Panic(45)

“I’ll go first.” Ray stepped forward. He had avoided even glancing at Dodge. There was something like a truce between them, at least temporarily. It was funny. Ray was probably the guy Dodge hated most in the world, besides Luke. And yet Ray was the guy who knew more of Dodge’s secrets than anyone. “I want to get this over with.”

“Wait.” Diggin extracted a strip of black fabric from his pocket and shook it out. He truly looked miserable. “You have to wear this.”

“What is that?” Ray asked, even though it was obviously a blindfold.

Nat and Heather exchanged a look. Dodge knew what they were thinking without having to ask. There was always a twist. The game was never easy.

Diggin hesitated. For a second, it looked as though he was going to attempt to tie the blindfold on Ray himself.

Ray scowled at him. “Give me that,” he said, and snatched the blindfold from Diggin. Diggin backed off quickly, obviously relieved. Ray put the fabric over his eyes and knotted it behind his head.

“Happy now?” he said, to no one in particular.

Dodge stepped forward, so he was standing directly in front of Ray. He threw a punch, stopping a few inches short of Ray’s nose. Nat gasped and Diggin shouted. But Ray didn’t even flinch.

“It’s all right,” Dodge said. “He can’t see shit.”

“Don’t trust me, Mason?” Ray’s mouth curled into a smile.

“Not even a little,” Dodge said.

Diggin had to help guide Ray to the divider that separated the parking lot from the narrow patch of grass and gravel that ran along the highway. Trucks were thundering past, spitting exhaust and roaring heat. A car blew its horn as Ray fumbled over the divider, and Dodge imagined a sudden swerve, the headlights swollen, freezing Ray in place, the shudder of the impact.

But that would come later.

“Time,” Diggin shouted. He had his phone out. For the first time, he noticed that Bishop was standing some ways apart, his lips moving as though in silent prayer. His face was incredible: anguished, twisted.

And in that moment, Dodge had a suspicion. More like an intuition.

But he dismissed the thought quickly. Impossible.

“Ten seconds down,” Diggin announced. Dodge turned his eyes back to the highway. Ray was still hesitating, swaying like a drunk, like he was hoping momentum would unglue his feet. A truck blasted a horn, and he jerked backward. The sound rolled and echoed through the night air, distorted by distance to an alien cry. Motion was noise: Dodge closed his eyes and heard the fizz of the tires on the road, the thud of bass and music, engines grinding and spitting, the rush of air when a car blew by. He opened his eyes again.

“Twenty seconds!” Diggin’s voice had gone shrill.

There was a sudden break in the traffic. Four, five seconds—in all six lanes, the road was clear. Ray sensed it and ran. He barreled straight into the divider on the other side of the road and nearly face-planted. But it didn’t matter. He’d done it. He whipped off the blindfold and waved it above his head, victorious. The whole thing had taken him twenty-seven seconds.

He had to wait for another break in the traffic to cross, but this time he did so at a jog. He was showing off.

“Who’s next?” Diggin said. “Let’s get this over with before—” Another truck blasted by, whipping away the rest of his words.

“I’ll go.” Dodge stepped forward. Ray dangled the blindfold from one hand. For a second, their eyes met. They were joined now, more than ever.

“Don’t choke,” Ray said in a low voice. Dodge snatched the blindfold from him.

“Don’t worry about me,” he said.

The cloth was thick and totally opaque, like something you’d fashion a tarp out of. Once Dodge put it over his eyes, he was completely blind, and for a moment he felt a tightness in his chest, the overwhelming sense of disorientation and dizziness, like when you wake up from a nightmare in an unfamiliar place. He focused on the sounds: trucks, music, the fizz of the tires, and gradually he could map out the space in his mind. Funny how just being without sight could leave him feeling so exposed, raw. Anyone could rush at him and he’d never know.

He felt two soft hands slip around his wrist.

“Be careful,” Nat whispered.

He didn’t answer, just fumbled to touch her face, hoping he wouldn’t accidentally get her boob instead. Kind of hoping he would, too.

“All right,” he announced in what he hoped was Diggin’s direction. “I’m ready.”

As he had done with Ray, Diggin took his arm and guided him to the low metal divider, and instructed him to climb it. Then Dodge was standing blind on the side of the road, while cars and semis roared past him. The wind blew hot and stinking with exhaust, and the ground trembled from the motion of the crushing wheels. Horns screamed out and faded.

Dodge’s heart was going hard and his mouth was dry. He hadn’t expected to be so afraid. His ears were full of a pounding rhythm—he couldn’t tell if it was noise from the highway or the echo of his heart. He barely heard Diggin call time. Shit. He couldn’t hear—how was he going to know when to cross?

What if he tripped? His legs felt liquid and unstable—if he tried to walk, they would collapse, get tangled up. He pictured Nat’s hands, the way she’d tilted her face to his when he kissed her. He imagined Dayna, imagined her chair pushed next to the window, the sun flooding the room, her legs growing, thickening, sprouting again into strong, muscled calves.