A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, #4)(72)

“There are more highwaymen out there,” Paul said, leaning through his open window. “They must’ve put out a call for reinforcements.”

“I wish we could take you all with us,” I told Miss Billie.

Miss Billie shrugged. “As long as my dog treats hold out, we’ll be all right.”

“We’ll ask H to send you more as soon as he can,” Emma said.

“I’d appreciate that.”

“Can you show us the back way out of here?” I said.

“Sure,” said Miss Billie. “Though by taking it you’re risking your lives. There were shadow creatures everywhere back in sixty-five, even down here in Florida.”

“We’ll be okay,” I said. “I’ve got a nose for hollows.”

Miss Billie stood a little straighter. “You’re like H?”

“He’s like Abe,” Emma said proudly.

“Don’t know him. But if H trusts you enough to hire you, I guess you know what you’re doin’. And, of course, them boys outside wouldn’t dare follow you into hollow territory. They’d soil their damn undies rather than face those creatures.”

She gave us quick directions: past the garage, down Main Street, right at the courthouse, “And when you feel the pop in your ears, you know you’ve passed through the membrane.”

We thanked her again, but there was no time for long goodbyes. Anyway, most of the Flamingo’s residents were in hiding after the terrifying events of that morning, though a few shouted good luck to us as we curved around the highwaymen’s patrol car and drove out of the forecourt. I couldn’t help thinking that they were the ones who needed luck, and a good deal more, stuck here at the mercy of thugs.

We drove down Main Street. I kept one eye on my mirrors as we went, half expecting to see another old squad car pull into view. When we turned right at the courthouse, I felt my stomach drop and there was a ripple in the air like a heat wave. But nothing had changed—at least, nothing we could see.

“We’re out,” said Paul, his tone an odd mix of relief and dread.

We had passed through the membrane and out of the protective boundaries of the loop. Now time would march forward day by day, and hollows, if there were any to be found, would be coming for us. I had to remind myself that they were no less deadly for being historical, and my hand drifted involuntarily to my stomach as I surveyed it for any unusual twinges. For now, there was nothing.

We passed in and out of small towns, riding mostly in silence, just processing the crazy events of the past day. We were tired, too. Not only had what happened at the motel been emotionally and physically exhausting, but it was late—midday here, but nearly midnight back in the present. To think that we had discovered my grandfather’s safe house that same day was unfathomable. It felt like a lifetime had passed since then.

“We should call home,” Bronwyn said. “Tell everyone we’re okay. They’re probably worried.”

“We can’t,” said Millard. “We’re in 1965, so we’d be calling Jacob’s house in 1965.”

“Oh,” replied Bronwyn. “Right.”

I glanced at her in the rearview and caught a glimpse of Emma. She wore an intense but inscrutable expression, like she was wrestling with an uncomfortable thought. Then she saw me and her face went blank.

There was a brief silence that I’m sure felt normal to everyone except me and Emma, and then Emma said, “Paul, how far is your loop?”

“Should get there before sundown,” he said.

“Can you point out the town it’s in on our map?”

With some effort, she pulled out the road atlas and found the page for Georgia. (There was hardly room to move in the back, with four people crammed into three seats.) Emma passed the map to Paul.

“It’s right . . . here,” Paul said, tapping a mostly blank space halfway between Atlanta and Savannah.

Enoch shifted his legs and leaned over to look, then laughed. “You’re kidding. Someone hid a time loop in a town called Portal?”

“Actually, the town’s named after the loop,” Paul said. “Or so the story goes.”

“Are there peculiar thugs and highwaymen in Portal, Georgia?” asked Millard.

“Surely aren’t,” he said. “That’s why the ymbryne who started our loop made it move around from day to day; so nobody mal-intentioned could find it.”

“Which ymbryne made it?” asked Millard.

“Her name was Miss Honeythrush, but I never met her. We use a loop-keeper now, just like most folks do.”

“Do you know what happened to her?”

He shook his head. “I don’t, but Miss Annie might. We can ask her. I hope you’ll be able to stay and rest awhile.”

“I doubt we’ll be able to stay long,” Emma said. “We’re getting an important mission.”

Rest. The very word sounded so delicious that I started daydreaming about beds and pillows and soft sheets. I realized that, if I was going to get us all the way to Portal, Georgia, without driving us into a tree, I needed coffee, and I needed it soon. But first, I wanted to put some distance between us and Starke, so I waited until we were near the Georgia border before I started scanning for coffee shops. They were fairly plentiful, this being a time before commercial coffee chains had colonized every street corner. That said, these towns seemed more populated and prosperous here in 1965. They all had a bank, a hardware store, a doctor’s office, a couple of restaurants, a movie theater, and a lot more, too; not just some shuttered stores and a big-box shopping center on the outskirts. It didn’t take a genius to see the connection.