Sarah stayed silent, the fuming kind of silent.
“Uh, yeah,” Michael replied. “I didn’t think it was a big deal until Kaine hinted at it. So I, uh, told her to meet us in Atlanta. I think we should talk to her. See if she can help us. Or if she knows anything. And she’s not being hunted by the media and cops, either. I don’t know.” Now that it was all out, it suddenly seemed like the worst idea ever.
Sarah dropped her fork. “Michael. How can you possibly risk bringing someone else in on this?” She leaned back in her seat and folded her arms.
Bryson was shaking his head. He looked confused.
Michael tried to smooth it over. “Guys, don’t worry. I was careful. And I feel like I owe it to her to try to explain what happened. I really feel like we need to talk to her. Together.”
“You should’ve asked us first,” Sarah said sharply.
Michael looked at Bryson, and he nodded, once, in agreement.
“I’m sorry,” Michael said. “You’re right. I should’ve. It just didn’t seem like a big deal, and I … wanted to make things right with her. Make her feel better. And I just had a feeling that she can help us somehow. I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
They lapsed into silence, picking at their food. Michael felt like an idiot.
He took another sip of his drink, almost choking when he noticed a young couple a few tables away staring straight at him. The man had dark hair, swept back in a gel-hardened style that looked either cutting-edge or fifty years out of date; Michael couldn’t tell. The man was thin, his cheeks packed with acne scars. His companion, a woman with short red hair and eyes the color of dying grass, had leaned her head against the man’s shoulder. No food—not even a drink—sat on the table in front of them. And they were both staring at Michael.
“Check that out,” he said to Sarah, voice low. He gave a slight nod in the direction of the couple. A chill worked its way up his spine.
Sarah stiffened. “We better get out of here.”
Bryson had his back to the man and woman. He noticed his friends’ attention, though, and turned to take a look. He swung back, face a little pale.
“Okay, that’s just not right,” he said. “Let’s skedaddle.”
Michael grabbed his sandwich and a handful of fries as Sarah paid the waitress, and continued eating as he walked toward the exit, the strangers’ stares like lasers between his shoulders. He fought the urge to look back at them.
Although his friends hadn’t said it, Michael knew what they were thinking. That it couldn’t be a coincidence, this odd pair staring at them right after Michael had contacted someone using the Net.
He hoped he hadn’t made a terrible mistake.
Michael finished his food just as he found a seat on the new bus. He brushed the crumbs off his lap and wiped the grease on his jeans like a five-year-old, then leaned his head against the window, keeping his eyes on the café down the street. Somehow, deep down, he knew what was going to happen. It wasn’t a minute later when the couple came out the door, their hands clasped, arms swinging in a sweet romantic gesture. They turned and walked toward the bus station.
“Crap,” he said.
“They’re following us?” Sarah asked.
Bryson was across the aisle, and he got up and leaned over them to look out the window. “If they get on this bus, I’m getting off.”
“That makes three of us,” Michael agreed, thankful no one was mentioning his girlfriend. Jackson’s girlfriend.
He watched as the man and woman got closer.
Bryson went back to his seat and plopped down with a sigh. “You know, all those years we talked about getting together in the Wake … this wasn’t exactly what I had in mind. Being chased across the country. On a bus.”
Michael only half listened to Bryson complain, concentrating on the mysterious couple. They kept meandering about, oddly crisscrossing the street a couple of times, but they still headed for the bus. The driver had boarded by then, and was cranking up the engine. Most of the other passengers were in their seats as well, and Michael wished they could just get on with it. He wanted to be as far away from the spooky man and woman as possible, as soon as possible.
But they kept coming. Soon they abandoned any pretense of exploring the town and started walking briskly toward the bus. Toward Michael. They even seemed to be cutting a direct line to his very window.
“Who are these people?” he said under his breath, goose bumps standing up on his arms.
“You think they’re Tangents?” Sarah asked.
Michael shrugged. He willed the bus to start moving, but nothing was happening. Step by deliberate step, the couple approached.