A Map of Days (Miss Peregrine's Peculiar Children, #4)(82)

“All right,” said Millard, stumbling back toward the car. “I have finished.”

I slipped the phone into my pocket. “Sorry you’re not feeling good.”

“I don’t suppose there’s a train we could catch,” he said weakly. “I’m growing a bit weary of automobiles.”

“The rest of the way will be smooth sailing,” I said. “I promise.”

He sighed. “I wish you wouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”





It was the present day once more, and the modern highway system made for a quick ride, in the middle of the night, anyway. Fueled by Paul’s thermos of coffee and an 8-track of Dark Side of the Moon I found in the back of the glove box, the miles peeled away fast. Before I knew it, we’d made it through the rest of Georgia and the whole of South Carolina, and we were within striking distance of the town in northern North Carolina written on the matchbook. After the brief flare-up between Emma and me back in Portal, things had cooled to what felt like subzero temperatures. She had chosen to sit in the back, despite how cramped it was, and Enoch was up front next to me.

I looked up at Emma in the mirror now and then, and when she wasn’t sleeping or staring moodily out the window, she was flipping through Abe’s operations log, reading it by the flickering light of a single pinkie flame. Again, I tried to tell myself that she was going through something. Processing something she’d never been forced to face quite so head-on, because she’d always been far away from Abe, across time, across the sea. But it felt like she was icing me out, punishing me for questioning her. And I didn’t know how much longer I could take it.

It was three thirty in the morning and my butt was almost completely numb when we finally reached the exit. I followed directions from my phone to the address printed on H’s matchbook. We had no idea what we’d find there. A gas station? A café? Another motel?

None of the above. It was a fast-food place called 24-HR OK BURGER. It shone palely in the middle of an empty, black parking lot in a deserted shopping center, and true to its name, it was open, and it looked okay. All the chairs were turned upside down on the tables, and a sign on the door read DRIVE-THRU OPEN.

I parked right in front, the only car in the lot. H was not here. No one was here except for one unlucky employee who’d gotten stuck with the graveyard shift. I could see him inside, reading his phone behind the counter.

“Did the matchbook say what time to meet H?” asked Bronwyn.

“No,” I said. “But I don’t think he expected us to come at three thirty a.m.”

“So we’re supposed to just wait here until morning?” said Enoch. “This is idiotic.”

“Just be patient,” said Millard. “He could arrive at any moment. The middle of the night seems like the best time to meet, if you mean to do it in secret.”

So we waited. The minutes ticked by. The kid inside put down his phone and started sweeping the floor.

A loud grumbling noise came from the passenger seat, and everyone looked at Enoch.

“Was that a truck engine?” Millard said.

“I’m hungry,” said Enoch, looking down at his stomach.

“Can’t you wait?” said Bronwyn. “What if H comes by but doesn’t see us because we’re in the drive-through, and we miss him?”

“No, Enoch’s got the right idea,” said Millard. “May I see the matchbook again?”

I handed it back to him. Millard turned it over in his hands. “It’s more than just an address,” he said. “It’s a clue. Look what’s written.”

He gave the matchbook to Bronwyn, who read it aloud. “It’s smart to stop here . . . you get more for your money.” She looked up. “So?”

“So,” said Millard, “I think we’re supposed to buy something.”

I started the car and pulled around into the drive-through lane. We rolled up to the ordering speaker and its glowing, backlit menu. A very loud, tinny voice crackled, “WELCOME TO TWENTY-FOUR-HOUR OKAY BURGER WHAT CAN I—”

Bronwyn screamed, and with a lightning-quick reaction, she flung her long arm through the open window and punched the speaker so hard that it unbolted from the ground and fell over, dented and silent.

“Bronwyn, what the hell!” I shouted. “He was just taking our order!”

“Sorry.” Bronwyn shrunk down into her seat. “I got scared.”

“We can’t take you anywhere, can we?” said Enoch.

Under any normal circumstances I would’ve peeled out and left the scene, but this wasn’t a normal circumstance, so I eased my foot off the brake and rolled slowly around to the pickup window, where the kid in the orange apron was still talking into his headset.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

He spoke very slowly, and his eyes were red and puffy. He looked high.

“Hey,” I said. “The speaker, uh, isn’t working.”

He blew out through his mouth, his lips flapping. “Ooooo-kay,” he said, opening his window. “What’ll you have?”

Millard spoke up. “What’s good here?”

“What are you doing?” Emma hissed at him.

The kid scrunched his brow together and peered into the back seat. “Who said that?”