Getting Home

Part 28

My hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. Sweat stood beaded on my forehead, my stomach fluttering with butterflies and my heart beating in my throat. My teeth were grit, eyes determined and set.

I reached for the key.

"Here we go," I said nervously.

We had gone back to the Civic after leaving the Caretaker's underground den, back out in those endless open green plains and bright translucent blue sky. The Caretaker had continued to follow us, taking waddling little steps while keeping a wary distance.

Henry had completely ignored him... but I couldn't do the same. It wasn't that I thought he was dangerous—I mean, he looked like a teddy bear mixed with Stitch, for God's sake—but here?

Based on that other nightmare that had come from this place?

Although Henry had nothing to worry about, I guess—the Caretaker thought he was God.

Sucks to be me.

I hadn't been able to scavenge much. Three and a half bottles of water. A granola bar. My old track bag. A sweater. A bite-sized Milky Way from Halloween under the driver's seat.

My acceptance letter for the America's Voice audition.

"Here, you can have the Milky Way," I said, tossing it to Henry.

"What's this?"

"Candy."

He turned it over in his fingers, examining the wrapper.

"Do you want some of the Milky Way?" he said.

"I don't want any of the Milky Way."

"Huh." His silver irises spun slowly.

Three bottles of water wasn't going to get us very far, that was for sure. Maybe a few days? I wasn't thirsty at the moment, at least—weirdly enough, I wasn't hungry at all, even though I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten.

Although I guess that was understandable.

Next issue?

The Caretaker wouldn't leave.

He sat in the backseat of the Civic, settled in and splayed out. He held an empty Starbucks cup, slowly turning it back and forth in his mitten-like hands as he studied it.

"Um, can you get out?" I politely tried.

Nothing. The Caretaker continued to nuzzle and rub its face against the Starbucks cup.

"We should take him with us," Henry had said, going to the other side of the car. "I don't know how to get there, and we definitely don't want to get—"

He stopped.

"Ava, what's that?" he said, pointing.

Now what?

I hurried around the car, my eyes following Henry's finger to underneath the Civic. My stomach suddenly sank, and I felt like I was going to throw up.

There was a small puddle under the rear of the car.

Oh no.

Gas.

Jorge's patchwork gum was still attached to the gas tank, dried up and hard—but I could see a clear line of fuel cutting through all the dirt on the metal. It was just a small drip (For now, my mind whispered), but like Henry always said—

Not good.

"It's gas, Henry. The Civic needs it to work." I swallowed nervously. "Which means we should get going before we end up walking."