for. He reaches over my shoulder and gathers my hair until it flows long and loose. The ends, tangled with blood, are hidden by my pack when I put it on.
“Ready?” he asks. I swallow hard and nod, watch as he ducks down into the tall grass near the forest’s edge.
I’m tense, uncertain. I want to dive in front of the first vehicle I see and beg them to call the cops. Tell them the boy hiding in the tall grass had something to do with my murdered aunt. ...Except...Why is her aunt dead? Ploy’s voice echoes in my head and there’s so much anger in the words I hesitate when a car does finally pull up, a middle aged business man inside.
“I...”
The man’s gray haired and looks about as nervous as I feel. “You alright, young lady?”
I am not. Not even close. Ploy’d been angry about Sarah dying. He’d told Jamison not to hurt me, not to go near me.
“Do you need a ride?” the man asks.
Ploy knows how to find Jamison. I can use Ploy to find Jamison.
“Young lady?”
I nod and wave my hand, low. Ploy breaks free of the swaying cattails in the ditch and slides in beside me. Just as he said, the man doesn’t say a word.
Our ride takes us all the way to Fissure’s Whipp, the awkward silence broken only by the sound of tires on the road.
Half an hour later, as we head down the main drag in town, I spot a café. “You can let us out here,” I say.
When we enter, the waitress shoots us a dirty look. Right now, the promise of a decent meal overrules the need for a shower. I don’t even smell myself anymore. I ignore her and Ploy follows me to one of the unoccupied booths in the back. My ATM card is in my pocket. And then I remember the envelope of cash from my aunt’s house. I order a bowl of gumbo with extra bread. Ploy does the same. “To go,” he adds as the waitress turns away. He covers a yawn and leans his head against the worn leather backing of the booth. “You needed to get a hold of your friend?” he asks me as if I’ve forgotten.
The dim lights cast shadows under his eyes. Both of us need sleep and food first and foremost. I don’t know if that makes my priorities messed up or not. Jamison is out there, hunting, and I’m sitting in air conditioning, shivering as the sweat on my skin dries and thinking of a shower.
“Yeah, Talia. My friend,” I say, finally answering Ploy. I’m going to put her in danger if I make that call. Bring her in on things. But it seems like Ploy has a bubble around him Jamison’s unwilling to tap. It’s kept me safe so far. Maybe it’ll keep her safe, too. And I need help. God, do I need help. “I should call her.”
Ploy doesn’t respond. His eyes are shut, his chest rising and falling in even breaths. His face is relaxed, slack. Most people look younger when they sleep, but Ploy looks worn through. Hidden by a set of double doors, what sounds like a stack of plates shatters, followed by a round of claps and laughter. Ploy doesn’t stir.
Halfway to our table, the waitress sees he’s asleep and creeps quietly up to hand me the check and a bag with our food in it. I give her my debit card. If I have to run later, it’s better to have cash. “Do you have a phone I can use? It’s kind of an emergency.”
Luckily, she’s perceptive enough to realize I’m not messing around. She reaches into her apron pocket and hands me her cell phone. I dial Talia’s number.
She actually answers. My plan hadn’t gone any further than calling her. Now that she’s on the line, it hits me how much I’ll have to trust her with, how immense the favors I’m going to be asking of her will be.
“Hello?” she says again.
“It’s Allie.” I rush the words before she can hang up. “I was shot,” I manage, cupping my hand around my mouth to muffle to words so no one else will hear. “I’m in trouble.” My eyes blur. “Still up for that cup of coffee?”
“Where are you?” she asks instantly.
Relief floods through me. I give her the name of the restaurant and tell her I’ll be outside. For some reason, she doesn’t question why I’m there with