Page 36 of The Wicker King

HICKORY

Something suddenly occurred to August. “What ever happened to Carrie-Anne?”

Jack paused for a second, then continued sawing away at his steak and eggs. “We broke up after Homecoming. We got into a fight. She … thought I wasn’t paying enough attention to her. I think she was starting to notice the—” Jack waved his hand around instead of describing what was happening with his mind. “Plus, she’s not exactly great at keeping secrets, so I couldn’t just tell her. I had to let her go.”

August stopped eating and put down his fork. “You didn’t even tell me…”

“Yeah, well.” Jack looked tired and embarrassed.

“I’m sorry.” August didn’t know what to say. He hadn’t even noticed. “Really. I mean, I hated her, but you really liked her…”

“It’s okay,” Jack mumbled. “We’re too busy for that right now anyway. It’s not important. Finish your food. We have to get back on the road.”

DUSK

August drove until after the sun went down. Jack had fallen asleep almost as soon as they switched seats, after handing August a crumpled piece of paper with directions on it and curling up toward the window.

August felt young as he drove in the dark in the middle of nowhere—a place with no houses or tall buildings or people around. Just miles of road and grass and cars and the sound of Jack breathing gently in his sleep beside him. They were only seventeen. The world was so big and they were very small and there was no one around to stop terrible things from happening.

Suddenly he felt panicked. He wanted Jack awake right now. “Jack. Jack!”

Jack shifted sleepily, but eventually turned and glared at him. “What?”

August didn’t know what to say; he hadn’t thought that far.

“What?” Jack asked again, sounding annoyed. “Did you want to switch?”

“No. I just … got bored.”

Jack looked at him skeptically.

“It’s fine. It’s nothing. Go back to sleep,” August mumbled, embarrassed.

Jack sighed and reached over, gripping the back of August’s neck firmly in his hand. The tension instantly bled from August’s bones and he breathed out softly. “We’ll stop in an hour.”

MOTEL

There was not much sleeping that night.

They had both stared at the mottled, ratty hotel carpet for at least five whole minutes before collapsing together onto the single bed. Now sleeping with Jack was a hot, terrible ordeal with far too much elbow for August’s tastes. The sheets were too scratchy and stank of the person who had lain in them before they did. But it was better than the floor.

It was hardly the first time they’d done this. They’d shared all the time when they were kids, Jack jabbing his sharp little knees and elbows into August’s side in his sleep until August could take no more and shoved him unceremoniously off the bed and onto the floor. Then, to top it off, August would inevitably wake up with drool on the back of his neck, Jack having snuck back in while he was asleep …

“Get up.”

August opened his eyes. He didn’t remember drifting off, but apparently it was morning. Jack was dressed and packed. He looked like he wasn’t interested in dealing with anyone’s shit. August scrambled out of bed and started shoving his legs back into his jeans.

“We have to leave before three o’clock so we can be there by six thirty and be on our way as quickly as possible. I’m going to go grab some coffee. You should stretch a bit. We’re going to be digging.” Jack strode out of the room without a glance backward.

ROPE

“How much time do we have?”

“A half hour, maybe less. I know it’s down there. I don’t know how far or whatever, but I’m sure I’ll be able to find it pretty quick. The real task is not getting caught. This is shoot-first-ask-questions-later territory. And when I say pull me up, you pull me up as fast as you can.”

“Pull you up?!” August spluttered. “You have like thirty pounds of muscle on me. Why can’t I be the one who—”

“I’m not in the mood,” Jack interrupted, glaring at him.