Chapter 29.
754 Words
Kane was silent for a long beat. He was calculating fuel stops, tire wear, and the probability of being intercepted by a very angry Diane Brooks. He was also thinking about the way Harper had looked in the porch light- like a nightmare wrapped in a daydream. He was a boy who had been raised by the asphalt, and for the first time, someone was asking him to drive into the sunset for a reason that had nothing to do with money or manifests.
"Vegas," he muttered, shaking his head. "You're going to be the death of me, Brooks."
"Better you than the illness," she retorted, her voice softening as she leaned her head against his chest.
Kane sighed, but his grip on her tightened. He looked over at Elias and gave a sharp, definitive nod. He was clocking out.
"Come on," he said, guiding her toward the stairs. "If we're going to cross the state line by dawn, I need to hit the garage for the spare cans. And Harper?"
"Yeah?" she asked, stumbling slightly on the first step.
"If you puke in my car because of those drinks, the deal is off."
"I won't puke," she promised, her eyes half-closing as they descended into the roar of the club. "I'm a weapon, remember? Weapons don't puke."
They emerged from The Vault into the crisp, industrial air. The street was empty, the silence a stark contrast to the earthquake of the bass. The GTO sat there, a black shadow waiting to be unleashed.
Kane unlocked the door, and Harper slid into the passenger seat, the leather feeling like home. As he climbed into the driver's side and the engine growled to life, the vibration settled into Harper's bones. She didn't look back at the brick building. She didn't look toward the suburbs.
She looked at the GPS on the dash.
Destination: Las Vegas
Distance: 1,240 miles
Kane shifted into gear, the tires chirping against the pavement as they pulled away from the curb.
"Vegas it is," he whispered.
The storm wasn't coming anymore. They were the storm. And the highway was waiting to be swallowed whole.
*~*~*~*~*
The GTO had been a loyal beast for eight hundred miles, but the desert didn't care about loyalty. It only cared about heat.
The sound was sudden- a violent, metallic snap followed by the frantic, dying whistle of a shredded belt. Smoke, thick and smelling of burnt rubber and ancient oil, billowed from the hood, obscuring the horizon.
Kane cursed, his hands white-knuckled on the wheel as he fought the heavy steering, eventually guiding the coasting car onto a shoulder made of jagged shale and sun-bleached dust.
As the engine gave its final, shuddering gasp, the silence that rushed in was absolute. It wasn't the peaceful silence of a library; it was the predatory silence of the Mojave.
"Kane?" Harper rasped. The alcohol from the night before had long since evaporated, leaving her mouth feeling like it was lined with sandpaper.
"Stay in the car," Kane commanded, already swinging his door open.
The heat hit them like a physical blow. It was 10:00 AM, but the sun was already a blinding, white-hot eye in a cloudless sky. Harper watched through the windshield as Kane popped the hood, his silhouette shimmering in the heat haze. He stood there for a long minute, a lone figure in a leather jacket he refused to take off, surrounded by a landscape of Joshua trees that looked like twisted skeletons reaching for the sky.
He came back to the window, his face grimed with soot and sweat. "The serpentine belt snapped. It took a cooling line with it. I can't patch this here, Harper. Not without parts."
Harper stepped out of the car, her legs wobbling. The black silk dress was a heat trap, the silver embroidery burning against her skin. She looked at the GPS. They were forty miles from the nearest town, but there was a blip for a service station called The Rusty Star about three miles back.
"We walk," she said, squinting against the glare.
"You can't walk three miles in this, Brooks," Kane said, his voice low and protective. "Look at you. You're shaking."
"I'm always shaking, Kane. That's the brand, remember?" She tried to smile, but her lips were cracked. "We can't stay here. The car is an oven."
- Writer
