Sovereign Ground (Breaking Bonds) (21 page)

Malcolm was right, I’m no good for Hayden. He gave
up a friend’s advice and probably his job. If he steals a car he’ll forfeit his
future. But if I’m going to analyze it—I already know how far he is willing to
go. Hayden would give me his life.

And I’ll take that life.

I crouch. The curse is only in my head.

“What’s wrong?” Hayden lifts me to standing, and I
ignore the pain in my rib. Does he need to know that Clint is following me? Can
he tell we are not alone? Hayden trembles, at some point he pulled out his gun.
He does know, somehow.

Something clanks at the house nearest us and we
both look. A porch light flicks on and we press deeper into the bush. Tiny
strips of light shine through the leaves. A spider web strand glows iridescent.
I feel more spider threads on my face but I’m afraid to wipe them away. Highlighted
by the illumination, tiny hairs stand at salute along Hayden’s neck. He is
golden light, even here, hiding in the dark.

Yes, steal a car. It’s our only hope.

I know not to trust that thought. Everything is
spiraling out of control. Just us humans, flailing around in the muck while all
the spirits laugh at us. I hate our helplessness. “If only we had some way to
know what we’re supposed to do.”

Hayden ejects a moan-sigh. “You’re right.”

“What?”

“I have been going about this all wrong.” He
laughs a little. “Praise God.”

Praise? Hayden grabs my hand and we leave the
bushes. Isn’t he afraid of the night? Won’t someone see us? No, he doesn’t seem
to care. We stroll down the middle of the street like it’s everybody’s business,
like we’ve nothing to fear.

“I’m sorry, God. I’m like Abraham, forcing your
promise with Hagar. Just like before, in Spain. Not again, God. Lord, you are
good. Lord, you are gooood tooo me.”

He’s singing now? What the heck?

He holds one hand up and with the other, he clutches
mine. What a fool.

I don’t want to say I feel surrounded by peace,
but there is something. I think it’s the absence of evil. That’s what it is: my
curse is gone.

Hayden’s wonderful foolishness lifts me to hope. Hayden
will rescue us. He will save me. He rolled on top of me to die.

He leads us away from the residential area. We
walk away from stealing a car—and toward the casinos…the lights, the van,
Brita’s killer.

“Sparrow, I’m sorry for panicking.” He squeezes my
hand. “I don’t know what came over me. God will take care of us. He’ll provide
the way.”

“So we’re just gonna start walking?”

“Yeah, but we’ll be smart. Stay to side streets,
get to the freeway.”

“Are we going to hitchhike?”

“No.” He pauses. “I don’t think so. God will
provide.”

Does he hear voices too? How can he tell which
ones to follow?

We turn before we get to the main street. We keep
walking and walking. It only hurts if I breathe deep or twist. I try to keep my
rib rigid. We’ve passed the lit part of town, and walk down a road that is
becoming more and more deserted. Hayden tries to hide a yawn. At least I slept.

I squeeze his hand. “Can we stop?”

“Are you okay?”

“No. My ribs hurt.” Which is true. But hopefully
after a break, he will reconsider walking to the freeway, based on some instruction
he may or may not have heard from voices in his head. At least with stealing a
car we would be in control of how we get to Humboldt. Maybe I should have let
him run off and get the motorcycle.

“Let’s rest at that gas station.”

“Thanks.”

A buzzer echoes in a back room when Hayden and I
walk through the gas station doorway.

“Can I help you?” An overweight woman sits behind
the counter. She is a younger, angry version of Raenah. Is she a bloodhound,
able to sniff out our empty pockets and forgotten wallets?

“Restrooms?” Hayden says.

“Restrooms are for customers.”

We must look horrible. I turn to Hayden. He’s a
little windblown, wrinkled clothes, tired looking. But he doesn’t look like a
vagrant. Is it me and my curse? Hayden looks to the door.

“I’m buying them both a cup of coffee.” A muscled,
square, hairy man steps from the candy bar aisle and points to us. From the top
of his green John Deer cap, to the bottom of his frayed Carhartts, he looks
like someone who could wrestle a bull. Large beefy hands hold chips, soda and
meat sticks. His shoes are clumped with mud and tufts of grass. It’s not even
raining.

I don’t blame the gas attendant for not arguing. I
take the key for the restroom, attached to a florescent baton, and walk alone
in the direction of the restroom sign.

When I’m finished and return the key, the
attendant repays me with an awkward smile. Ah, patron status now. It’s okay. I
return the smile and look around for Hayden.

“They’re outside.” She points.

“So there I was—” The big guy points to an imaginary
scene with his beef stick. “Pulling a jacked-up, half-ton, extended-cab truck
out of the mud with my cruiser…” He slaps Hayden on the shoulder and Hayden’s
laugh matches his in animation and sincerity. “Poor kid didn’t even know what
four-wheel drive meant.”

They turn at my approach.

“Matty.” Hayden puts his hand out. “I can’t thank
you enough for the coffee.” He hands a cup to me.

“My pleasure.” Matty gnaws on his jerky and keeps
talking. “I had such a profitable night, I told God, ‘You blessed me—bring
someone for me to bless,’ and then you two were standing there like a couple of
stray kittens.”

My hand moves to my pocket. This is no
happenstance. Hayden doesn’t seem as affected as me, he just holds up his cup
in salute. “Well, thanks.”

“You kids need a ride?”

“Yeah, but we’re headed to Salt Creek, up 93.”

“I’m going as far as Wells.”

“Really?” Hayden turns to me with expectant eyes.
He seems to say, ‘Wha’d I tell ya?’

Matty looks at me. “That is if you don’t mind
sharing a cab with me an’ Miss Priss.”

The coffee cup burns my hands. “Miss Priss?”

He points to a red, white and blue tow-truck. The
winch is as rusty and mud splattered as the rest of it. “Priss is my pit bull.”

We follow Matty and when he opens the passenger
door for us, a pale pink and white dog—no not dog, more like a skin-covered-hunk-of-muscle—noses
at him. The pickup dome light casts an eerie hue on her pale color, making it
look strangely translucent. The dog is squat and hard, like her owner. She’s as
friendly as him too, but fortunately only licking him all over his face.

“She won’t let you in unless she can greet you
properly.”

Hayden sticks his hand out, and she smells him and
then tastes him as thoroughly as she did to Matty. Hayden passes. Priss looks
at me. I hold my hand out but she’ll have none of that, she goes right for my
pocket. Diving and nudging, I try to push her away, but I’m not strong enough.

“Whoa, girl.” Matty pulls Priss back by her
collar. “All right, hop in the back, Priss.” She leaps over and sits on the
rear section of the extended cab.

I start to climb in, but Hayden puts a hand in
front of me. As Matty walks around the front, Hayden whispers, “Let me get in
first.”

It’s a protective gesture. Even though he trusts
this stranger enough to take the ride, he still thinks of ways to be cautious, to
care for me. As tired as he is, he won’t sleep.

“We’ll be in Wells by dawn.” Matty starts his
truck and turns on his headlights. Hayden sits close, pressing me against the
door. He starts drumming his thumb and pinky alternately against his thigh.

Matty glances over. “Where’d you say you were
headed?”

“Salt Creek,” Hayden answers.

I lean forward to look around Hayden. “Then to see
my grandfather at the Shoshone-Humboldt Indian Colony.”

“I’ve been out there. Nice place. So, you kids in
trouble?”

“Naw.” Hayden answers and increases the tempo of
his tapping.

“Cause, I was gonna offer to pray with ya.”

“I won’t turn that down.” Hayden presses his hand
against his leg. It shakes under the restraint, so I slip my fingers into his.

“Sovereign Lord, Hayden and Sparrow need your help.
Cloth them with armor so the enemy can’t even touch their minds. Direct our
courses. Restrict the ruler of this age.”

I want to ask him how he knows, but I have the
sensation that the Lord, the one he spoke to, is listening. Here, even. This
awe creates muteness in me.

“I have been...” Hayden seems reluctant, but
continues. “There was, almost, a presence.”

I was wrong—wrong about a few things. Hayden
understands more than I thought.

“Well, son, you don’t want to look for the enemy
everywhere. He isn’t who you want to find. Keep your eyes where they need to
be—on the Savior. But don’t be naïve, either.”

They go on, back and forth, saying things that
don’t make sense, things about prowling lions, attack and warfare, demons and
angels. It frustrates me how foreign their talk sounds. It’s like they’re
speaking Spanish in high school, and my barely passing grade only gives me
random words of comprehension.

We pass signs declaring the miles left to Battle
Mountain, Wells and the city where we are headed, Salt Creek. I focus out the
window at the dark landscape, wishing for the sun to rise.

Yip.

Miss Priss pushes her muzzle into my shoulder
after her whine-bark. It’s a little intimidating because her face is almost all
mouth. The guys continue. I try to ignore them again. Every few minutes, she
yips and I ignore. Finally, she pushes me and barks in my ear.

“Priss, what is it?”

“Sparrow found a stray kitten.” Hayden smiles.

“Ah,” Matty says. “I thought Priss was telling her
to pay attention.

Hayden squeezes my hand, and we all have a great
laugh about that one. But I start listening.

“
Remember, you are given power to
tread serpents and scorpions, and over the enemy’s power. Nothing can harm you.
”
Matty takes a deep breath, “
But this is not the thing to celebrate—that
spirits are subject to you. Rejoice because your names are recorded in heaven.
”

It doesn’t sound rehearsed, but I can tell Matty
recites it. It came from somewhere, he didn’t just make it up on the spot—there
is too much weight in the words. Too much power in the way he said them.

I nod and faux converse, hmms and smiles when they
look my way. But spirits, submitting to me? This is something I could use.
Wield my own sovereignty. I visualize ordering spirits away. Finally, I know
how I’ll laugh at my grandfather’s curse.

This is a good thing too, because we’re almost
there, we’ve arrived in Wells. It’s an intersection of out-of-state bound
freeways and gas stations. Everything feels hurried, transient. I want to leave
Matty’s truck quickly, but I get the fear that if I hopped in the wrong car no
one would know in which state to look for me.

Matty buys us breakfast sandwiches at a fast food
place and apologizes for not taking us north. He and Hayden part with a manly, slapping-hug.
He drives away toward a sign that says Las Vegas. Hayden waves until the tow
truck is completely gone and then pinches his lips together. He smiles, maybe
because I was watching his lips. He kisses me lightly. Why doesn’t he look more
tired? I know he hasn’t slept.

“What now?” I hope he doesn’t say walk.

He does.

“No, I need to take care of kitty.” We find a three-foot-wide
grassy patch behind the fast food place. Most of the area is packed dirt and
windblown litter. I have to wake the kitten. Hayden pulls out a multi tool and
crimps a triangular opening in the milk can. We fill the bottle and I try to
shove it inside the kitten’s mouth.

“I think I want to name him after the tow truck
guy.”

“Matt the Cat?” Hayden’s eyes shine.

“Something like that.”

Kitty—now named Matty—turns away from the bottle. I
pinch the rubber several times to get some of the milk to flow.

“He’s licking.”

“Oh, cool.” Hayden is as mesmerized by the little
striped face as I am. Matty figures out after awhile how to get the nipple end
into his mouth, but he just bites it.

“He’s hungry.”

Matty is going to live. Hope is like a sugar high.
I can hardly contain the giddiness and all that comes out of my mouth are
high-pitched squeals.

“Can I pet yer kitty?” A little sprite with waist
length, un-brushed hair stands before us with three of her fingers shoved into
her mouth.

“Sure,” I say. The child lowers slowly to her
knees and pulls her hands from her mouth.

“What’s her name?” The little girl’s fingers go
back in.

“Matty, what’s yours?”

 She doesn’t answer me. “I like kitties…” Her
words falter, and her little hand leaves her mouth. She reaches out to Matty.
Her whole arm shakes. She pets Matty as if she is afraid the cat will break or
disappear.

“Lynette!” A frantic woman, obviously the mom,
rounds the corner of the gas station and flies toward us. “Oh, Nettie. What
were you thinking?”

Nettie bursts into tears. “Kitty, Momma.”

“Yes, you found a kitty.” She pulls the child into
her arms and squeezes as if to turn her frustration and fear into love. “You
can’t run off, baby girl, you know that.”

Nettie shoves her fingers back into her mouth and
lays her head on her mom’s shoulders. “Sorry, Momma.” It’s beautiful the way
Nettie fits in her mom’s arms.

Matty is finished with the milk for now, and I set
him on the grass. Nettie wiggles from her mom’s arms. “Can I hold him?” There
is so much tremor in her voice that the whole two-and-a-half feet of her
quivers.

“Sure.” I have never seen a child so desperate. Of
course, I don’t have much experience with children.

The mom, already on her knees, plops to rest on
her feet with a sigh. “Thanks…” She pulls a wisp of hair back from Nettie and
tucks it behind her ear. “We lost a cat a few weeks ago.”