—and now the next thing I know I'm in his van.

He must have picked me up.

But I called Hilde.

I start to think the worst.

Did he intercept the call and pick me up?

Did he drug me?

Is that why I don't remember getting in his van?

I'm too afraid to move now. I know that if I sit up, there's a chance that the person driving this car is a Mogadorian tasked with tricking me into trusting him so he could capture me, drug me, slit my throat and dump my body at the Santa Monica pier.

"You sleep okay?"

I snap my head toward the driver's seat. Hilde's brown eyes stare at me through the rearview mirror. Even more bizarre, in the seat beside her sits Wade, his head cocked at an angle against the window. Asleep.

"Whoa, Hilde? Where the hell are we?"

Passing through Utah. About to be in Colorado."

Utah? Colorado?

"You picked me up from the police station," I ask, "with Wade?"

Wrinkles cut into Hilde's face as she furrows her brow. "Don't you remember what happened?"

"I…stole some records…got caught doing it. They were gonna let me out, but this detective thought the scar was something it wasn't. I think he took a picture of me." I shrug. "That's the last thing I remember."

Wade sits up and rubs his eyes. He turns in his seat to look at me, braids I did for him getting nappy as they fall around his head.

"Hey, Wade," I say as I sit up. We're driving through a white landscape of pines and mountains. "Um…"

"All good?" he asks, trying to keep the worry out of his smile.

"Did I miss something?" I ask. "What are we doing in your van?"

"You asked me to give you guys a ride," he replies, narrowing his eyes. "But, to be honest, your grandma's been doing most of the driving."

"I don't understand. Hil—Grandma, why would we…?"

"Because of the earthquake? Our house got leveled and our car was smashed? We agreed to go to Paradise to talk to a family friend."

I fight to keep my confusion at bay. I don't want it to rise to the surface because I honestly have no idea what's going on and I don't want Hilde to think I'm going crazy. Then again, it's entirely possible that she's suffering from some sort of human illness and somehow dragged Wade into it.

It's also entirely possible that my adrenaline reached above its threshold to the point that I simply let it slip by me.

"Right. Yeah, I remember," I lie. "Sorry about that. Nerves, I guess."

"Uh-huh," Hilde mutters and turns back toward the road.

The heat's on in the van. I start to roll up my sleeves, but stop when I see the dark cyan strip taped around my wrist. The substance has a smell and a texture and appearance that lets me know it's not from Earth. I hold in a gasp and look back up at Hilde. She's staring at me again in the mirror and moves to turn on the radio. After turning the knob a few times, Hilde finds a news station.

"—earthquake in Southern California yesterday afternoon. There have been at least twelve aftershocks in the area and there seem to be more occurring every few hours. Residents of Los Angeles reported sudden tremors across the city that sent trees and utility poles falling. More reports from other Southern Californians coming in…"

Hilde looks away as the story continues on.

Then she reaches behind her seat and taps on her bag.

Her bag that contains the Chest.

Only then do I realize that it wasn't just any earthquake.

It was me.

We stop seven hours and five hundred miles later in Denver. While Wade runs into the gas station to pay for our pump and take a piss, I change One's kelp. I try to ignore her obvious confusion and awe when I peel the kelp off and replace it with another strip. With the strips that I used before, I fold up and put inside a plastic bag before locking them back in the Chest.

"Smells good," says One. "This tape stuff, I mean."

"Kelp." I correct her.

"Yeah, that's what I meant." She smiles in an attempt to cover it up, but then asks, "What do I have, again?"

"Terric."

"Which does…?"

"You're the one who used it first," I reply. "You tell me."

I can see her mind searching for the answer. "It's a Legacy…that causes terrible stuff to happen…to the earth? I can manipulate earth!"

"In a sense, yes. You're actually capable of emitting vibrations, usually in the form of shockwaves." I narrow my eyes at her. "You seriously don't remember this conversation?"

"Like I said, adrenaline rush. I just wasn't paying attention when you explained it the first time. Besides, that was like a whole two days ago."

"You were coherent when we had this conversation, girl. And I'd think that developing a Legacy might at least matter to you."

"It does, I just didn't fucking remember," she replies defensively, rolling her eyes. "Goddammit, not everything has to be an argument, you know. You're not the one who almost got killed."

I catch her bound forearm when she tries to turn away from me. "If anyone wants to hurt you, they'll have to get through me first. And don't ever disregard what I say to you again."

She snatches her arm away with enough force that my knuckles crack. Wade trots back to the van and takes the pump out. He knocks on the window beside my head and mouths, Are you driving?

I shake my head. Wade flashes me a thumbs-up and gets in the driver's seat. I climb in to the passenger's seat, reach behind me, and pull out my netbook. In the backseat, One is lying on her back again, one arm draped over her face, headphones in her ears. Wade sees me looking in the rearview mirror.

"Everything okay?"

"Everything's fine, Wade."

"If you don't want me to drive, I can—"

"I hope you had a good piss. Because we're not stopping again."

The drive from LA to Paradise reminds me of the ground transport route from Deloon to Malkan Kabarak, but without a jungle in between. North America changes from desert to massive concrete buildings with electrical cables snaking down streets. By the time we reach the snowy pastures and sparse forests, it's two o'clock in the morning and a winter storm is blowing in, nearly icing the road.

I stare at my netbook, eyes glazed over from the hours of forging. New birth certificates, new social security numbers, new identities. I should have made them earlier, but in all the panic, I was only focused on getting us packed and away from LA.

Wade sighs in relief and takes his sunglasses off to read the sign, "Welcome to Paradise, Ohio. Population: five thousand two hundred forty."

I close the netbook and watch as the antique town grows around us. Fat snowflakes descend to the earth beneath the streetlights, the only sources of luminance in town at this hour. The faces of the houses are decorated with wreaths and garlands. Through some of the windows, I see figures moving near around Christmas trees, setting up presents for the morning of.

We pass by Malcolm's address, and I order Wade to circle the block back around. Best to get a better view of the surrounding neighborhood, in case we need to leave in a hurry again.

Wade asks, "Why are we parking across the street? I thought you knew these people."

"It's two o'clock on Christmas morning," I reply. "They're asleep right now and won't be willing to come to the door."

"But, Hilde," Wade says, squirming in his seat, "I gotta pee."

"Piss in the bushes." I sigh, and as he gets out of the van, I turn and watch as One shifts in the backseat, sits up, her eyes meeting mine. I wonder if she's aware that I'm searching her expression for any sign of that girl I saw for what felt like an eyeblink in LA. The one who wanted to save her captors from being crushed by rubble, who reacted calmly in the face of what was definitely a life-endangering situation.

But she's not there.

"You feeling okay?" I ask.

She nods. "Are we there?"

"In Paradise? Yes."

"Cool. Now what?"

"Now we talk to Malcolm."

Another nod. Then silence, save for the steaming hiss of Wade urinating somewhere in the woods behind the car.

"The Greeter who was there when we arrived," I explain, lowering my voice when I hear Wade returning. "The Legacy expert."

"Oh! Right. Malcolm Goode. Yeah, I remember him."

"I was hoping we'd get here earlier," I say as Wade zips up his pants and scrambles back into the van, "but we kept having to stop."

"I got hungry!" he whines. "So, you're saying we have to wait out here all night?"

"Yes. You've slept in this van how many times before now?"

"That was a little bit different. I'll need to keep the van running, or we won't have any heat."

"We don't need the heat. I suggest you get comfortable."

I open the netbook back up and begin searching for a new home. Trying to find somewhere nearby is tempting—we haven't been this far east before. Maybe the farther we go, we can find some forgotten cabin tucked away in the Appalachians, or a small off-the-map fishing town in the Everglades. But after the arrest, the earthquake, and now having to seek help from Malcolm, I don't think it's possible to stay in this country anymore without risking our safety.

My original plan was to continue to travel the west coast northward until we reached the US-Canadian border. We'd hug it for as long as we could until something prompted us to cross over, be it Mogs, a Garde sighting, or human suspicion. At the moment, Canada seems out of the question.

If it were just the two of us, then I'd consider it. But Wade is our only source of transportation. Until I find a city big enough to make my necessary withdrawal, we are unfortunately stuck with him.

I take a breath and close the netbook. Stressing about this right now won't help with my composure in the morning. There's a chance that Malcolm may not be thrilled to see us—we are risking his family's safety by coming here unannounced, after all. But if he can help us get resituated, maybe grant us the head start he gave all of us when we first got to Earth, then it'll be worth it.

Besides, at the end of the day, our survival ensures his.