by Tarah Benner
The only saving grace was the lack of streetlights this far from civilization. Even if a highway patrolman passed them on the road, the black Suburban would be impossible to spot in the dark.
Soren threw the useless gearshift into park and rubbed his tired eyes with the heel of his hand. “I’ll move out at daybreak,” he murmured. “Hike to the nearest gas station.”
“That could be miles from here,” said Axel.
“You got a better idea?”
Silence.
“I thought I saw a sign for a town a while back,” said Soren. “Loving or Lovely or something.”
“Lovely, New Mexico,” Simjay mused, as if they were road tripping to the world’s largest ketchup bottle or something.
“There’s got to be a gas station there, right?”
Lark didn’t immediately realize that Soren was directing this question at her. She nodded numbly.
“Did anybody notice anything weird about those cops?” asked Simjay after a moment. “Back at the prison, I mean.”
“Those weren’t cops,” said Soren.
“What?”
“Did you see any badges?” asked Axel, as though Simjay was very slow. “They wasn’t cops, and they wasn’t U.S. Marshals, neither.”
“Then who were they?” asked Simjay.
“I dunno,” said Soren. “But I don’t think they were prepared for a prison break.”
“Did you see them scatter when I set off the tear gas?” Axel chuckled, slapping his knee as if he’d told a very funny joke.
Simjay nodded politely, but Lark could tell that Soren, like her, found the lack of police presence disconcerting.
If they weren’t dealing with the Rio Arriba County Sheriff’s Department or New Mexico state troopers, that meant they had more to worry about than roadblocks and a police chase. Judging from what they’d experienced so far, San Judas preferred to handle escaped convicts with GPS trackers and killer drones.
For some reason, the memory of Finn lying in the dirt seemed to galvanize Lark and caused an idea to surface fully formed in her mind. When it did, she realized that she’d made the decision several hours earlier, but it had taken that long to work its way from her gut to her brain.
Lark dug into her rucksack and pulled out the wad of cash she’d stolen from the storage room. Simjay watched as she counted the money that had been confiscated from inmates during processing. She had just under two hundred dollars. It wasn’t a lot, but it might be enough to persuade someone to take her all the way back to Arroyo Verde without calling the police.
She had to go back. She couldn’t move on without knowing what had happened to Bernie.
“What are you doing?” asked Soren.
“I’m leaving.”
“What?”
“I have to go back,” she said, stuffing a handful of bills into her front pocket and shoving the rest into her boot.
“You can’t be serious.”
Lark shrugged. “I have to know.”
“Know what?” he asked incredulously. “I told you . . . Bernie didn’t make it. There’s nothing left for you back there.”
Lark didn’t reply. She just glared up at him and cinched her rucksack.
“I have to see for myself.”
Soren shook his head. “San Judas is, like, three hundred miles back that way.”
“I’ll be okay,” said Lark. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”
Soren stared at her. He looked taken aback — maybe even a little bit frightened.
Lark instantly regretted voicing a desire to leave. She had no choice, but she knew right away that it would have been easier to slip away in the middle of the night — no goodbyes, no lecture, no complications.
“You don’t have to decide now,” he said gently. “Why don’t you sleep on it?”
Lark hesitated. She could tell he was placating her, but she was too exhausted to be annoyed.
“You have to sleep sometime,” he added, correctly interpreting the drained look in her eyes.
Lark let out a heavy sigh, glancing over at Denali curled up on the dirty floorboard. He looked as exhausted as she felt, and they had a long haul ahead of them. The smart thing would be to get a few hours of sleep.
“Okay,” she said.
A look of enormous relief spread across Soren’s face, and Lark got a kick of discomfort in her gut. She knew he saw this as his chance to bring her to her senses, but he was about to be disappointed.
“I’ll take first watch,” said Soren, climbing out of the vehicle and walking around to face the road.
Lark watched him go through the window, curling up on the front seat with her legs locked in front of her.
“You really think she’s still alive?” asked Axel from the front seat. He sounded doubtful and not very sympathetic.
“I don’t know,” said Lark.
“What’s your plan?” asked Simjay.
“I really don’t have one,” she admitted.
They both fell silent. Lark knew they probably thought she’d snapped, but she didn’t care. She just turned toward the window and squeezed her eyes shut.
Lark dozed off within minutes, but it wasn’t a restful sleep. Her dreams were filled with a ghostly version of Bernie asking why Lark had abandoned her back at the prison. She saw Finn, his body slashed and destroyed, with one arm lying several feet from where he’d landed.
In her dream, Finn was wounded but still alive, asking Lark random questions like a demented game-show host. What’s the capital of Mississippi? How many elements in the periodic table? If two trains leave the station traveling . . .
“S’your turn on watch, Bird Girl.”
Lark awoke with a start, queasy and disoriented. It was still dark outside, her door was open, and Axel was staring at her with an irritable expression.
“Huh?”
“S’your turn,” Axel repeated loudly. “On watch.”
Lark glanced at the clock on the dashboard. It was three thirty in the morning, which meant the sun would be coming up in just a few hours.
Soren was asleep in the driver’s seat, and Lark couldn’t help noticing how handsome he looked. His face was smooth and relaxed, his hair was mussed, and his lips were parted ever so slightly.
At that moment, Lark had a nearly overwhelming urge to cry. Soren was probably the best guy that would ever be dropped in her lap like this, and yet she had to leave him as suddenly as she’d found him.
Lark ducked around Axel’s brawny frame and stepped out into the cool evening air. Denali jumped over the captain’s chair to follow, and they found a smooth patch of dirt near the end of the vehicle to keep watch.
Lark rested her back against the rear tire and stared down at her mutilated arm. It was wrapped in a fragment of her threadbare shirt, and she could see a dark patch of blood that had soaked through the cotton.
Living in San Judas, she was used to injuries of all sorts. She still had two black eyes, a busted lip, and a scabbed back from all her recent conflicts, but for some reason, the physical evidence left from the sensor that had been forcibly imbedded caused a torrent of fury to rise up inside of her.
San Judas had taken so much from her — her freedom, her dignity, and all the things that used to bring her joy. Now San Judas had taken her best friend.
Deep down, she knew looking for Bernie was a hopeless endeavor. The best-case scenario was that Bernie was alive and being interrogated about their whereabouts. The far more likely outcome was that she was dead.
With that thought, Lark finally allowed herself to cry. Her tears flowed thick and fast, and she knew she wasn’t being all that quiet. Her sniffs and sobs reverberated around her, the only sound for miles.
Denali licked her face in a consoling way and positioned himself protectively at her feet.
As they sat there with nothing but the wind for company, Lark tried to imagine living the rest of her life this way. She knew her chances of finding Bernie alive were slim — the c
hances of breaking her out even slimmer. In the likely event that she failed, it would just be her and Denali — a girl and her dog.
Even with his furry rump warming her toes, the prospect of spending the rest of her life devoid of human contact was a miserable thought. Loneliness descended like a bitter chill and kept Lark awake her entire shift.
After an hour or two, her tears dried up, leaving only a thin salty mask behind. The sky was beginning to lighten on the horizon. She could see the blacktop road in the distance — full of promise and peril — and on the other side was more desert.
The soft sound of footsteps drew her out of her daze. She looked around and saw Soren stretching his arms.
“Want to walk to the gas station with me?” he asked. “We won’t be in the papers yet.”
Lark hesitated. She knew Soren was using the walk as an excuse to get her on her own. He was hoping that he could persuade her to abandon her mission, but suddenly Lark didn’t care. She didn’t want to be alone anymore.
“All right,” she said, reaching into the Suburban to grab her and Bernie’s rucksack. If she managed to find someone to give her a ride, she needed to be ready.
Soren looked so relieved that it made Lark’s breath hitch with guilt. She swore to herself that this would be the absolute last proposition she agreed to, because every time she said yes, Soren grew hopeful that she’d abandon her plan and continue on to Mexico.
They set off in silence along the side of the road, listening intently for the sound of approaching vehicles. Denali padded along behind them, panting happily as he drank in their surroundings.
As they walked, Lark had the chance to study Soren up close. He was much taller than she remembered, with long beautiful arms that looked as though they’d feel magnificent wrapped around her body. He definitely had some Native American blood in him — Navajo, maybe — evident in his proud nose and sharp cheekbones. Around his neck he wore a thin silvery chain that disappeared beneath his shirt.
“What’s that?” asked Lark, suddenly very aware of the fact that she hardly knew anything about Soren.
He turned toward her, puzzled, and Lark pointed at the chain.
“Oh, this?” He let out a fond chuckle and pulled a silver medal the size of a nickel over his head. “It was a gift from my grandmother,” he said, handing it to Lark. “She gave it to me before I was sent away.”
Lark took the medal in her hands and stared at it. On the front was a carving of a bearded man in a cloak wading through choppy water. He was leaning heavily on a walking stick and carrying a child on his shoulders. The inscription on the front read “Saint Christopher Protect Us.” On the back, there was a poem:
Protect us on our travels
Wherever we may roam;
Keep us safe and guide us,
Always safely home
“That’s nice,” said Lark, unsticking her throat and handing the necklace back. “Is your grandmother Catholic?”
Soren shook his head. “Just superstitious.”
Lark tried to smile, but she couldn’t quite manage it. Somewhere, Soren had a family that still cared about him.
“What about you?” he asked suddenly, as if he’d somehow read her thoughts. “What did your family do when you went to San Judas?”
Lark shrugged and looked away. “I don’t really have any family.”
Soren’s face scrunched into a pained expression, and Lark knew she had to explain.
“My mom died before I went away. I never knew my dad, and both my grandparents are dead.”
“How did your mom die?”
“Stroke.”
“Oh,” said Soren. “I’m sorry.”
Lark shook her head. “Don’t be. It was a long time ago.”
To distract herself from the ever-expanding knot in her stomach, she dragged in a deep breath and gazed out to the road ahead. She didn’t like the look Soren was giving her.
“What are you doing, Lark?”
Lark didn’t speak. She just tightened her jaw so she wouldn’t burst into tears.
“I know what I saw,” he said quietly. “You don’t know how much I wish it weren’t true, but that’s what happened.”
Lark didn’t know what to say. She was too busy fighting back the tears that were pooling in the corners of her eyes.
Deep down, she knew her mission was futile, but she couldn’t allow herself to give up. Giving up would mean acknowledging that Bernie was dead. And if she didn’t have Bernie, she didn’t have anyone.
“I’m sorry,” Soren murmured. “I know you don’t want to turn your back on her, but you can’t sacrifice yourself like this. Bernie wouldn’t want it.”
Lark shook her head, but she knew Soren was right. Bernie would kill her if she knew what Lark was contemplating, and it would be an insult to her memory to go back to San Judas just to get locked up again. She couldn’t do it — not after she’d made it this far.
“Okay,” she said hoarsely, wiping her tears on her sleeve.
“Okay?”
“I’ll . . . I’ll come with you.”
She’d expected Soren to look triumphant or relieved that he’d finally gotten through to her, but he didn’t. Instead, Soren pulled Lark into his arms and hugged her. His embrace was warm and sad and heavenly — all at the same time.
“I want to thank you,” she said quietly.
“For what?”
Lark sighed. “For everything.”
There was a long moment of appreciative silence, and then Soren gave her a squeeze.
“I never would have escaped that place if it weren’t for you,” she added with a shudder. “I completely gave up there for a while.”
“You didn’t give up.”
“How do you know?” asked Lark, pulling back to look at him.
“I’ve known plenty of people who’ve given up,” he said. “You could never be like them.”
Lark swallowed. She felt flattered that he thought so highly of her, but she didn’t know what she’d done to deserve it.
“You barely know me,” she whispered.
“I know you,” he said, taking her hand in his and examining it thoughtfully. “I knew you the minute I saw you across the river.”
Soren smiled. “You know the name of every bird and plant in New Mexico. You tried to make your time on the inside count for something. You didn’t want to give up on Bernie.” He sighed. “After five years in that hellhole, most people would be broken, Lark. But you’re not.”
Lark opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Soren dragged in a shaky breath, reached behind Lark’s neck, and threaded his fingers through her hair.
His skin was burning hot. Lark could feel the heat radiating from the tips of his fingers to the blood in her veins. She leaned into his hand and closed her eyes.
A second later, Soren’s lips came crashing down on hers, and Lark kissed him like there was no tomorrow. She poured everything she was feeling into that kiss — all her grief and fear and hope — until she tasted her own tears.
Soren’s stubble scratched her skin, leaving her face raw and tingly. Their tongues tangled together, and their teeth clashed as they devoured one another right there on the side of the road.
It ended as abruptly as it had begun. Soren pulled away as if he didn’t trust himself and turned his attention back to the road. He intertwined their fingers and gave her hand another squeeze, and Lark focused on breathing in and out.
She knew when they were getting close to Loving because the side of the road was strewn with trash. Fast-food containers, old soda bottles, scraps of clothing, and a stuffed pink bunny were scattered along the shoulder. Plastic bags fluttered in the wind, and the ditch was littered with paper.
The farther they walked, the more concentrated the trash became. They passed a sign that read “Welcome to Loving. Population: 652,” and within minutes, they were picking their way around discarded suitcases, broken chairs, and ripped mattresses whose filler had been dragged away by an
imals.
“What the hell?” Soren had just stepped on a discarded picture frame that contained a photo of a young girl. Half a dozen more pictures were scattered nearby, as if somebody had packed up all their memories and thrown them out along the way.
Lark shook her head. She didn’t know what was going on, but the trash-covered landscape was making her uneasy.
They passed a broken-down Toyota Camry that had been looted for parts, and the scene gave her a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. The doors and tires were gone, and Lark would have bet that the last drops of fuel had been siphoned from its tank.
“Something’s wrong,” she said. “This isn’t normal.”
“I know,” said Soren, drawing the stolen revolver from his waistband. “It’s like people packed up everything they could and just . . .”
He trailed off. The outline of a building swam into view, and Denali pawed at the ground as if he didn’t want to go any farther.
Every hair on Lark’s body stood on end. The building looked like a gas station, but as they drew closer, she realized that the pumps were gone, the sign had been stripped, and the sides of the building were covered in graffiti.
“Shit,” Soren breathed.
Lark’s heart sank. The gas station was out of commission, and, by the looks of things, it had been that way for a long time. They’d walked miles to get there, and yet they were no closer to finding gas or a ride.
There was nothing left of Loving, New Mexico — no gas, no food, not one living soul in sight.
twenty-two
Soren
A horrible choking feeling rose up in Soren’s throat. His stomach clenched, and his skin felt suddenly very hot. They’d come all this way, and there was nothing there.
The gas station looked as though it had been standing vacant for years. The letters wrapping around the awning were faded and peeling, the windows had been boarded up, and the front door was hanging off its hinges.
Since they’d come so far, it seemed as though they should check the convenience store for anything they could salvage. All they had back on the road were a few pounds of rice, beans, and root vegetables.
