24.
Sienna
I woke up in the middle of the night, under the car, cold seeping in on either side. It was probably in the seventies or sixties, Fahrenheit, based on the chill that had sunk into my bones. I was shivering slightly, metal underbody of the old farm truck above me, the concrete parking pad beneath me, and the sides open so I could breathe in the cool night air.
Obviously I’d been at the point of deathly exhaustion when I’d crawled beneath the truck seeking shelter, but now that I’d awoken, other than the open sides and fresh air coming in, it kind of reminded me—what with the shallow confines above and below—of the time I’d spent in the steel box my mom used to imprison me in.
No wonder I’d fallen asleep so easily. It was like a little slice of home away from home.
My muscles ached, but not impossibly badly as they had when they’d seized up before I’d conked out. That oily smell beneath the vehicle was now oddly comforting, like something I’d gotten used to. I tested my arms, and they worked again, which was fortunate. My legs did the same, bending on command. My abs felt a little sore, and my inner ear seemed to be still experiencing the feeling of rapid swimming, even though I’d concluded my flight across the Firth many hours ago, a sense that I was bobbing in the waves still thrummed through me.
“Oh, gahhh…” I mumbled, my face pressed into the concrete parking pad. I hadn’t felt it when I’d collapsed, probably a little too focused on being completely spent rather than worrying about the fact I was using concrete as a pillow. For my cheekbone.
I lifted my head, but carefully, very aware that there were tons of metal lingering just above me. I’d drooled in my sleep, one of those qualities that made me so super attractive, I supposed. No wonder I was beating the men away with the stick these days. A headache lingered, lightly, behind my eyes, and I figured it was my body’s revenge, along with the other aches, for pushing myself so desperately hard with so desperately little over these last few days. I was living on nothing and adrenaline before Rose had stolen my powers, and since then it had basically been junk food, adrenaline, and Irn Bru, which was not much better.
Hardly conditioned to live the high life, I had nonetheless become accustomed to a certain lifestyle these last few years, and it mostly included decent food and a bed to sleep in. Waking up on concrete and marathoning and swimming for miles and miles? Not something my body was super jazzed about, I could tell from the pain.
Sorting through the aches, I came back to the memory of my dreamwalk during my sleep.
Reed.
I’d talked to Reed.
I rose so quickly I did clang my head against the undercarriage of the truck, and in the distance, what sounded like miles away, a dog started barking. “Oww,” I muttered under my breath. I hadn’t dinged myself hard enough to split the skin, fortunately, I could tell by running my fingers over the point of impact, but neither had I done my already aching head any favors.
I’d talked to my brother.
And he was coming to get me.
The weakness that filled my arms, the pain that had replaced the agonized muscles and screaming tendons, gave way to a surge of strength. I belly-crawled out from beneath the truck like it was just another short length of the culvert I’d struggled through yesterday, filled with new purpose.
I had to get my ass to York.
I’d forgotten so much in my attempt to pass on information in a hurry to Reed. I’d forgotten to tell him, “Bring Suppressant.” I hadn’t mentioned my plan for getting my souls back. I hadn’t begged him to bring a bevy of weapons with him.
But none of that mattered, really. I needed a ride first and foremost. I needed to escape, to regroup, to get clear of Rose and the police and all the other trouble that hounded my footsteps here in Scotland.
Once I was clear of all that, I could start my planning. I could come up with a real strategy, maybe even set a trap for Rose, since she seemed so keen to come after my ass.
All I had to do was get to York, and get the hell out of the UK.
And that started with getting the hell moving.
Once I was out from beneath the truck, I looked up. I’d used the sun all day as a reference point for directional heading. It was easy enough, so long as you knew about what time of day it was. But now it was night, and probably around midnight, my gut told me. There was no sun, and I was deep in the countryside, with no bank clocks to tell me what time it was, or a compass at hand to give me direction.
Surprisingly, in all the years my mother trained me and taught me, trying to impart survival advice to her wayward and listening-only-because-the-alternative-was-no-TV daughter, she went pretty light on anything related to surviving in nature. Orienteering was right out, except in theoretical terms, probably because I wasn’t allowed outside. For a woman obsessed with trying to prepare me for every dangerous scenario, she left some huge gaps in my knowledge base, all related to what to do when you’re alone with nature.
Fortunately, my mother hadn’t been my only source of instruction. Glen Parks had come along after her, and he hadn’t been lacking in knowledge about surviving and thriving in the wilds. It was hardly my favorite thing, preferring firearms training and martial arts and all that other hitting and hurting people stuff, but I had some knowledge of navigating now.
I looked up, lying on my back on the concrete pad, the metal roof of the truck obscuring my view of the stars. I let out a slow sigh; I didn’t really want to move that much, but there was work to be done, and my new plan—to get to York to meet Reed so I could escape—was enervating me.
Creaking as I got to my feet, my joints popping as they resettled, I started to wonder if this was what normal people felt like after a particularly laborious workout. It certainly wasn’t normal for a meta, and probably wouldn’t have been happening right now if I’d managed a few more hours of sleep.
But it was good that I hadn’t, because I’d need all the time I could get to travel under the cover of darkness.
I eased out from underneath the shed roof, carefully making sure I went in the opposite direction of the nearby farmhouse, just in case there was anybody home. Once clear, I looked up into the sky…
And beheld a wonder of stars, a plethora, like diamonds sparkling across the night sky.
Too used to the light-polluted cityscapes of the places where I hid, it had been a long time since I’d been out in the middle of the night in a place where I could really see the stars. This was most definitely such a place, and I made a mental note that once this whole Rose bullshit was over, I needed to make my next hideout in a place that was a little more rural so I could appreciate this kind of view for a while.
It took me a few minutes of staring, breath taken away by the sight of all that wonder, before I shook it off and got back to my search. I was looking for something specific. Something important.
And there it was.
The North Star twinkled down at me, a guiding light that shone brighter in the sky than any other in Ursa Minor. It had acted as a navigational beacon to generations of human beings, and now it was going to guide me.
Because now I knew which way north was, and it was just as easy this time as it had been when Glen Parks had first taught me.
I drew a breath, and took one last look up at the stars. There was work to be done, miles to cover before I collapsed again, and places to be before the sun rose. Trying to keep my eyes focused on the path ahead—which was no path at all, just untrammeled fields and the occasional fence and other obstacle—I started west, remembering that town I’d seen when I’d come ashore, and hoping I could make it there and find a way south before too many more hours elapsed.