Riders (Riders, #1)(38)

I spent the next thirty miles trying to figure out what it could be. Rage seemed to make sense for War, but what about Famine? I was pretty hungry right then. Was he working his power on me? But I couldn’t see how wielding hunger would be an asset. Then again if I got hungry enough I got angry, so … Did we have the same power? Then I remembered his audition. Was acting his power? If so, then I was really glad I wasn’t Famine.

With my Jeep running on fumes, we stopped for gas. I filled the tank, then pulled a twenty out of my wallet and handed it to Bastian.

“Get us a couple bottles of water and some food, would you? I’m famished.”

Bastian cracked a grin. “That’s my line.”

I left him and went around back to the restrooms, where Daryn had headed. I didn’t want to crowd her so I hung back a little. She didn’t see me as she slipped into the women’s room. About three hours later—okay, it just felt that long—she came back out.

She froze when she saw me. “What are you doing?”

I spread my hands. “I was just … standing here.”

“Seriously?” She twisted her hair over one shoulder, then touched the necklace. I thought I saw her fingers trembling. “Were you waiting for me?”

“Yes. It’s the middle of the night, Daryn.” This was a truck stop at the edge of the desert. There was nothing around us except great places to dump bodies.

“I can take care of myself.” She shook her head, scowling like I’d insulted her, and walked away.

I stood there for a second longer, trying to figure out what I’d done wrong. Oh, right. I’d tried to be helpful.

When I came around the corner Sebastian was pulling pretzels out of a brown paper bag, crunching away. I knew he’d heard my exchange with Daryn. He wasn’t even trying to hide his smile.

“Shut up, Famine.”

“I didn’t say anything, War.”

When we got to the Jeep, Daryn was in the driver’s seat. “You should get some sleep,” she said, without looking at me.

I had the feeling this was about more than just who’d drive, but whatever.

We got back on the road and shared the bag of pretzels. Then we split two Twix bars three ways—which, believe me, wasn’t easy—and talked about nothing of consequence. I think we had a debate about the best pretzel shape. Daryn liked the classic twist. I liked sticks. Sebastian liked them all. Then it was full dark and there was only the sound of my Jeep eating up miles on the freeway.

I settled in and stared at the stars. Millions and millions of them. We were in true desert now. The Mojave. And I’d never seen so many stars.

After a while, I couldn’t look at those stars without thinking God. And then thinking, Oh my God. You’re really real. I had the answer to the greatest mystery of all time, and I hadn’t even stopped to think about it.

Why? Why hadn’t I lost my mind over this? I had proof. Why was I so … so relaxed about the biggest, most mind-blowing part of all this? But then this trickle-down effect happened, and I started thinking about every last crappy thing I’ve ever done in my life.

There’s a lot, Cordero. I’ve told you a few things already, but it’s a pretty healthy list. I swear a lot. More than I’ve been doing. I’ve been trying to keep it clean for you. I have anger issues. I think I’ve established that. I didn’t go to church more than a few times a year. I hadn’t prayed since my dad died. I’d literally signed up to kill people for the protection of my country if I had to, and … The list goes on.

Point is, I came back to that question—why me? I was nowhere close to being an ideal candidate. I mean, I believed. I think inside, in my heart, I’d always believed. But was that enough? Was it the start, or the end? Or … neither?

As I watched that desert sky, all that going on inside me, I felt my mind rearranging itself. It wasn’t that I understood better, or that I’d made peace with anything. I still had that zero-gravity feeling, like all the anchors in my life had been pulled up. It was more that space had opened up. I realized I hadn’t even had the capacity to understand before. And that night, with all those stars over that open freeway, all I felt and saw and felt was endless capacity.





CHAPTER 22

My eyes wouldn’t stay open, so I slept. I dreamt about my family. My dad pitching to me—weird because he never used to. He couldn’t because of an old shoulder injury. My sister and my mom dancing to salsa music in our living room—weird because that had never happened. And other things that made no sense. That were just a wacky stew cooked up by my subconscious. But part of what I dreamt was real. A memory that replayed perfectly for me from when I was a little kid, in kindergarten.

It was circle time and we were all sitting on this carpet map of the United States. I was sitting on New York, Anna was over by Arizona. Somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico, my teacher Mrs. Alexander was reading a book to us.

The story was about this little monster who wanted to be terrifying but was too cute to pull it off. I couldn’t sit still as Mrs. A read it. It was my favorite book and I’d brought it in that day. I wanted everyone to think it was as funny as I did. Mrs. A had just given me a second warning to stop wiggling around when the classroom phone rang. She marked her spot by slipping a pencil between the pages and went to answer it.