He puts his arm around me and pulls me tightly against him, warm. Solid. Beneath us is a massive mound of stone, but Alexei is the rock I lean on. He is the only thing that can still make me feel safe.
“What are we going to do?” Alexei asks.
“I don’t know.”
If my brother and Dominic hear, they don’t reply. The four of us just stare out at the clouds and the horizon, looking for a safe place to land.
It takes three days for them to break me.
Three days of flying and then driving, of fast food and sleeping in the old car that Dominic may or may not have stolen. But I’m too tired. I’m too sore. And, frankly, I smell too bad. We all do. You’d think running for your life would involve a lot more exercise, but so far it is just a long strip of asphalt and an endless stretch of sameness that lies before us, day after day.
So it’s no wonder that, eventually, I snap.
“Where are we going?” I say while Dominic pumps gas.
Jamie’s in the backseat of the car, covered with blankets but sweating, shaking. He’s been like this for hours, but I’m the only one who seems to care.
“Dominic!” I shout, and slowly, he turns to me.
It’s dusk—that time of day when you may or may not need headlights. It’s neither day nor night, bright nor black. We are in the gray area of life, I know. And I don’t like it.
“Where are we going?” I ask him.
“Mexico,” he says. It’s not a question, not a debate. “There is a woman there who owes me a favor. She will help us.”
“Mexico?” I ask.
“Yes. Don’t worry about the language. I am fluent. It will be—”
“I’m not worried about speaking Spanish, Dominic. I’m worried about my brother.”
“It is for your brother that we go.”
“He needs to rest.” I glance down to where Jamie leans against the window, eyes closed. He looks worse than I’ve seen him in weeks, since the hospital. Since Germany. “We’ve got to stop. He’s not strong enough for this.”
“America is no longer safe.”
“America is a big freaking country.”
“We must get you both someplace safe,” he says again, and for the first time, I hear it. Dominic isn’t just worried. Dominic is scared.
As a boy, he loved our mother. As a man, he watched her die. It is far too late to save her, but it’s not too late for us, and so he is going to keep driving—keep moving. He will never, ever stop.
“How did they find us?” I ask, thinking back to the sight of the prime minister in her white suit, appearing out of nowhere like a ghost.
When Dominic turns back, he looks me squarely in the eye. I’m not just the pesky kid sister anymore, the brat, the burden. Dominic and I have been through too much together, and now he knows me well enough not to lie. I almost wish he would, instead of saying, “I don’t know.”
If there was a leak we could plug it, a trail we could clear it. There are few things in the world scarier than the unknown. I’ve learned that the hard way. And now the only thing Dominic knows is to run and keep running until there is no room left to take another step.
“Jamie’s fever is back,” I say.
“We will give him fluids in the car, hang a bag. He’ll be—”
“He will not be fine!” The gas station parking lot is empty, but I don’t care. I’d yell even if a crowd were watching. I have to make him see. No. I have to make him stop.
“He needs a bed, Dominic. And a shower. And a meal that doesn’t come out of a bag. We all do. When was the last time you slept? I mean really slept?”
“I’ll sleep when you’re safe.”
“Oh, Dominic.” I shake my head slowly. “I will never be safe. And that goes double if you collapse or give out on us. We need you. I know you know that. But I’m saying it anyway. We need you at your best. And you’re not now. You can’t be. It’s just not possible. So …”
I don’t realize Alexei’s behind me until Dominic glances over my shoulder, but even before I turn I can hear it: the conversation they are having without me. It consists of glances and shrugs. Neither one of them wants to admit that I’m right. But they probably don’t want to spend another night sleeping in a twenty-five-year-old Buick, either, so Alexei shrugs.
“I will see about getting us some rooms.”
The little motel on the far side of the parking lot probably has only twenty units, and it doesn’t seem busy. The opposite, in fact. Which is worse.
“Stop,” I call out, and Alexei turns. “You’re still front-page news,” I tell him. With all that’s going on with me and Jamie, the fact that Alexei is a wanted fugitive is easy to forget sometimes. But the headlines are real. The manhunt is months old but ongoing. “Even if no one in their right mind would expect you to run to the US, we probably shouldn’t take the chance.”