“Park it and get out,” I told her.
“I’m in my underwear.”
“And your nose is broken. Does it look like I give a fuck?” In my tired, delirious, adrenaline-ravaged state, I had no patience and no time to care. I wanted Camden back. He was the only thing on my mind, the only thing that put one foot in front of the other, the only thing that gave me strength to pull the trigger if I had to. “Now get out.”
She opened the door and looked at the hard earth of caked sand and rocks. “I don’t have shoes,” she said pitifully. She eyed a beach bag I had in the backseat that had a towel and flip flops spilling out of it. “Can I wear your flip flops? Otherwise it’ll hurt too much to walk.”
“Oh for fuck’s sake!” I leaned in the back to grab the bag.
Big mistake.
Stupid, foolish, Ellie.
Sophia slammed her arm into my head and I dropped the gun in the backseat. I cried out and quickly grabbed the gun, twisting back in my seat to see her running off into the distance, a small cloud of dust trailing her. Hurts too much to walk, my ass.
I jumped out of the car, my gun trained on her as she went. But I couldn’t just shoot her. I needed her. I quickly started booking it after her as fast as I could go. I pressed down on my shot leg, grunting through the pain until I didn’t feel anything anymore. I would get her. I would do anything.
Because she was barefoot and the terrain was anything but friendly, she was running slow enough that I was gaining on her. What a sight we would have been for any spectator to see; a girl in a tee-shirt and underwear running barefoot through the Mojave Desert followed by a limping chick with a revolver and a psychotic look on her face, dust rising up around us and floating to the blue sky.
It wasn’t long before I had her.
I did a running tackle and brought her straight into the dirt, slamming her face into the ground. She cried out in pain but I did not give a shit anymore. She used the last bit of humanity I had left against me and now I had nothing.
I yanked her up off the ground, so fucking tempted to smash my gun into her temple and drag her to the boneyard. But somehow, I don’t know how, I kept it all in and started marching her forward.
“Nice try,” I said, my nails digging into her arm until she winced. I looked down at her bleeding feet. “Even a pedicure won’t fix that.”
She whimpered and I paid no heed. We quickly scuffled ourselves along, trying to disturb as little sand as possible while still moving quickly. The sun hammered down on us, my eyes burning from the glare and dust, my throat raw and dry, but we soldiered on, step after step, until we reached the edge of the perimeter fence. We stopped and looked up. The barbed wire at the top was rusted to shit and tumbleweed blew past on the other side of the chain links, heading to a scrap pile of jet engine parts. They wouldn’t have scaled it and from the looks of the condition of this part of the yard, there was probably an easier way in.
I brought her around to the back and we walked down the fence, around Joshua trees, cacti and wild shrubs and heaps of scrap metal that didn’t quite make it inside the bone yard. Finally we spotted an area where the chain links had been cut. Our ticket in. Maybe our only way out.
I took a deep breath and walked us through the opening.
We were inside.
It was fucking eerie.
Up close the planes looked like an armada of plane crashes. Some of them were charred, some were broken into bits. There were flotation devices scattered around, oxygen masks hanging off of shrubs. Many commercial jets were decapitated, their severed heads lying about, stripped inside of all furniture and instruments. Some planes looked like they were about to fly away and some just had the seats left. Broken wings were stacked in piles.
No wonder they picked this place. It scared the shit out of you just being there.
We walked carefully out into the middle, between the giant wheels of a jumbo jet’s landing gear, standing up-right like a giant metal tree, and the severed tail end of a Cessna.
I stopped and pulled her back once we were in the open again. Planes surrounded us, each window an eye, watching our every move. I badly wanted to run and hide, to get out of harm’s way. But if they didn’t see me with Sophia, they wouldn’t know how damn serious I was.
“Hello?” I called out, my voice bouncing back from the motionless aircraft. I cleared my throat and yelled, “I have your sister. You know what I want.”
I looked around in circles, searching every creepy corner of the boneyard, as far as I could see. They could be everywhere.
And nowhere.
I put the gun to Sophia’s head. “If you’re lying to me …” I ground out.
“I’m not,” she moaned, obviously in distress. Good. “I told you the truth. They said planes. You brought me here.”
Shit. Fuck. Shit.
Was I wrong about this place? Were they somewhere else entirely?
Was Camden already handed over?
Already dead?
I swallowed hard and rubbed my lips together. I couldn’t lose it now. Not now. Not until I knew.
“Look,” Sophia whispered. I followed her gaze over to one of the airplanes.
There was a face at the window.
I let out a gasp and then started looking closer. There was someone crouched behind a lone passenger seat. There was another person behind a wing.
We weren’t alone.
There was a shuffle by one of the decapitated plane heads and someone that could only be Vincent Madano came out, gun held lazily to his side. Like Javier, he was fond of slick suits and he looked like a complete Mafia stereotype, from the Roman nose to the jutting chin and greasy hair.
“You must be Ellie Watt,” Vincent said as he stopped a few yards away, tumbleweeds rolling between us like we’d been placed in a Western TV show set. “Nice to finally meet you. I’ve heard many great things, all second-hand information, of course.”
“Where’s Camden?” I asked, my voice shaking against its will.
“Camden McQueen,” he said, his eyes darkening. “I don’t know. I expected to see him here, not you and not my sister.”
I pressed the gun into her head. “I don’t want to kill her but I will if I have to.”
He nodded as if he were impressed. “I can see that. Hopefully you won’t have to make such … tough decisions.” His eyes darted to the side. “And there’s the man of the hour.”
I whipped my head to look. Camden was walking toward us, Javier behind him with the gun aimed at Camden’s back. He was wearing a denim shirt, black shorts, hands raised above his head. I took in the details like I’d never see him again. Because maybe I wouldn’t.
We locked eyes and in his beautiful blues, he was telling me to stay calm. To stay focused. To not worry.
That made me worry.