Calamity (Reckoners, #3)(22)

I woke.

I had curled up awkwardly in the back seat of one of the jeeps. We were traveling on a broken highway through the night. The vehicle thumped and jostled as we sped toward Atlanta.

I blinked drowsy eyes, trying to make sense of the dream. A nightmare? My heart was certainly racing. I could remember being absolutely terrified of the noise and confusion, but it hadn’t been like any other nightmare I’d experienced.

No water. I vaguely remembered a few nightmares from my time in Babilar, and they’d always involved drowning. I sat back, contemplating. After what we’d discovered about Epics, I couldn’t ignore any bad dreams. But where did that leave me? People were still going to have nightmares. How could you tell if one was important, or no more than a random dream?

Well, I wasn’t an Epic. So it probably didn’t matter.

I stretched and yawned. “How are we doing?”

“Good progress tonight,” Abraham said from the front passenger seat. “Less rubble on the roads out here.”

We traveled at night when possible, spread across two jeeps, with lights off, navigating by night-vision goggles. We changed around who was riding where every few hours at Abraham’s suggestion; he said that it helped keep conversation fresh and drivers alert. Everyone took a turn driving except me. Which was completely unfair. Just because of that one time. Well, and that other time. And the one with the mailbox, but seriously, who remembered that anymore?

Right now, Mizzy and Abraham were in my jeep, while Megan and Cody drove in the other. I pulled out my rifle, which I’d stashed at my feet. A touch collapsed the stock, and I could use the night vision and thermal scope to get a look outside.

Abraham was right. This highway, though broken up in places, was in generally better shape than the one we’d taken from Newcago to Babilar, and way better than the one we’d taken to Knighthawk’s place. We passed derelict cars on the side of the road, and none of the towns in the area were lit—either because they were abandoned, or any inhabitants didn’t want to draw the attention of Epics. I figured the former was more likely. People would gravitate toward one of the larger cities, where they would have to be ruled by Epics but also have some access to the necessities of life.

Terrible as Newcago had been, it had still provided a relatively stable life. Packaged foods out of one of the operating factories, clean water, electricity. It wasn’t colored fruit cereal, but it beat living in a wasteland. Plus, when it came to Epics, in the city you were like a school of fish—too insignificant to be singled out, you simply hoped not to get killed in a random act of anger.

I eventually caught sight of an old green roadway sign proclaiming that we weren’t far from Kansas City. We’d go around that, as Epics reigned there, most notably Hardcore. Atlanta’s current position wasn’t far beyond it, fortunately. Riding in the backs of these cars was none too comfortable. Sparks, this country had been big before everything fell apart.

I got out my mobile. It sure felt good to be using one of these again, though I’d needed to dial the screen brightness way down so it didn’t illuminate our car. I typed in a message to Megan.

Kiss.

A second later the mobile blinked, and I checked the response.

Gag.

I frowned until I noticed the text wasn’t from Megan, but from a number I didn’t know.

Knighthawk? I texted back, guessing.

Well, technically it’s Manny, my mannequin, came the reply. But yes—and also, yes, I’m monitoring your communications. Deal with it.

You realize everyone claims your mobiles are completely secure, I wrote.

Then everyone is an idiot, he replied. Of course I can read what you send.

And if Prof kills me and takes this phone? I asked. Aren’t you worried he’ll notice you texted me?

In response, the texts from him vanished, as did my replies. Sparks. He could hack my phone’s memory?

Remember our deal, a new text said. I want his cells.

I hadn’t made any such deal, but there was no use mentioning that now. I jotted down his number on a piece of paper, then watched as—sure enough—this latest text from him faded. A few moments later, a text came from Megan.

Kiss back, Knees.

Everything all right over there? I asked.

If by “all right” you mean me going insane having to listen to Cody make up story after story, then yes.

I sent her a smile.

You realize he’s claiming to have been in the Olympics, she sent. But a leprechaun stole his medal.

Wait for the pun, I texted her. There’s usually a terrible one at the end.

I’m riding with Abraham next leg, she said. Seriously. I thought I’d gotten over feeling like I need to strangle members of this team. Turns out my desire to murder Cody in a violent, dehumanizing fashion had nothing to do with the darkness. It was completely natural.

Hmm, I texted back. We might want to check and see if anything Cody is doing is related specifically to your psyche. There’s a chance, though slight, that if facing your fears can dampen the darkness, other environmental stimuli might enrage it.

A few moments passed.

Nerd, the text finally returned.

I’m just trying to consider all possibilities.

Really, she sent back, why couldn’t I end up dating a guy with a useful obsession?

I smiled. Like what?

Romance novels? Make-out techniques? Boyfriend stuff. Maybe then you’d compliment me for something other than my choice in sidearms.