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“We’ve gone too far to turn back,” Brooks said. “We’ll have to head north from San Diego.”
Hondo hit the gas. “I’m on it, Capitán.”
“Maybe it’s a sign we shouldn’t go,” Brooks said, twisting her mouth.
I turned to face her. “You really hate these guys that much, Brooks? What did they ever do to you?”
Brooks glared back out the window. “Just get me to Venice. I’ll do the rest.”
A restlessness crept over me as I once again wondered how much Brooks hadn’t told me. What was her deal with these guys? I’d stashed my Maya book in my backpack in case we needed it. I consulted it, but there was nothing new about the twins in the pages. Anything else I wanted to know about them was going to have to be learned firsthand.
It was three in the morning when we got to Yuma, a tiny desert town bordered by flat green farmland. We saw a sign for food, lodging, and gas.
Hondo exited the highway and dropped Brooks and me at a Jack in the Box while he went to fill up the truck at the gas station next door.
Inside, the cashier was sitting on the counter, playing on his phone. When the door pinged, he didn’t even look up.
“Uh, you open?” I asked.
“Hang on,” he said. “A few more zombies to get to the next level.”
Gunshots, screams, and gurgling sounds filled the empty place.
Brooks tapped her foot. “We want three Jumbo Jack meals with cheese, and you’ll get a good tip if you hurry it up.”
The guy looked up. “Tip?” He had acne on his cheeks and his mousy brown hair fell over one eye. “Coming right up,” he said with a friendly smile.
A few minutes later the three of us were sitting by the window devouring our burgers and fries. The zombie-fighting cashier was in the next booth, back to playing his game.
“This place gives me the creeps,” I admitted before taking a gargantuan bite of my cheeseburger. Man, it tasted so salty-good, I wished I’d ordered two.
Hondo took a gulp of his Coke. “Just a case of the night-creepers. World’s different after midnight. I used to feel it, but now I like working at night. It’s quiet, and no one expects anything from you.”
Brooks ate all her fries, but only partway, leaving a pile of unwanted ends on her tray.
“You don’t like your fries?” I asked, scooping up the leftovers.
“I never eat the ends I touch.”
“How come?”
“What’s it to you?” she asked, frowning as I scoured her tray for any remaining scraps.
“Sue me for being hungry.”
A rumbling noise in the parking lot caught my attention. A trio of Harley riders pulled up to the joint. They wore leather vests, knotted headscarves, and narrow black sunglasses shaped like alien eyes. I felt suddenly claustrophobic, like the walls were closing in and the ceiling was about to fall on our heads. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead. The violent screams coming from the guy’s cell phone didn’t help.
The door flung open and the buff riders stepped into our space.
“You smell that?” Brooks whispered, never taking her eyes off her tray.
“Smell what?” Hondo asked. His back was to the door, so he hadn’t seen the dudes yet.
I wanted to pretend I couldn’t detect the vomit and motor oil that permeated the greasy air, but it was too powerful to ignore. These riders weren’t human and had the after-smell of the underworld. My stomach plummeted.
The cashier clicked off his video game and headed to the register to take the guys’ orders. But they weren’t interested in burgers and fries. The tallest of the bikers turned his head in our direction. His skin was waxy-looking and pulled tight over his skull. Okay, so maybe it was too late for a smooth exit.
“How’d they find us?” I asked.
