The Host (The Host #1)(34)

“What if I hadn’t come this way?” I wondered as I walked farther into the desert waste. “What if Healer Fords were still in Chicago? What if my path hadn’t taken us so close to them?”

It was that urgency, that lure—the thought that Jared and Jamie might be right here, somewhere in this empty place—that had made it impossible to resist this senseless plan.

I’m not sure, Melanie admitted. I think I might still have tried, but I was afraid while the other souls were near. I’m still afraid. Trusting you could kill them both.

We flinched together at the thought.

But being here, so close… It seemed like I had to try. Please—and suddenly she was pleading with me, begging me, no trace of resentment in her thoughts—please don’t use this to hurt them. Please.

“I don’t want to.… I don’t know if I can hurt them. I’d rather…”

What? Die myself? Than give a few stray humans up to the Seekers?

Again we flinched at the thought, but my revulsion at the idea comforted her. And it frightened me more than it soothed her.

When the wash started angling too far toward the north, Melanie suggested that we forget the flat, ashen path and take the direct line to the third landmark, the eastern spur of rock that seemed to point, fingerlike, toward the cloudless sky.

I didn’t like leaving the wash, just as I’d resisted leaving the car. I could follow this wash all the way back to the road, and the road back to the highway. It was miles and miles, and it would take me days to traverse, but once I stepped off this wash I was officially adrift.

Have faith, Wanderer. We’ll find Uncle Jeb, or he’ll find us.

If he’s still alive, I added, sighing and loping off my simple path into the brush that was identical in every direction. Faith isn’t a familiar concept for me. I don’t know that I buy into it.

Trust, then?

In who? You? I laughed. The hot air baked my throat when I inhaled.

Just think, she said, changing the subject, maybe we’ll see them by tonight.

The yearning belonged to us both; the image of their faces, one man, one child, came from both memories. When I walked faster, I wasn’t sure that I was completely in command of the motion.

It did get hotter—and then hotter, and then hotter still. Sweat plastered my hair to my scalp and made my pale yellow T-shirt cling unpleasantly wherever it touched. In the afternoon, scorching gusts of wind kicked up, blowing sand in my face. The dry air sucked the sweat away, crusted my hair with grit, and fanned my shirt out from my body; it moved as stiffly as cardboard with the dried salt. I kept walking.

I drank water more often than Melanie wanted me to. She begrudged me every mouthful, threatening me that we would want it much more tomorrow. But I’d already given her so much today that I was in no mood to listen. I drank when I was thirsty, which was most of the time.

My legs moved me forward without any thought on my part. The crunching rhythm of my steps was background music, low and tedious.

There was nothing to see; one twisted, brittle shrub looked exactly the same as the next. The empty homogeny lulled me into a sort of daze—I was only really aware of the shape of the mountains’ silhouettes against the pale, bleached sky. I read their outlines every few steps, till I knew them so well I could have drawn them blindfolded.

The view seemed frozen in place. I constantly whipped my head around, searching for the fourth marker—a big dome-shaped peak with a missing piece, a curved absence scooped from its side that Melanie had only shown me this morning—as if the perspective would have changed from my last step. I hoped this last clue was it, because we’d be lucky to get that far. But I had a sense that Melanie was keeping more from me, and our journey’s end was impossibly distant.

I snacked on my granola bars through the afternoon, not realizing until it was too late that I’d finished the last one.

When the sun set, the night descended with the same speed as it had yesterday. Melanie was prepared, already scouting out a place to stop.

Here, she told me. We’ll want to stay as far from the cholla as possible. You toss in your sleep.

I eyed the fluffy-looking cactus in the failing light, so thick with bone-colored needles that it resembled fur, and shuddered. You want me to just sleep on the ground? Right here?

You see another option? She felt my panic, and her tone softened, as if with pity. Look—it’s better than the car. At least it’s flat. It’s too hot for any critters to be attracted to your body heat and —

“Critters?” I demanded aloud. “Critters?”

There were brief, very unpleasant flashes of deadly-looking insects and coiled serpents in her memories.

Don’t worry. She tried to soothe me as I arched up on my tiptoes, away from anything that might be hiding in the sand below, my eyes searching the blackness for some escape. Nothing’s going to bother you unless you bother it first. After all, you’re bigger than anything else out here. Another flash of memory, this time a medium-size canine scavenger, a coyote, flitted through our thoughts.

“Perfect,” I moaned, sinking down into a crouch, though I was still afraid of the black ground beneath me. “Killed by wild dogs. Who would have thought it would end so… so trivially? How anticlimactic. The claw beast on the Mists Planet, sure. At least there’d be some dignity in being taken down by that.”