“Take this,” I said to Dekker, holding out the Magnum butt first. “Then get our things together. We’re leaving.”
He took the gun, shoved it awkwardly into the waistband of his jeans, and started packing up.
“Petty, I’m talking to you,” Randy said.
I so wished I could take another shower after lying in the underbed filth, but it would have to wait. Dekker threw clothes and toiletries into the plastic Walmart shopping bags.
“Don’t forget the stuff in the bathroom,” I said.
“Petty!” Randy shouted. “I promised your dad I’d take care of you. I’m not going to stop coming after you. I won’t stop until I bring you home.”
I got in his face. “Randy, you didn’t promise my dad anything. Because Charlie Moshen wasn’t my real dad. In fact, his name wasn’t Charlie Moshen. It was Michael Rhones. And you can go to hell along with him.”
“Well, whatever his name was, you knew him and what he was willing to do to keep you safe.”
What did that mean?
“He made it so he could find you if you were ever kidnapped. Trust me. I will find you wherever you go.” The smile on his face was insane—-triumphant and gleeful.
“What are you talking about?”
“That bump on your left shoulder. He told you that was scar tissue from a fall, right?”
My scalp began tingling, the blood in my veins rushing and expanding. How did Randy know about the itchy little bump on my left shoulder? I felt it with my right hand. It now seemed to throb under my touch.
Randy held up his iPhone. On the screen was a pulsing yellow dot on a map. “Your dad implanted a microchip under your skin. Got it from the vet. Works like a charm. So you can run, Petty, but I’ll find you.”
I COULD NOT believe what I was hearing. Surely Randy was bluffing. The microchips for pets that I’d heard about were just for identification, they didn’t have GPS capabilities—-that was science fiction stuff.
Petty stripped off her hoodie and stared at her own shoulder, her mouth open, horrified, as if it were covered in boils or slugs.
“You’re full of shit,” I said to Randy, and my voice was shaky and hoarse. “The technology doesn’t exist.”
“Fine,” he said. “How did I find you, then?”
A flash of light and movement in my peripheral vision drew my attention. Petty held a small knife on a clip in her hand, the same one she’d threatened Ray the truck driver with.
“You cut me and you’re going to the nuthouse or jail,” Randy said. “Your choice.”
But Petty clearly had other ideas. She slashed the blade across her shoulder. The knife was sharp enough that it easily sank into the flesh.
“No!” I yelled, reaching for her, but it was too late.
Sweat ran down her face as she gouged into the skin of her shoulder with her fingers, which were now coated with her own blood.
The hole in her shoulder widened, skin and muscle tearing as she dug. I watched her teeth sink into her bottom lip until blood appeared as she grunted and gasped through her nose. I stopped breathing, watching this, unable to help, afraid I might throw up.
With a final push, Petty pinched her fingers into her shoulder and withdrew a capsule, not much larger than a grain of rice, from the ragged fissure she’d made. With her shaking, gore--slicked hand, she held it out to me. But I couldn’t move, I was so horrified by what she’d just done to herself.
“Flush this,” she said in a quivering, ghostly voice.
When I didn’t take it from her, she seized my hand with hers and pressed the bloody microchip into my palm. I stifled my gag reflex and did as I was told, and even had the presence of mind to bring out a towel with me. Petty clutched it to her shoulder while I tied it clumsily in place. She pulled her hoodie on over it.
Randy sat staring in horror, gasping as if he’d been underwater for a long time. He wiped his face with his sleeve and gaped at Petty.
RANDY FOUND HIS voice at last. “See? She’s crazy.”
I felt light--headed and nauseated, but we had to get out of there and make sure Randy didn’t follow us.
“It doesn’t matter what you think,” I said to him. “You’re not going to remember any of this anyway.”
I wound up—-using all the power in my hips for force—-and punched through his temple with my right fist, knocking the hat from his head and the consciousness from his mind. He dropped over on his side.
Dekker stood staring, his mouth fallen open. “You killed him,” he said.
“He’ll be fine. Let’s go.”
I withdrew the .357 from Dekker’s jeans and laid it on the pillow next to Randy’s head.
“Don’t we want to take that?” Dekker said.
“I’m not stealing the guy’s gun,” I said. “That wouldn’t be right.”
“Have you lost your mind?”
“I’m starting to think I never had it in the first place,” I said.
THE SUN WAS setting as we drove west. Along the sides of the highway, massive red rocks were strewn about like a giant’s carelessly discarded Legos.
“Petty,” Dekker said, his eyes on the road.