Page 10 of His Black Onyx

Daveed and Mike lower their heads, their shoulders tensing as they seem to remember how fucking inescapable our situation is—and how much worse it was before we found this girl. Taking her may have been the most stupid thing we ever did, but having her may also be the only blink of hope at our disposal.

And they both recall that the moment I mention our original plan B. Because there's really no viable plan B. The only plan we had was to try the impossible: to disappear. That's why we went to Atlantic City in the first place. We went to blow off some steam, imbibe in liquid courage that would manifest our decision to try something that almost no one ever dared before: to leave The Covey without dying.

It seemed to be our only choice.

Until we saw her.

Until we sensed a chance to save our asses.

Our plan with this girl may be substandard, but it tops the one we had before by far.

Even Daveed agrees to that, albeit reluctantly.

"Fine," he mutters. "I guess we'll have to try."

"We do," I agree. "Just give me three days with her. If I haven't made any progress before our meeting with George, we'll get rid of her."

"What do you want us to do?" Mike questions.

I hesitate for a moment, contemplating what most pressing errand I want to send them on. A lot of ideas come to mind, most of them mundane business such as acquiring food and ammunition. Our lack of preparation is unsettling, to say the least.

But as I go down the list that's been piling up ever since we left Atlantic City, I remember another detail that needs our attention.

"I need to you to do some research for me," I say, facing Mike, as I know he's the savviest one of us in that area.

"Find out who the fuck Jayson Bowlan is."

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