The Host (The Host #1)(166)

Occasionally, in the smaller towns, someone would notice me, would speak to me. I had my lines down so well that I could probably have fooled a human by this point.

“Hi there. New in town?”

“Yes. Brand-new.”

“What brings you to Byers?”

I was always careful to check the map before I left the van, so the town’s name would be familiar.

“My partner travels a lot. He’s a photographer.”

“How wonderful! An Artist. Well, there’s certainly a lot of beautiful land around here.”

Originally, I’d been the Artist. But I’d found that throwing in the information that I was already partnered saved me some time when I was speaking to males.

“Thank you so much for your help.”

“You’re very welcome. Come back soon.”

I’d only had to speak to a pharmacist once, in Salt Lake City; after that, I’d known what to look for.

A sheepish smile. “I’m not sure I’m getting the right nutrition. I can’t seem to avoid the junk food. This body has such a sweet tooth.”

“You need to be wise, Thousand Petals. I know it’s easy to give in to your cravings, but try to think about what you’re eating. In the meantime, you should take a supplement.”

Health. Such an obvious title on the bottle, it made me feel silly for asking.

“Would you like the ones that taste like strawberries or the ones that taste like chocolate?”

“Could I try both?”

And the pleasant soul named Earthborn gave me both of the large bottles.

Not very challenging. The only fear or sense of danger I ever felt came when I thought of the small cyanide pill that I always kept in an easily reachable pocket. Just in case.

“You should get new clothes in the next town,” Jared said.

“Again?”

“Those are looking a little creased.”

“Okay,” I agreed. I didn’t like the excess, but the steadily growing pile of dirty laundry wouldn’t go to waste. Lily and Heidi and Paige were all close to my size, and they would be grateful for something new to wear. The men rarely bothered with things like clothes when they were raiding. Every foray was life-or-death—clothes were not a priority. Nor were the gentle soaps and shampoos that I’d been collecting at every store.

“You should probably clean up, too,” Jared said with a sigh. “Guess that means a hotel tonight.”

Keeping up appearances was not something they’d worried about before. Of course, I was the only one who had to look as if I were a part of civilization from close up. The men wore jeans and dark T-shirts now, things that didn’t show dirt or attract attention in the brief moments they might be seen.

They all hated sleeping in the roadside inns—succumbing to unconsciousness inside the very mouth of the enemy. It scared them more than anything else we did. Ian said he’d rather charge an armed Seeker.

Kyle simply refused. He mostly slept in the van during the day and then sat up at night, acting as sentry.

For me, it was as easy as shopping in the stores. I checked us in, made conversation with the clerk. Told the story about my photographer partner and the friend who was traveling with us (just in case someone saw all three of us enter the room). I used generic names from unremarkable planets. Sometimes we were Bats: Word Keeper, Sings the Egg Song, and Sky Roost. Sometimes we were See Weeds: Twisting Eyes, Sees to the Surface, and Second Sunrise. I changed the names every time, not that anyone was trying to trace our path. It just made Melanie feel safer to do that. All this made her feel like a character in a human movie about espionage.

The hard part, the part I really minded—not that I would say this in front of Kyle, who was so quick to doubt my intentions—was all the taking without giving anything back. It had never bothered me to shop in San Diego. I took what I needed and nothing more. Then I spent my days at the university giving back to the community by sharing my knowledge. Not a taxing Calling, but one I took seriously. I took my turns at the less-appealing chores. I did my day collecting garbage and cleaning streets. We all did.

And now I took so much more and gave nothing in return. It made me feel selfish and wrong.

It’s not for yourself. It’s for others, Mel reminded me when I brooded.

It still feels wrong. Even you can feel that, can’t you?

Don’t think about it was her solution.

I was glad we were on the homestretch of our long raid. Tomorrow we would visit our growing cache—a moving truck we kept hidden within a day’s reach of our path—and clean out the van for the last time. Just a few more cities, a few more days, down through Oklahoma, then New Mexico, and then a straight drive through Arizona with no stops.

Home again. At last.

When we slept in hotels rather than in the crowded van, we usually checked in after dark and left before dawn to keep the souls from getting a good look at us. Not really necessary.

Jared and Ian were beginning to realize that. This night, because we’d had such a successful day—the van was completely full; Kyle would have little space—and because Ian thought I looked tired, we stopped early. The sun had not set when I returned to the van with the plastic key card.

The little inn was not very busy. We parked close to our room, and Jared and Ian went straight from the van to the room in a matter of five or six steps, their eyes on the ground. On their necks, small, faint pink lines provided camouflage. Jared carried a half-empty suitcase. No one looked at them or me.