Page 22 of The End of the World As We Know It
Where thefuckdid that voice come from? Hissing, inside her head.
Stab him in the ribs.
Dani gasped. Mollie stared at her in the half-light—confused, then frightened.
Her eyes widened. “No, no, Dani, no.”
Dani scrutinized Jesse. She wanted to run from this city. To flee, to fly. But if he was a snitch…
Mollie started to cry. “Stop, Dani, no!”
He’ll talk, you’ll die.
She glared at him. “You know who that girl is, don’t you? Amber. Did you talk to her? You know how to find her?”
Snitchhhhhh.
“Yeah. That’s right.Snitch.That you?”
Jesse tensed. “What the hell?”
“Answer the question.”
Mollie reached toward her. “He’s good, he’s okay,who is talking to you?”
The knife hung in Dani’s hand, blade catching the light. Jessecoiled. The thoughts behind his eyes seemed to race.Bolt. Get gone, stay gone. Then he looked at Mollie. He held steady.
He was either an all-pro liar, or was genuinely more worried for Mollie than for his own safety.
Kill him and live? Believe him and die? Or—
A sea of green.
Dani backed against a shelf, tears stinging her eyes. She threw the knife to the floor.
Mollie rushed to her. Cheeks hot, eyes frightened. Dani hugged her.
“I’m okay. It’s okay. We’re cool.”
But nothing was cool. Something—somebody—wanted her to kill this boy, then to stay in Vegas with Mollie, terrorized and frozen.
She pressed the back of her hand to her mouth. Bugs seemed to scurry under her skin. “We have to go. Together.Today.” Before that voice returned, that silky hiss, and tried to feed on her again.
“Righteous,” Jesse said. “Let’s do it.”
Dani straightened and wiped her eyes. “If not west, south? Mexico?”
Mollie turned to the windows, looking east. Jesse said, “Over the Rockies.”
“Fuck me,” Dani said.
They packed up. Food, water. Hiking boots. Bikes. Dani fitted Mollie’s helmet. Jesse snagged gas station maps and plotted a route in red marker. It would avoid main roads, winding through residential neighborhoods and past silent warehouses to a state road that eventually intersected I-15. The kid was not just strong, but smart and organized. Solid. Older than his years.
Survival tempered you.
“I scoped out two gun stores,” he said. “Both were stripped clean. One had ‘Eat me, bitches,’ spray-painted on the door.”
“Poetry.”
