After the End

52 JUNEAU

MILES AND I HUDDLE OVER A U.S. ROAD MAP THAT we pull from a neighboring shelf, and study the roads between Salt Lake City and New Mexico.

“A few of these smaller roads can get us to the Utah/New Mexico border, so we might as well head that way and I can try to Read again once we’re there,” I say. I look at the scale on the map and calculate. “It’s about eight hundred miles to the farthest part of the state.”

“That’s about thirteen hours nonstop,” Miles says.

“We are thirteen hours away from my father,” I say, breathless with excitement. “Thirteen hours from my clan.” And just as fast as it arrived, the excitement dissipates, leaving a feeling of despair. They tricked us, I remember for the thousandth time. It doesn’t matter now, I remind myself. My goal is to find them and free them. We’ll worry about explanations once everyone is safe.

Where will my clan even go if I can free them? I grab the box in my mind labeled “Open later” and shove all those thoughts inside. One step at a time. And the next step is getting out of Salt Lake City and as far away from our pursuers as possible.

We buy sandwiches in one of the ground-floor shops and take them to the car with us to eat while driving. I can’t wait another minute to get started. I have just thrown my pack into the backseat and placed our lunch on the dashboard when a hand grasps my arm. I look up into the face of someone more than twice my size—one of Whit’s guards is towering over me. “You’re coming with us,” he says, and jerks me out of the car.

My brain is in shock, but my body takes over, and all the hours spent practicing brigand raids instinctively kick in. In a heartbeat, I’ve twisted my arm out of his grasp. Since he’s tall, I aim high and kick him hard between the legs. He doubles over and stumbles back a few steps, giving me the time I need to grab my crossbow from the car’s floorboard.

I load an arrow and fire, hitting him in the shoulder. I turn to see the Jeep parked around the corner. Whit is behind the wheel, but the second guard is coming toward me. I shoot him, landing an arrow square in his upper arm, and he lets out a howl of pain and stumbles back to the car. He pulls it out with one hand and grabs something in the backseat to stanch the bleeding.

And then I see the impossible happen. The first guard pulls the crossbow bolt out of his shoulder, looks at it curiously, and tosses it into the grass. No blood comes out from under the hole it pierced in his shirt. He isn’t even wounded, and I shot him from mere feet away.

He grabs my arm and sends my crossbow clattering to the ground. I struggle and kick, but he’s much stronger than me and forces me toward the Jeep.

I see Miles standing next to his car, fear painted white across his face. Everything has happened within seconds, and he doesn’t know what to do now that the guard has me in his grasp.

“You two will be coming with me,” the guard says loudly enough for Miles to hear. “And no more scenes. Just close the door and follow me to my car.”

“What makes you think I won’t start screaming bloody murder?” I ask. I look around, but there’s no one nearby. “Anyone coming out of the library would see you dragging me away and come help.”

“Well, the fact that we know where your people are being held might change your mind about trying to draw attention,” he grunts.

My eyes widen. So Whit does know where they are. Something deep inside me refused to believe it until now. I turn and see him sitting behind the wheel of the Jeep with his shock of black hair sticking up messily and the sunlight behind him, hiding his features. A blinding surge of hatred sweeps through me, and I know that if, in this moment, I had the chance to hurt him—or even kill him—I would.

“If I come with you, will you let him go?” I ask, gesturing to Miles with my head, since my arm is still in the guy’s iron grip.

“I’m going wherever Juneau—” Miles starts to say, but the guard cuts him off.

“You’re both getting in my car. Now.”

We head toward the Jeep. The other guard is sitting in the backseat, wrapping a tourniquet around his arm and growling through clenched teeth. From behind the wheel, Whit is saying, “I told you not to take her on.” He leans over to open the passenger door from the inside and indicates I’m supposed to get in. “Juneau. Finally,” he says.

“You don’t want me to sit next to you,” I manage to say. I have to force the words out, because Whit’s sitting there looking like his same old self. The same man who mentored me for over a decade.

“Why not?” he asks, a fake smile plastered to his lips.

“Because I seriously doubt I’ll be able to refrain from scratching your eyes out,” I say evenly.

Whit pulls on an expression of false surprise. “No need for histrionics,” he says. And then, lowering his voice, he urges, “Get in the Jeep.” He glances down at a folded-up piece of paper sitting square in the middle of the passenger seat and raises an eyebrow, looking back up at me. “Get in! Now!” he yells.

All of a sudden, the sickening sound of crunching metal comes from behind the Jeep, and the vehicle lurches forward, its door springing away from me. As everyone swings around to see what happened, I scoop the paper from the seat and stuff it in my pocket.

“Sorry about that,” comes a man’s voice from the large black car that rear-ended the Jeep. “Let me get my insurance papers.”

The guard drops me and heads for the reckless driver. As I turn to see who hit the Jeep, another man jumps out of the black car and heads straight for me. I recognize him. He’s one of the guys who was trailing me around Seattle—he must work for Miles’s dad. Before I can run, he’s grabbed me around the chest and growled, “I’ve got a gun.”

I turn frantically to look for Miles, but he’s been pulled away by Whit’s guard.

“Miles!” I scream. But my new captor has shoved me into the black car, the driver jumps back behind the wheel, and we take off just as Miles realizes what’s happening. Away from Whit and his men. Away from Miles, who I watch running after us until it’s clear that he’ll never catch us.

Whit’s guard is right behind him and, seizing him by the arm again, leads him back to the Jeep. We turn a corner, and they’re gone.