Page 21 of Hunted By Fae
“Not here,” I sigh. “On the other side of the country.”
Ramona turns her bloodshot eyes on me. “But it’s coming this way—from both directions now, right? It’s coming from the sea,” she gestures over her shoulder, as though the Pacific Ocean is right behind her, then throws her hand out in front, a general gesture to the west coast, “and that way, now.”
Louise snaps from the doorway, “We already knew it was headed this way. Why else were the animals bolting outta here like Usain on coke? Get a fucking move on!”
Ruby tilts her mouth. “Louise, don’t—”
“No! I’m not standing around here while you all rehash the fucking disaster headed our way, acting like it’s news to you—because you just don’t want to believe it. If you’re going to do that, do it in the van. Don’t waste my fucking time.”
Tesni’s jaw rolls.
Her words are swallowed down, deep in a dark place stirring within her, but her eyes…hollow.
Louise kicks back from the door, then disappears into the van.
Hand soft on Tesni’s shoulder, I give her a gentle squeeze. “You’ve got this?”
Not meeting my gaze, Tesni gives a stiff nod, then shoves her weight into the chair to flatten it.
There are only two left for her to fold.
And if what the radio says is right, and the blackout has reached the North American continent, then I can’t spare a moment on chairs.
“Need to pee.” A small fib.
I push up into a jog—and head straight for the cluster of trees and boulders.
With a glance spared back at the disintegrating campsite, most of it cleaned up and packed inside the van now, I fish out my cell from my bag.
The screen glows under the tap of my sweaty thumb.
My mouth pinches around a trembling exhale before my thumb starts the dance—the same routine it has practiced a dozen times since we abandoned the dirt field for the campsite.
Every moment that presented itself, where I could slip to the back of the group on the walk here, delayed by the cars and trucks lined up in gridlock on the highway, I snuck out my phone and dialled my dad’s number.
Just as I do now.
Two names at the top of the call log.
Two red names, tried and tried and tried, five times each.
None of those calls went through.
I try again.
My hand trembles with my breath as the photograph of my dad alights the screen. Mousy hair like mine, but his is a mop over a weathered face, not exactly aged and wrinkled, rather it’s the eyes that speak of lives lived.
The line holds. It doesn’t ring.
The signal unribbons from my cell, searching for network, for connection, and I wait, just staring at the familiar face of my dad on the screen until—
The photo fades back to the call log.
My mouth twists with the rush of tears.
I gulp them down, thick.
The blackout is interfering with signals. That’s what the radio said. Or was it Tess who said that?
