The Host (The Host #1)(155)

“We’ve got better clothes stashed with the… less-conspicuous vehicles. That’s where we’re headed now. About five more minutes.”

That wasn’t what I meant, but he was right. These clothes would never do. I waited to talk to him about the rest. I needed to look at myself first.

The jeep stopped, and he pulled off the blindfold.

“You don’t have to keep your eyes down,” he told me when my head ducked automatically. “There’s nothing here to give us away. Just in case this place was ever discovered.”

It wasn’t a cave. It was a rock slide. A few of the bigger boulders had been carefully excavated, leaving clever dark spaces under them that no one would suspect of housing anything but dirt and smaller rocks.

The jeep was already lodged in a tight space. I was so close to the rock, I had to climb over the back of the jeep to get out. There was something odd attached to the bumper—chains and two very dirty tarps, all ragged and torn.

“Here,” Jared said, and led the way to a shadowy crevice just a little shorter than he was. He brushed aside a dusty, dirt-colored tarp and rifled through a pile hiding behind it. He pulled out a T-shirt, soft and clean, with tags still attached. He ripped those off and threw the shirt to me. Then he dug until he found a pair of khaki pants. He checked the size, then flipped them to me, too.

“Put them on.”

I hesitated for a moment while he waited, wondering what my problem was. I flushed and then turned my back to him. I yanked my ragged shirt over my head and replaced it as quickly as my fumbling fingers could manage.

I heard him clear his throat. “Oh. I’ll, uh, get the car.” His footsteps moved away.

I stripped off my tattered cutoff sweats and pulled the crisp new pants into place. My shoes were in bad shape, but they weren’t that noticeable. Besides, comfortable shoes weren’t always easy to come by. I could pretend I had an attachment to this pair.

Another engine came to life, quieter than the jeep’s. I turned to see a modest, unremarkable sedan pull out of a deep shadow under a boulder. Jared got out and chained the tattered tarps from the jeep to this car’s rear bumper. Then he drove it to where I stood, and as I saw the heavy tarps wipe the tire tracks from the dirt, I comprehended their purpose.

Jared leaned across the seat to open the passenger door. There was a backpack on the seat. It lay flat, empty. I nodded to myself. Yes, this I needed.

“Let’s go.”

“Hold on,” I said.

I crouched to look at myself in the side mirror.

Not good. I flipped my chin-length hair over my cheek, but it wasn’t enough. I touched my cheek and bit my lip.

“Jared. I can’t go in with my face like this.” I pointed to the long, jagged scar across my skin.

“What?” he demanded.

“No soul would have a scar like this. They would have had it treated. They’ll wonder where I’ve been. They’ll ask questions.”

His eyes widened and then narrowed. “Maybe you should have thought of this before I snuck you out. If we go back now, they’ll think it was a ploy for you to learn the way out.”

“We’re not going back without medicine for Jamie.” My voice was harder than his.

His got harder to match it. “What do you propose we do, then, Wanda?”

“I’ll need a rock.” I sighed. “You’re going to have to hit me.”

CHAPTER 44

Healed

Wanda…”

“We don’t have time. I’d do it myself, but I can’t get the angle right. There’s no other way.”

“I don’t think I can… do it.”

“For Jamie, even?” I pushed the good side of my face as hard as I could against the headrest of the passenger seat and closed my eyes.

Jared was holding the rough fist-sized stone I’d found. He’d been weighing it in his hand for five minutes.

“You just have to get the first few layers of skin off. Just hide the scar, that’s all. C’mon, Jared, we have to hurry. Jamie…”

Tell him I said to do it now. And make it a good one.

“Mel says do it now. And make sure you do it hard enough. Get it all the first time.”

Silence.

“Do it, Jared!”

He took a deep breath, a gasp. I felt the air move and squeezed my eyes tighter.

It made a squishing sound and a thud—that was the first thing I noticed—and then the shock of the blow wore off, and I felt it, too.

“Ungh,” I groaned. I hadn’t meant to make any sound. I knew that would make it worse for him. But so much was involuntary with this body. Tears sprang up in my eyes, and I coughed to hide a sob. My head rang, vibrated in aftershock.

“Wanda? Mel? I’m sorry!”

His arms wrapped around us, pulled us into his chest.

“’S okay,” I whimpered. “We’re okay. Did you get it all?”

His hand touched my chin, turned my head.

“Ahh,” he gasped, sickened. “I took half your face off. I’m so sorry.”

“No, that’s good. That’s good. Let’s go.”

“Right.” His voice was still weak, but he leaned me back into my seat, settling me carefully, and then the car rumbled beneath us.

Ice-cold air blew in my face, shocking me, stinging my raw cheek. I’d forgotten what air-conditioning felt like.