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A van screeched to a halt in front of them, rubber smoking, brakes wheezing. A lack of windows proved to be the least of their concerns, given the mural painted on the side of the van of a scantily clad, well-endowed woman riding a gigantic black seahorse surrounded by wavy green kelp.
“And somehow,” Gibby said, “the day just got even better. Or worse.”
The window rolled down, and a portly man with brown, curly hair leaned over, glancing down at his phone before looking back at Guardian and Gibby. “Jasmine Kensington?” he asked, arching a thin eyebrow.
“Burrito Jerry?” Guardian gasped. “What in the actual—”
Burrito Jerry, the man whom Rebecca Firestone had interviewed after their first clash with Smoke and Ice last winter. He’d apparently had his dinner ruined when Pyro Storm and Nick had been fighting for their lives. And here he was again, apparently their Lyft driver. Becausewhat.
“Heck yeah,” Burrito Jerry said happily. “That’s me! I love being recognized. Always great to meet a fan. You want an autograph? Don’t have any paper, but ever since that day, I get free burritos for life, so I’ve got a bunch of wrappers. That cool?”
Yes. That was probably one of the coolest things Guardian had ever heard of. But then he remembered what he was supposed to be doing, and he jerked open the passenger door. At least a dozen crinkled wrappers fell out onto the ground. “No time. Citizen, I need your assistance. It’s life or death. We have people to save.”
Gibby opened the sliding door, climbed inside, and settled on a bench seat that wheezed pitifully.
“Rock and roll,” Burrito Jerry said, gunning the engine. “Iknow this city like the back of my hand. I’ll get you where you need to go before you can scream, ‘Slow down before we die!’”
Guardian and Gibby barely had time to shut the doors before Burrito Jerry slammed his foot on the gas, the van rocketing forward. Guardian didnotscream, no matter what the noise that fell out of his mouth sounded like. He scrambled for a seat belt, only to find a rope. He heard Gibby curse and looked back to find her holding up a green bungie cord instead of her own seat belt, eyes wide.
Burrito Jerry glanced in the rearview mirror before looking at Guardian. “Yeah, sorry about that. Seat belts broke last week. Ferrets, man. They chew on everything, especially when there’s fifteen of them. Just tie the rope around your waist. And you, miss. That bungie cord is just for show. But don’t worry. I haven’t been in an accident this week.” He patted the dashboard as everything passed by them in a blur. “Don’t want to hurt Matilda. Put too much work into her to mess her up. So. How are you?” He reached over and turned up his stereo. Guardian was sure heavy-metal music was about to pour from the speakers, guttural and angry. Instead, a feminine voice whispered, welcoming them back to her hair salon, that she was so happy to see them again. “Role-play ASMR,” Burrito Jerry explained as if Guardian had asked. “Helps me sleep. Insomnia, you know? Hell of a thing.”
Guardian’s phone rang again. Mom calling. He answered and said, “Did you—”
“Whereare you?”
Guardian sighed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. We’re on our way.”
True to his word, Burrito Jerry seemed to know Nova City better than most. Guardian didn’t recognize half the side streets they turned down, but Burrito Jerry’s phone affixed to the dash showed they were heading in the right direction. Somehow, it only took them six minutes to reach the street the precinct wason, though it was blocked off, police standing in front of blue wooden sawhorses withNCPDin white lettering. Behind them, in the distance, Nick could see a crowd of hundreds gathered in front of the stage, Burke’s voice echoing unintelligibly.
Gibby leaned forward between the front seats. “Not here. We don’t want them to try and stop us.”
Burrito Jerry continued on down the road away from the roadblock. “Bad news, Jasmine. Things are weird lately. You feel it, right? It’s in the air. Don’t know why people are so gung ho about that dork.”
“Burke?” Gibby asked.
Burrito Jerry nodded. “People like him, they think they know better than the rest of us. Throw enough money at a problem and it goes away. That’s not how it works, though more than a few seem to fall for it. Rhetoric like his divides us. Makes us doubt each other and ourselves.” He pulled up to a sidewalk half a block away from the roadblock. “Makes us angry. Hurt. And that’s an awful combination. It makes you say and do things you don’t mean.” He shook his head as the van came to a stop. “We need to work together, you know?”
“Stand together so we don’t struggle apart,” Guardian whispered.
Burrito Jerry grinned at him. “You got it, man. We’re so much stronger when we lift each other up and leave no one behind.” He held out his hand to Guardian, who shook it gratefully. “Jasmine, it’s been a pleasure. Anytime you need a ride, you let Burrito Jerry know. I got you.” His phone pinged, and he blinked in surprise as he looked at it. “Holy mackerel. Nowthat’sa tip. Thanks.”
“I love him,” Jazz breathed in his ear. “I want to protect him forever.”
Guardian pushed open the door. Gibby did the same with the side door, stepping out onto the street before sliding it shut.
Before he shut his own door, Guardian looked back at his driver. “Hey, Burrito Jerry?”
“Yeah?”
“You’re frickin’ rad as hell.”
Burrito Jerry held out his fist. Guardian bumped it with his gloved hand. “Thanks, Jasmine. You’re pretty kickass yourself. Now fly, my sweet angel! Fly!”
“I can’t fl—You’re talking to the van, aren’t you?”
“Who else would I be talking to?” Burrito Jerry winked, and then roared away, leaving Guardian and Gibby standing on the sidewalk, the passenger door hanging open. It slammed shut when the van screeched around a corner and disappeared from sight.
“Okay,” Guardian said, ignoring the people stopping to stare at him, their phones up, taking photos and video. “Lighthouse, make a note for a team discussion. I vote we bring Burrito Jerry in on everything because he might be the greatest person who has ever lived.” He grimaced as he pulled a burrito wrapper off the bottom of his boot. “Mostly.”
