After the End

44 MILES

I AWAKE TO THE SOUND OF THE CLEANING LADY unlocking my door. “Checkout was a half hour ago,” she says, and stands there with her fist on her hip like she’s kicking me out.

“Uh, could I have five minutes to get up and get dressed?” I ask. She makes a puffing noise and backs out, but leaves the door cracked open. I glance over at the glowing red numbers of the alarm clock on the bedside table. Eleven thirty a.m. My first night in what feels like forever in a real bed instead of on the hard ground, and I want to sleep all day.

And then I remember why I’m here and leap out of bed, pulling yesterday’s jeans and T-shirt on and running out to the car. I was so tired last night I didn’t even bother to bring my suitcase in with me.

Okay, Miles, think. Redding and Portman will already be in Salt Lake City by now. Whit and his men… who knows where they are? And Juneau? She could be anywhere between that service station and Salt Lake City. It’s useless to try to search for her in between, when I know that the city is her goal. She’ll turn up there sooner or later.

I pop the trunk, fish out the cereal and a bottle of cranberry juice. Juneau had never seen it before, so of course she had to buy a six-pack, and I remember her excitement with a smile. For the next three hours I eat dry Cap’n Crunch out of the box and take swigs of Ocean Spray (which do not mix well) as I drive to Salt Lake City.

But once I’m in the city, I have no clue of where to even start looking for her. I try to think like she does. She had talked about that prophecy of the serpent and the city by the undrinkable water and seemed to think that she would find the next piece of the puzzle once she arrived. But what would she look for? Where would she go to look for a sign?

I drive around the downtown area, looking for anything that catches my eye. Temple Square. Capitol Hill. The shopping district. All I can think is that modernity freaks her out, so she would probably head to a park or the lakefront. My stomach’s growling, so I park the car and go into a sandwich shop and order some food. I’ll eat next to the waterfront. When I give the cashier my credit card, it comes back as declined.

“Try it again,” I say, and end up having to pay with cash. I’ve got twenty bucks left in my wallet, so I head to an ATM. It eats my card. When I go into the bank, the teller tells me that my card has been reported as stolen. And then I know.

“What the hell, Dad!” I yell into the pay phone.

“Watch your language, young man,” he growls. “I told you to come directly home. What are you doing in Salt Lake City?”

“How do you even know where I am?” I yell.

“My assistant, Sam, is tracking your card use.”

“He reported it as stolen!”

“I’ll have him rectify that as soon as you reassure me that you are on your way to L.A. and I will see you here tomorrow.”

“I’m not coming home. I’m staying here until I find the girl.”

“If you do, Miles Blackwell, you can forget about Yale. I have my men on this, and I don’t want you messing it up.”

“But Dad,” I begin. The phone line clicks as my dad hangs up.

I head back to the car, flipping through my wallet as I walk. Twenty bucks to my name and my dad’s Shell card, which can only buy me gas. I’m not leaving. I’m not going home, but where am I going to stay? I’m not Juneau—I can’t survive off the land. What am I going to do until I find her—snare pigeons with my phone charger and cook them over a campfire in the public park?

I press the button to unlock my car, accidentally popping the trunk open. Walking around to slam it shut, I see something I had completely forgotten was back there: the tent and camping supplies.

I glance around at the stunning mountain scenery surrounding the city and smile. I can’t afford a hotel room, but I can sure as hell camp.