Page 12 of Victorious: Part 2
When I get back to the truck, Clover is sitting on the tailgate looking defeated. Dracula has climbed into her lap and is purring against her chest as if he’s trying to comfort her.
“Any luck?” I ask, though her expression already gives me the answer.
She shakes her head. “Nothing. It’s like the entire world just… disappeared.”
I hand her the water and sit beside her. “The cashier mentioned there’s a payphone around back. Might be worth a try.”
Her eyes light up with desperate hope. “Really?”
“Can’t hurt to check.”
She takes off, and I smirk, following her as we find the payphone mounted on the back wall of the building, and miracle of miracles, it actually has a dial tone. Clover digs in her purse for quarters while I try to remember Maverick’s number.
She dials with shaking fingers, and we both lean in to listen, then…
“The number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and try again.”
“Shit,” she berates, hanging up. “Try Sadie’s number.”
Same result.
“Haven?”
Nothing.
“Alpha?”
The same automated message every time.
By the time we’ve tried every number we can think of, Clover’s silent tears stream down her face, making me feel as if I’m failing her, even though I feel it may be the phone that’s the problem.
“The phone must be crap, the cashier did say it might notwork,” I say, though I’m not sure I believe it. “Or maybe the cell network at home’s interrupted, or—”
“Phoenix,” she interrupts, her voice steady despite the tears. “Wehaveto go back.”
And there it is.
The conversation I’ve been dreading since this morning.
“Clo—”
“No! Listen to me,” she urges, turning to face me fully. “I know what Maverick said. I know what the orders were. ButI can’t do this anymore.I can’t keep driving away from them when they might need us.”
I run my fingers through my hair, frustration and fear building inside me. “And if it’s a trap? If the Cartel is waiting for you to come back?”
“Then I’ll deal with it!”
“You’ll deal with it?”I laugh, but there’s no humor in it. “Clover, you’re not bulletproof. You’re not a fighter. If something happens to you—”
“Then at least I’ll die trying to help my family instead of hiding in the desert like a coward.”
The word hits me like a slap to my face. “We’renotcowards.”
“Aren’t we?” she challenges. “Becausethat’swhat this feels like to me. It feels like we’ve abandoned them when they need us the most.”
I want to argue.
I want to explain about tactical retreats, following orders, and keeping her safe.
