The mountain lion is a heap of tan fur and muscle tangled in the wreckage of the grill. It’s dead—the impact was direct and lethal. But it took the car with it. The radiator is twisted into a horseshoe, and the front left tire is canted at an impossible angle; the tie rod snapped like a twig.
We aren’t driving to Arizona. We aren’t drivinganywhere.
A coyote howls in the distance. It’s a high, mocking sound that echoes across the flats. I look up at the interstate. The big rig that was tailing us is long gone, its taillights a memory.
I should’ve never told her to slow down.
I look at Rue through the open door, guilt crushing my conscience. She’s slowly starting to stir, her fingers twitching against the seat.
“Noah?” she whispers, her voice sounding small and disoriented. I want to rush to her, kiss her all over, and tell her how big a relief it is that she’s okay.
But that’s not what comes out.
“You wrecked the shit out of this thing. It ain’t going anywhere.”
“What?” She struggles to an upright position, her eyes wide and glassy as she takes in the wreckage. “Oh shit…”
“The car is a tomb,” I snap, grabbing her backpack and slinging it over my good shoulder. “We’re just asking for a trooper to pull over and see what’s going on now.”
“They’ll know it’s my car,” she says, her expression winces with pain as she swipes some of the blood from the side of her head. She struggles with the driver’s side latch, and I realize the gravity of her concussion.
Fuck.I rush around to the driver’s side of the car and jerk the door open.
She stumbles out, her shoes catching on the door runner, but I don’t let her fall. I can’t. I reach for her, steadying her as she falls against me.
“Let’s go,” I command, pointing toward the passenger side of the car and out of the sightline of any passing vehicles. Bullet hops out along with us, and I tie the leash to Rue’s wrist.
“What about the groceries?” She peers up at me with concern in her eyes. “I spent like a hundred dollars on those.”
I nod but can’t come up with an answer for her. “You just need to sit down and get some water first.”
“There’s not going to be anyone for miles… What are we supposed to do?” Rue’s voice clears, but still trembles. I recognize the panic.
I feel it, too.
20
RUE
I runa hand over my face as Bullet sits beside me on the ground. Noah has the back hatch open on the back of the Pathfinder, gathering as much as he can and shoving it into his duffel bag and my backpack.
I should be helping him. If a car drives by, they’ll see him.
But it takes all I can to sip the water he handed me a minute ago. I bring the plastic bottle to my lips and let a trace through the gap, wetting my tongue. I watch Noah move with precision, the only evidence of his injury the occasional wince.
He shouldn’t be using that arm. He should be letting it rest.
But he keeps moving, tossing the now-full black duffle bag onto the ground. He runs his hand along his jaw, and then starts shuffling through things in the car, like he’s searching for something.
And then it hits me.The letters.
Against my protesting body, I shove myself to standing, my head spinning. “I need to get more stuff out of the car.”
Noah glances over to me and starts shaking his head. “I’ll get everything out. Just sit down, Rue. You look like you’re about to pass out.”
“No,” I counter, my ears buzzing in the desert wind. “The letters. I can’t leave your letters in the car. I need to get them out. They’ll know…”
“Know what?” Noah tilts his head at me as he drops my backpack to the ground and shuts the back of the wrecked Pathfinder. “Did you really do it?”
