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The sky in the empty desert was more populated with light than the city they’d left behind. The Milky Way glowed, a diagonal slashing across the sky, glittering like a river sparkling in the sun. Ramone could almost feel himself swimming in it, big and vast enough to suck him upwards. He could hardly remember the last time there were so many stars in the sky. Before he knew himself better, he used to think he was the sort of man who committed all the constellations and stars to memory. Older now, he understood that he was more planted in reality. The here and now. Office buildings. Streets with names. His wife and kids.

I know what I am. I’m the man who doesn’t love the silence of the desert. Who runs from his torturer, the woman he truly loves, and refuses to accept the role of hero to some fan he never asked to have.

“Ramone? The rest stop?”

Ramone jerked his eyes away from the sky above the moon roof. “Oh. I didn’t realize we stopped.” Outside the Lexus, weak fluorescent lights flickered at the entrance to the bathrooms.

Blythe smiled in the faint light shining through the windshield. “Looks like they don’t care too much about them here.” Her eyes moved toward the cinderblock building and she nodded her head in that direction.

Ramone nodded. “I’ll just be a few minutes.” He pushed the door open with his shoulder and stepped out of the car, glancing once at the tire-iron before deciding against taking it along.

The rest area seemed abandoned. Electricity told him it wasn’t, but still he caught himself shivering. Not just from the cold mountain temperatures. Down toward the freeway, the occasional sound of passing vehicles roared up to meet him as he stumbled across the pavement. His legs felt weak. Twenty-four hours. That was all the time that had passed. Not long enough to recover completely. A mountain breeze slapped against his cheeks, bringing with it the fresh smell of juniper and dirt.

Inside a stall of the dirty, neglected bathroom, Ramone sat on the toilet without taking down his pants. He buried his face in his hands. Dug his thumbs into his eyes. Rubbed his cheeks despite the sting of the scabs. His hair felt greasy and his fingers caught in a few snarls, worked into his hair from the wind. Wanting to be alone didn’t matter. No matter who he escaped through running, there were always the cameras. The hum from the lights might as well be an insect-like noise from the tiny, invisible eyes fluttering about him.

Ramone stood and hit a fist into the door of the stall. The hinges creaked. One more time. Two more times with either fist. He took several deep breaths and flexed his fingers to make sure they weren’t broken. Before he left he relieved himself in a urinal, washed his hands, splashed his face with cold water and dried it with a coarse paper towel that smelled of ammonia.

The pain in his knuckles joined the chorus of aches given to him by the Enforcer. Had Ramone taken long enough? Was that the Enforcer in the car whose headlights were sweeping into the parking lot? Should Ramone wait? Should he run? Which would silence the fear that squeezed his heart into a thundering gallop like twenty horses at the races?

On the uneven sidewalk, Ramone stopped and watched. The headlights of Blythe’s Lexus blinked at him. Hurry up, she must be saying. But Ramone’s feet were stuck, as though the heavy, new work boots were suddenly concrete blocks. Beneath the ghastly light, he could see the pale form of Blythe’s face through the windshield. She looked afraid. But maybe it was just shadows cast by the flickering lamp light.

The car approached slowly, the dark color reflecting white starbursts from the parking lot street lamps. In the distance, a coyote howled. The hair on Ramone’s neck stood up. A shiver flashed through him. From the corner of his eye, Ramone saw Blythe turn and watch as the vehicle pulled into the empty space next to them, her hand stopping in its beckoning motion. The windows were too tinted to see who was at the wheel of the approaching car.

As the car door opened, Ramone felt his feet begin to move. But it was too late. 

*****

Marci woke up when the car stopped. Sulking was exhausting and she had no reason to stay awake. All she did was glower and no one noticed. So it didn’t even help. Plus, Blythe and Ramone weren’t talking much, and even if they had been, her eyes were too heavy to keep open.

But when the motion that had lulled her to sleep stopped, she came to. Ramone was gone and Blythe had leaned her seat back slightly. Her black hair spilled over the headrest of the Lexus as she rested, and even in the faint glow from the few parking lot lights that still worked, Marci was able to see a kink in the lawyer’s otherwise straight hair where the hairband had been. Her eyes appeared to be closed. Marci wondered if she should offer to drive again.

Bored, she pulled her slate out of the top pocket of her suitcase, moving gingerly, trying to be quiet.

“You’re awake.”

Marci cursed softly.

“I would have thought you were above playing the martyr,” the other woman said.

“Martyr? I just know my place now. I’d leave, but someone clearly thinks I belong here,” Marci pointed out.

“I see. I also wouldn’t have thought you smart enough to figure that out. You’re right, as it happens. Our mysterious benefactor thinks you’re important. I have no idea what would give him that idea. So far you haven’t done anything that seems particularly inspired.”

Benefactor? Marci wanted to know more, but could hardly overlook the many insults Blythe delivered. “What? Just because I’m pretty? So I’m not intelligent because I’m attractive?”

“Conceited too? My, my.”

“I’m not conceited. I just see the facts. And the facts are, I’m not ugly, I take care of myself, and plenty of men look at me. Therefore, I must be attractive.”

“Honey, and I never say honey and I’m only going to say
this
once, men would look at a woman with lust in their eyes even if she had the head of moose. As long as it had a body. It’s no accomplishment to get their attention. And it doesn’t mean you’re attractive.”

That stung. But Marci didn’t want to fight. She just didn’t want to be insulted. She bit her lip, held back the criticism and all the return insults buzzing around her brain like angry hornets, and said instead, as calmly as possible, “Blythe, really. Back off. Ramone doesn’t want me. He wants you. I’m not your competition.” Marci had to concede. And she did. It was the mature thing to do.

The other woman sat up with a jolt, then leaned back again, suddenly, apparently fighting the urge to turn and stare at Marci in alarm. “Please. I’m not jealous of you. A man like Ramone would want a
woman
, any way. Not a little girl.”

“Fine. I’d like to make peace and you want to fight. Let’s not talk at all, then. When you feel like it, you can tell me about the benefactor who thinks I’m important. It’d be nice to be wanted for a change, even if it’s not by you or Ramone,” Marci said, putting her earbuds in and finding a playlist on her slate to listen to.

Blythe sat up again, this time returning her seat to its upright position and looking over her shoulder. “Did Ramone say something that made you think he doesn’t want you here?”

Reluctantly, Marci removed an ear bud. “What, you mean other than back at his house, when I arrived and he told you to ditch me? And the time when he told me he didn’t want me here? Yeah, in fact, there was another occasion when Ramone made me feel like crap. Back in that town when you went to buy him some clothes. He told me to leave. That’s why I went in the store, not because my fashion sense dictated I stock up on the latest fall fashions from country-boys-r-us, if you want to know. Thanks for helping me remember that Ramone hates my guts. Would you like to discuss the other men who’ve helped me feel like shit? How about Stewart? Yep, Stewart. Right before I came out here, my roommate, Stewart helped me realize my full potential as a talented young skank. It was wonderful.”

In the dark, Marci could see Blythe’s unchanging expression as the other woman glanced over her shoulder. She stared at Marci impassively, and that’s what kept Marci going. She wanted to see that face crack and turn sympathetic. Somehow the other woman was untouched. The only thing that stopped Marci was Marci, not a protesting Blythe, like Marci wanted. Damn, she must be a good lawyer.

“You must have done something, Marci. Ramone wouldn’t say or do anything to hurt you without being provoked. Unless,” Blythe said, then stopped. Reaching both hands up, she smoothed her hair into a ponytail and secured it with the band from her wrist.

“Unless what? I didn’t provoke him,” she lied. Did Blythe buy it? If Marci had to pick a way to defend her life, it wouldn’t be with a bluff or a lie. She was cursed. It was a marvel, really. The only daughter of disgustingly wealthy parents and somehow, she’d never gotten the knack of lying.

Blythe shifted in her seat, putting her hands on the wheel, suddenly preoccupied and still ignoring Marci’s questions. “What’s taking him so long?”

“Should I go look for him? I don’t know why I would, really, he’s been such a jerk to me. But I think there’s so much good in him. He’s just been hurt ever since that evil bastard did that stuff to him, right, Blythe? Blythe?” Blythe wasn’t listening, or if she was, she wasn’t in the mood to answer, which started to infuriate Marci. They were finally getting somewhere! “What did you mean when you said
unless
?”

“Oh no,” Blythe said, her face turned toward the passenger window.

“What?” Marci said, looking out the window to her right. A car had exited the freeway and was approaching the Lexus. “What’s wrong? It’s just a car. People use rest-stops all the time. Don’t they? I haven’t used very many myself, but from what I understand, when people take long road trips, they like to use them.”

“Maybe. Maybe it’s nothing,” she acknowledged.

“You don’t sound like you believe that. I’m sure it’s nothing. Right? I mean, right?” Marci felt her stomach turn cold, as the vehicle, some kind of dark four-door number, pulled into the parking space next to them.

“Please,” Blythe said. It sounded like a prayer.

The driver’s door opened and through the window, Marci saw him. Blythe made a whimpering sort of noise which made Marci look toward her, and that’s when Marci noticed Ramone on the sidewalk between them and the restrooms. Without thinking, Marci threw her suitcase aside and forcefully opened the car door nearest their new neighbor. The man, the horrible, horrible bastard man, had stepped out of his car and was right in the pathway of Marci’s door, which slammed against his back. He stumbled forward slightly. Before he could recover entirely from the blunt force, Marci was behind him.

Using her right foot, Marci kicked the Enforcer in the hollow of his knee. Rebalancing her weight on her right foot, she used her left foot to hook his and swept his left leg out from under him. He fell forward into his car door and cried out in pain. As he struggled to regain his footing, Marci brought her elbow down with all the weight of her body on the top of his shoulder where it joined his neck. He crumpled like a wooden puppet.

“Ramone!” she screamed. “Hurry! Get in!” She spared a moment to look for him. He was right where she’d last seen him, as though his feet were stuck in the sidewalk. Blythe stood up out of the Lexus on the opposite side and joined Marci in urging Ramone to move.

The Enforcer stirred, a groan rising from the pile of human beneath Marci. She lifted a foot and kicked him in the back of the head. Part of her considered attempting to kill him with her bare hands, but the thought made her stomach queasy.

“Hurry! Ramone! Please!”

Finally, after several more words of encouragement from both Blythe and Marci, Ramone broke into a run. He arrived at the driver’s-side passenger door and jumped in. Marci gave the man at her feet one more kick before getting in herself.

Chapter 13

“Why didn’t we slash his tires or something?” Marci asked. Ramone had barely caught his breath, feeling his heart slow as she spoke.

“Hindsight’s twenty-twenty,” he muttered, looking out the rear window from his place beside Marci. There was no sign of anyone behind them.

“Turn around and go back, Blythe, we can do it now,” Marci urged, her voice sounding high-pitched and somewhat hysterical.

“You really think he’ll still be there?” Blythe’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “No way, Marci. We’re not going back. Even if he’s still there, he might wake up. What did you do to him, anyway?”

Before entering the freeway entirely, Blythe slowed and Ramone scrambled around to the front seat. She zoomed away as soon as he was in.

Ramone heard the click of Marci’s seatbelt as she settled in and he fastened his own. At least he hoped it was her seatbelt. He wasn’t too familiar with the sounds of guns. Not that anyone had guns anymore. Well, no one The Organization didn’t want to have guns, that is.

“Not much. Just a well-placed kick here, a well-placed kick there. Neutralized the threat, that kind of thing.” She sounded self-satisfied and Ramone could just picture her young, obnoxiously beautiful face looking pleased.

“Did it kill him?” Blythe asked, sounding hopeful. Ramone wanted them to be quiet. He wanted a break from people to collect his thoughts. His head still thrummed with the vibrations of fear. The fear of being caught. Of enduring the ministrations of the Enforcer again. He realized that his nihilism had just been naive bravado. He didn’t want to be hurt again.

“Hardly. I doubt it. I mean, I’ve never killed anyone before. Well, actually, I guess I’ve never beat up on them that badly either. I kind of think killing someone will feel differently. That didn’t feel like, you know, killing someone, per se.” The girl actually sounded disappointed. Too thoughtful. It made Ramone’s stomach turn. He remembered the pain inflicted by that man, so, why did Ramone care? Why did it fill him with remorse to consider the Enforcer being hurt?

“How would you know? For all you know, judging from your experience, you wouldn’t. Maybe he’s dead,” Blythe answered. When did they become such good friends?

“I wouldn’t. But I doubt he’s dead. At least, if we look at it from the perspective of what would be easiest for us—him being dead—well, what you want to happen never happens. We ought to assume he’s alive and still on our tail. I wish I had my gun. Back before they took them all away, my dad made me learn to shoot. He also made me take martial arts classes, ballet, dance, hunting. You name it. It was sheer torture,” she stopped suddenly, cutting off the last word. “Oh, um, sorry, Ramone. It wasn’t that bad, I guess. He’s a paranoid businessman, that’s all. And I suffered for it. Not that it was suffering compared to . . . compared to other things.”

Blythe shook her head, glancing sideways at Ramone to see if the mention of that word affected him. Ramone stared straight ahead, feigning something he didn’t feel: complacency. A twitching pain in his legs said he was in a state otherwise. That must be it. He almost nodded at the realization: The pain lingered. If the torture had gone on longer, maybe he would have gotten to a point where his mind left his body. As it was, all it did was root him firmer than ever into his body. His cells. His DNA. He was himself. Ramone. The body and spirit stamped into one like ink meshed into paper. And the thought of others feeling what he felt in that room was something he never wanted to see again, in his mind, on a screen, on a feed—it sickened him. Even though he hated the Enforcer with a fierceness he hadn’t even reserved for the thieves who’d ruined the technology he’d borne, well, he also felt something else for that man. That animal. That
thing
.

Sympathy.

The body, the flesh, the soul, the heart, it was one. For now, anyway, Ramone knew too well how pain felt and he never wanted another soul to feel what he’d felt.

“Wishing for a gun’s not going to do us much good. Just forget it, anyway. I’m not going to ask you to kill anyone, and I don’t think Ramone is, either. Are you, Ramone?” Blythe gave him another sideways glance and smiled.

“Hardly,” he answered, with a smirk, coming back from his reverie. Being unsocial now wouldn’t help anything. He tried to return Blythe’s smile, but couldn’t shake the sick feeling at the thought of the Enforcer being hurt and left for dead. The man had very nearly killed Ramone! He should
wish
for it. “How fast are you going?” He asked, straining to see the speedometer from his seat. “Faster, please. Let’s put as much distance between us and him as possible.” That would help, maybe. Distance. The more the better. The night-shrouded hills surrounding them zoomed by as Blythe increased their speed. With the moon and the darkness, everything seemed to glow. It was as though they were on an alien planet and with the way Ramone was feeling, it might as well have been. Ramone rarely ventured out of the city these days. Well, those days. They were in the past now, weren’t they? And he didn’t see himself going back any time soon. The rut he’d been in back there in the city with Sue extended that far—no adventure, no spontaneity, none of the let’s-try-new-things sense about their world. Oh, sure, just after the money poured in from the fledgling days of the optic nanocameras, they’d used it to see parts of the world they’d only dreamed of seeing. But the shininess wore off shortly after the cameras began to be used for surveillance. How had he not foreseen such applications?

“Ramone?” Blythe repeated. Marci wasn’t speaking to him, still. He supposed he owed her an apology. Or a thank-you.

“What?”

“You alright?”

“Sorry. Still in shock, I think.”

“Of course. That was quite the scare.”

“Marci?” He said it without turning, his gaze on the next range of mountains in the distance, moonlight cascading across them like a white veil over an obsidian lake, illuminating the contours and canyons.

“Hmm?”

“I owe you one,” he said. Then, a little softer, “Thank-you.”

“No biggie.”

There was silence. Ramone knew a stillness like that would make most people awkward, but he relished it. After a few moments, Blythe cleared her throat. “Well. So, the GPS says we only have thirty more miles. Should we continue on? I’m thinking: what if Mr. Psycho torturer follows us?”

“Everyone who matters already knows where we are, anyway. I mean, hello? The satellites the GPS is using? Right? And well, everything else,” Marci offered.

“That’s true. Ramone?” Blythe glanced at him quickly.

“I agree. We’re not exactly playing cloak and dagger here, beyond our own little imaginations. Unless someone figured out how to turn off the cameras.” He looked to see if Blythe knew something she hadn’t shared already. She shook her head. “Well, then. I guess just plunge ahead.”

*****

Dawn crept toward them as they drew closer to the coordinates the Editor had given Blythe. They turned off the main road several miles back and wound through shallow canyons along small creeks that eventually disappeared, leaving an empty bed of dusty rocks. The road turned to dirt that saw little traffic, judging from the weeds thriving along the center of the track.

“Um, so, I didn’t want to say anything, but is this the part where the road disappears entirely and a man jumps out with a chainsaw and cuts all of us up? Or Bigfoot accosts us? Or chupacabras or someone like that?” Marci’s voice broke over the shrill silence. Ramone didn’t want to admit it, but his thoughts were running on a similar course. Finally, a quiet that disconcerted him.
So this must be how normal people feel
. He heard Marci’s seatbelt zip back and the center one click as she moved away from her door.

“That, or a pack of torturers and other henchman,” he muttered.

“No, this is right. I’m sure. We’re almost there. Well, unless—” Blythe broke off, afraid to admit her own fears.

“Unless what?” Marci asked urgently.

“It’s OK. I’m sure. I’ve heard of areas like this,” Ramone heard himself saying.
Heard what, you fool?
that unfaithful part of him mocked.

“What are you talking about?” Blythe asked, hunching over the steering wheel, her shoulders nearly touching her earlobes.

“Dead places. Strange geologic areas where the earth somehow suppresses magnetism. I think that’s where we are. Where we’re going.” Hope seemed to bubble in his stomach and throat before he could squelch it with the near constant pessimism he’d felt since seeing Sue with her lover.

The sky lightened to pink in the east. The faint road crested a small hill and bent around an outcropping of cliff. As they rounded the turn, a valley opened up before them, shielded on all sides by towering mountains. Scattered across the valley floor beneath cottonwoods and mesquite trees were hundreds of tents and smoldering campfires. Beside some of the tents there was an occasional car, but every object was somehow camouflaged—more for being seen from above than anything else. Ramone gasped.

“Wow,” Marci said, whistling. She was leaning forward between the two front seats, her breath sounding loud in Ramone’s ear.

“We should have expected it. At least, I did, but not to this extent,” Blythe said. There was a quality of awe in her tone. “I suppose we should park and walk, then? Don’t want to surprise the natives.”

She pulled the Lexus off the trail into a low patch of weeds, under a mesquite with an umbrella canopy that hid the car from the heavens.

The three of them began toward camp on foot after locking their doors. There was a stirring among the tents as people began exiting or peeking out to see who had come. Marci hissed quietly. “What if they shoot us? Should we be waving a white flag in front of us?”

“Nonsense,” Ramone answered, feeling stupid at her suggestion for some reason. But anyway, if someone did start shooting at them, what chance would they have?
No one has guns anymore,
he told himself. More to appease his fears than that he believed all guns had been disposed of.

“Hey! Hey! Stop!” A voice shouted from a tent they’d already passed. All three of them stumbled to a halt, turning to see who’d called out. A thin college-aged man came running toward them, shirt and shoeless, wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. His dark brown hair flowed about his shoulders and he smoothed the morning snarls down as he slowed to a trot before stopping entirely before them. “Who are you? How’d you find this place? Talk fast, man, I may look like a hippy, but I know jiu-jitsu.”

Ramone sighed and glanced at Blythe and Marci before saying anything. Marci was trying to suppress a grin at the harmless looking boy’s innocuous threat. Blythe had gone pale and looked unable to get a word out. “We come in peace,” he answered, realizing that sounded more ridiculous than he ever thought it might. “Please, we’re just looking for somewhere safe. Is it safe here?”

The boy nodded. “Well, safe from what? It depends.” He scrutinized Ramone as he spoke, studying him from head to toe, eyes lingering on the scabs across Ramone’s cheeks. “But that doesn’t answer my questions.”

“I’m Ramone. This is Blythe, and Marci,” Ramone said, gesturing to the women quickly, feeling exasperated. “We were given the coordinates by a man, uh, his name is—”

“Ghosteye,” Blythe cut in. “Do you know him? He said he knew someone here.”

The half-naked boy’s eyes widened at the mention of the Editor, Ramone noted. By then a crowd of half-dressed campers had emerged and congregated a few feet behind the their host. Ramone’s eyes flickered over the crowd, judging them quickly, hoping they wouldn’t send him to the stake. An older man with a crew cut and a long scar across his cheek separated from the crowd and whispered something in the leader’s ear. His eyes narrowed and he nodded before addressing Ramone.

“Come with me,” he said, turned and picking his barefooted way across the trampled weeds in the center of the camp.

Ramone exchanged a glance with Blythe before they fell into step behind the hippy and the crowd parted to let them through.

*****

Bethany stretched luxuriously, feeling the first rays of sunlight on her cheeks, coming in through the mesh vents on the side of her tent. Yawning, she sat up and rubbed her eyes. Her sleeping bag fell away as she reached for the shirt she’d tossed aside the night before and pulled it over her head. Just in time, too, she noted as the zipper at the entrance to her tent parted and Chance’s narrow, handsome face poked in. He ran a tattooed hand through his long brown hair before tying it up in a ponytail.

“There’s someone you need to see, Beth. You won’t believe who just showed up. It’s
him. Him
.”

“You mean…?”

He nodded. His shoulders poked through the tent flap as he knelt outside her door. They were bare. 

“Go get dressed. Tell them I’ll be just a minute.” Beth jumped up and pulled on the khaki pants she’d worn the day before. She pulled her dreads into a band, took a sip of freezing water from her Nalgene, and slipped her feet into the canvas shoes she left just inside the tent-entrance.

Pulling the tent flap aside, she glanced out before stepping into the brisk morning. The sun was an indifferent orb on the eastern horizon, shining into her face, but not warming her the way it should. Autumn in the higher elevations was always a cool affair. It was her favorite time of the year. She’d hardly expected to get a visit of this nature so soon. Well. Ever, really. Not on amicable terms, at least.