Doomed (16 page)

But why, then? Why help me, why
choose
me, when no one else ever has? My own father used my feelings for him to betray me. My mother simply doesn’t have feelings. Or if she does, they’re buried so deep that I haven’t seen them in years.

“Hey, Theo,” Eli says from the front. “I know you want to get out of Texas before we stop for supplies, man, but I think that’s a bad idea.”

“We need to get past the borders before they set up some kind of roadblock.”

“They might have already done that—you don’t know how long that kind of thing takes. Remember, they still have radios. But if this thing turns as bad as we think it’s going to, we need to get supplies fast. Before things become so out of control that we can’t get what we need.”

How bad does something have to be before stores stop
being willing to take your money?
I wonder. But then I remember the chaos of Little Nicky’s, of the employees’ general inability to function. And that was when the lights were still on.

“I think he’s right.” My voice is raw with tiredness and emotion. I need to sleep, but I’m wide awake, my brain racing in too many circles to quiet down. Even now when I’m safe … or at least as safe as I can be at the moment. “What supplies do we need?”

“More gas—plus a couple of extra jerricans to hold it. Three pairs of night-vision goggles, just in case. A first-aid kit. Some flashlights.” Theo pauses, looks me up and down so slowly that my breath catches in my throat. It’s stupid, ridiculous, to be thinking of any boy-girl stuff right now, yet there’s something in his eyes that makes me flush. “And we have got to do something with you.”

That breaks the spell and I yelp, “Hey! What does that mean?”

He lifts a brow in that way he has. “In case you haven’t noticed, it’s kind of hard to hide a six-foot redhead with purple streaks in her hair. Not to mention the Social D shirt and Doc Martens. You definitely need a makeover.”

My fingers go instinctively to my hair, my first urge to protect it. On the one hand, I know he’s right. It’s the most distinctive part of me. But on the other hand I can’t imagine doing anything to it. I love my haircut, love the violet streaks I’ve had for more than a year.

Still, it’s a small price to pay. One that’s next to nothing in comparison to everything else that’s happened tonight.

“So where do you propose getting all this stuff?” I ask quietly. “It’s barely six in the morning, and it’s not like there are a lot of stores around that sell both night-vision goggles and hair dye.”

At that moment, Eli hits the brakes hard while turning the wheel wildly to the right as he exits the highway. I grab on to the seat in front of me and start to complain, but then I look through the window and realize where we’re headed. There’s a Super Walmart less than a quarter mile up the road.

Eli tosses a grin over his shoulder as he parks near the front. There are almost no cars in the lot, although there are very obviously lights on inside the store. “How do they have electricity?” I ask, excited.

“Generator,” Eli answers. “A few places have them. But generators won’t hold out very long if the electricity doesn’t get turned back on soon. Most places only have enough gas to last one or two days. Three if you really push it.”

“Do you think it will be three days before this is fixed?” I ask. I hold my breath, waiting for their answer. It feels like my whole life hangs in the balance, and maybe it does.

Eli snorts from the front seat, completely unaware of the panic that has assailed me. “I think it’ll be three
months
before they get the electricity back on.”

I punch him in the arm, sure that he’s joking. “No, really. Tell me the truth.”

“That is the truth, Pandora.” Theo’s face is serious. “There’s no easy fix to this. This worm is really destructive. I was listening to the radio while I packed supplies into the van. This worm isn’t just shutting things down, it’s
ripping them apart from the inside. Gutting them, so that the systems can’t be put back together. Even if there were power—if the grids weren’t being shut down and torn apart—it would take months to fix all the damage that’s been done.”

“So what are we going to do?” I whisper, the implications of his words resonating inside me with all the power of a shotgun blast.

“We’re going to do what we can. We’ll get the best supplies we can find and then go from there. We’re supposed to beat the game. We need to prepare to do just that.”

I nod, reach for my backpack. It’s on the floor by my feet, and I realize that I haven’t thanked Eli for keeping it safe for me. Haven’t thanked them for anything. I start to, but then something occurs to me. Something big. “Supplies cost money, Theo. Especially the ones you’re talking about. If I can’t use my credit card, I’ve got nothing. We won’t be able to pay for what we need.”

“We have money, Pandora.” Theo’s face is a little stiff, like he can’t believe I even suggested that he would do something illegal. Of course, he is the one who clocked a Homeland Security officer and busted one of their prisoners out from under their noses. Next to that, what’s a little stealing? “Eli’s dad travels overseas on business a lot, often without much warning, so he keeps money in the house.”

“He also left extra money for us in case of emergencies, since he and Theo’s mom are on their honeymoon,” Eli interjects. “This definitely qualifies as an emergency, so we took all that plus what was in his safe.”

He opens his door, steps outside. I start to follow, but
Theo stops me. “We’ll be quick, Pandora. I promise. Lock the doors and stay in the backseat, where the windows are tinted.”

“I really can’t go?” I’m pissed, even though a part of me knows he’s right. Still, it grates to be left in the car like a little kid.

“You look exactly like you did when you left your house,” he says, examining me in the dim overhead light. “It’d be like putting a sign on you that reads, FEDERAL FUGITIVE HERE.”

He closes the door, once again plunging the car into shadows, and then walks away without a backward glance. I watch them until they disappear into the store, then reach for the flashlight Theo left on the dash. I turn it on and immediately the churning panic in my stomach subsides a little.

I tell myself to turn off the flashlight, that it will attract attention, but I just can’t bring myself to do it. At this point, I think I’d rather get caught than spend one more moment in the dark.

Dropping the flashlight on the floor of the van, where its light will be less conspicuous, I yank out one of the two spare bras I packed and one of the last couple of shirts. I change quickly, then curse myself for being so shortsighted when I packed this thing. Why the hell didn’t I pack a second pair of jeans? Or even better, a pair of yoga pants so that I could travel comfortably? Pajamas aren’t going to cut it if we have to ditch the van and run.

Probably because, when I packed, I hadn’t dreamed I’d be fleeing from the authorities. I’d been going for sleepover
necessities at my best friend’s house. Next time I’ll be sure to do better.

The absurdity of that last thought catches up with me and I start to laugh. Because the truth is, if there ends up being a next time that I have to flee for my life and my freedom, then I’m just going to give up and let them do to me what they will.

Still, I’m grateful that of all the guys in my high school, I managed to team up with two of the smartest and most prepared.

I fiddle with my hair, brush it a little, though there’s not much to be done after that rainstorm and the subsequent humidity. Still, it feels good to do something normal. I slick some lip gloss on my mouth. Refresh my deodorant. Then stretch out on the floor of the van, between the two seats, and try not to drive myself insane.

It doesn’t work.

Everything that has happened these last few hours catches up with me, and I start to cry. Long, loud, jarring sobs that rack my entire body.

I can’t believe this is happening. Simply can’t believe that I’m here, in the middle of nowhere North Texas, running for my life. Or what very well feels like it. Agent Mackaray’s face appears in front of my closed eyelids, and I cry some more.

I have the feeling I’ve made—we’ve made—a powerful enemy in him. He doesn’t strike me as the kind of guy who likes losing his prey. And he really doesn’t strike me as the kind who can stand being one-upped by a teenager.

I don’t know how long I lie there crying, the flashlight clutched in my hands.

Long enough to curse my father with every swear word I’ve ever heard.

Long enough to release some of the pent-up emotion inside me, so that I no longer feel like I’m going to explode.

More than long enough for night to turn to dawn and dawn to turn to daylight.

It’s that early-morning light that finally calms me down, has me wiping my eyes and taking a few deep breaths. I switch off the flashlight—we need to conserve the batteries—then sit up as the thought registers that the guys really should be back by now.

I’m not wearing a watch, but I know that over an hour has passed since they went inside. Concerned for a whole different reason now, I lean forward and peek my head out the window. What could be taking them so long?

I try to tell myself that I’m overreacting, that nothing bad has happened to them. But with each minute that crawls by, my heart beats an uneasy tattoo in my chest.
Should I go in and check on them?
I wonder frantically.
Or will that only make things worse?
If they’re in trouble, the last thing they need is to have me show up in the middle of it. I don’t know if Mackaray and the others have managed to get out my description—without Internet, faxes, or the phone, that would be difficult. But not impossible.

Is it conceivable he saw what Theo looked like when he came for me? I don’t know how he could have, with it being as dark as it was in my house. But maybe he did. Maybe he released Theo’s description as well. And while I agree with
Theo that it’s hard to hide a six-foot redhead, it’s even harder to hide two giants, especially ones who look like Theo and Eli do.

I turn on the van with the keys Eli left for me, check the time. It’s 7:19. I’ll give them ten more minutes. If they aren’t back by then, I’m going in. I don’t care if it’s a risk. They came for me when I needed it. I can’t do less for them.

The thought galvanizes me, has me searching the van for sunglasses. I don’t find any, but in the back I do find a ton of supplies already. Nonperishable food like granola bars and cereal, water, portable gasoline cans completely filled. Three sleeping bags. A couple of flashlights. Some blankets. Duffel bags full of extra clothes for Eli and Theo. A wicked-looking knife that has me drawing back in surprise.

I want to pretend it’s for nothing more ominous than cutting twigs for a fire, but it isn’t a hunting knife. And I’m not that good a liar—even to myself.

I glance back at the clock, silently counting down on the dashboard. It’s been eight minutes. I close my eyes, make a wish. Then I reach for the sheathed knife and tuck it into the waistband of my jeans. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it, but it’s better to be prepared, right? Especially when I don’t think that one blow from
my
fist is going to result in anyone falling unconscious.

I’m reaching down to put on my boots—something I really, really don’t want to do—when I see them walking out the front door. Theo is pushing a fully loaded cart and Eli is carrying a bunch of extra bags. Did they buy out the whole store?

I want to leap from the van, to rush up and throw my
arms around them, which would be insane, not to mention a hugely unnecessary risk. But the relief rushing through me at the sight of them is so potent, so huge, that it’s nearly impossible for me to stay sitting in the car, waiting.

They reach the van soon enough, Theo opening the tailgate and loading in bags, one after another. I scoot to the back, start to help him as he organizes the stuff. At the same time, I surreptitiously drop the knife where I found it. No need for them to know I was ready to take on the Super Walmart to break them out.

“Just throw everything in there for now,” Eli suggests to Theo. “Two of us can get it all sorted while the third one drives. We need to move.”

“Here, Pandora.” Eli hands me the bags he’s carrying, and I take them, start pawing through them. In one is some sunscreen, face moisturizer, and brown hair dye. In the others are a couple of pairs of yoga pants (thank God), jeans, a hoodie, and some shirts. Mostly tank tops. And to be more specific, mostly low-cut tank tops.

I pull out a particularly lacy, low-cut, spaghetti-strapped shirt in electric purple. Eyebrows raised, I ask, “Who decided that this was what I needed to blend in?”

Theo just rolls his eyes, holding his hands up in the universal not-me gesture. I turn to Eli, who is grinning wickedly at me, charm all but oozing out of his pores. “It’s purple,” he says, like that explains everything.

“It’s practically nonexistent.”

“Hey, it’s the end of the world. A guy needs
something
to look forward to.”

I laugh, shove the shirt back down in the bag. “Dream on, buddy.”

“Oh, I will.” Another grin, this one accompanied by a wink that makes my stomach do some kind of odd little flip.

I ignore it. There will be no flipping. None at all. I have more than enough problems as it is.

“Come on, Pandora. Sit in front with me. Eli’s going to stretch out and try to sleep.” Theo tosses me a plain black hat. “Until we can get you to a motel somewhere so you can dye your hair, that’s better than the Mavericks cap.”

I nod, slip the baseball cap into place. Then crawl through the car to the front seat.

Theo’s there waiting for me, standing in the open passenger-side door. “Let me see your feet.”

“My feet?” I look at him uncertainly, but he just raises a brow and holds up a bottle of hydrogen peroxide. He noticed the blisters, bought stuff to take care of them. To take care of me. My stomach does that strange little flip thing again, and this time I’m too dazed to remember to ignore it.

I extend my right foot tentatively. Theo grasps it in strong fingers, then turns my leg so that my knee is facing out and the blister is toward the side. He mutters something when he gets his first good look at all the damage I’ve done, something low and obscene that I can’t quite catch. Then he says, “This is going to hurt.”