“We can get word into the containment camps that way. No one else needs to die.”
Trisk’s face warmed in embarrassment. Her own people could stop this if they weren’t such cowards. Brow furrowed, she scrunched down as the truck came out into a straightaway and picked up speed. Benson disappeared from the window for a moment, stuffing a blanket through when he came back. “I’m sorry we can’t give you more,” he said as Trisk shook it out and gestured for Daniel to join her so they could share its warmth. Kal could stay cold on the floor of the truck bed for all she cared.
“It’s wonderful,” she said as Daniel awkwardly moved closer, smelling like sweat and soap. “Thank you so much.”
“The interstates are patrolled,” Benson was saying, “but we can do a slow drive past the train station. You can get out that way.”
“And go where?” Daniel asked, but Trisk already knew, and she tugged the blanket in place, covering Daniel’s shoes. He’d lost his loafers somewhere, and the sneakers with hand-drawn peace symbols looked odd at the hem of his worn and dirty dress slacks.
“DC,” she said. “From there, we can get the word out to everyone.”
Benson nodded, tucking back inside the cab and closing the window to keep Johnny from trying to climb through it. Trisk settled beside Daniel, appreciating his warmth and hoping Orchid was okay under his hat. “How are you doing?” she asked softly, and his head dropped. “That must have been awful at the containment center. Daniel—”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” he interrupted, then started, his attention jumping to her when she took his cold hand.
“Thank you for coming to get me,” she said, giving his fingers a little squeeze. “When I saw you with those blisters . . . I almost died. I thought Kal had shoved a tomato down your throat or something.”
He smiled, a hand rising to touch them. “Orchid says they’ll be gone tomorrow. They itch like crazy. Passive pixy deterrent.”
“I didn’t know she could do that.” The engine rumbled soothingly through her, and she slouched, trying to get below the wind. “Why are they helping us?” she whispered, glancing into the cab as she fingered the thick wool blanket. Humans might lack magic, but they made up for it in guile and cooperation. “Everyone is risking their lives for us.”
Daniel shrugged, still not daring to take his hand off his hat. His expression was hard to see in the dark, and Trisk frowned when May turned off the truck’s lights and even the glow from the dash was lost. “Because I told them we could stop it,” he said. Twisting, he looked at her. “Was I wrong?”
She shook her head, biting her lip as she hoped their confidence wasn’t misplaced. Then she hesitated, eyebrows rising as she heard the roar of another engine and what sounded like music echoing between the buildings. “Can you hear that?”
“What?” Daniel asked, eyes squinting as he listened.
“Music,” Orchid piped up from under his hat. “At least, I think it’s music.”
“And a car,” Daniel said, looking through the cab to the night-dark streets they were racing through.
Trisk sat up as the drums and wailing guitar turned into something recognizable. “Trouble Every Day”? she thought, having heard the odd music from Mothers of Invention coming from Angie’s radio at lunch just last week.
Angie . . . she thought, a lump suddenly appearing in her throat. She’d probably been the first to die. Maybe she’d get her name in the history books for it.
“That’s really close,” Daniel said, and Trisk looked up at the sound of a stressed engine. Fear slid through her when the howls of men and wolves joined it. The music was getting louder. Gears were grinding, and someone was shouting.
“Look out!” Daniel shouted, and May shrieked, her arm flashing out to pin Johnny to the seat between her and Benson as she hit the brakes. They squealed a warning, and the van suddenly barreling through the intersection toward them swerved.
This might hurt, Trisk thought, unable to look away as the van majestically slammed into the truck’s front fender. The truck rocked to a halt, and from the cab, May screamed. Trisk’s shoulder thumped into the wall of the truck bed, but the heavy farm vehicle hardly noticed. Daniel’s hand was tight on his hat, his face white as the truck’s engine stalled.
Brakes smoking, the van careened to the right as the driver overcompensated, stalling out as well as it hit the mailbox on the corner. The music coming from the van snapped off, replaced with the sound of feminine swearing.
Wide-eyed, Trisk looked at Daniel, his hand still holding that hat on his head. The night seemed both warmer and a lot quieter now that they weren’t moving. Johnny was crying inside the cab, but he was probably just scared. “Are you okay?” she asked Daniel, then called into the cab, “Anyone hurt?”
“We’re okay, ma’am,” Benson said, holding Johnny tight.
May was trying to get the truck started, but something didn’t sound right.