The Queer Rebels

Chapter 44: Frustrating

As I drive down the road, Renee sits with her arms crossed, glaring out the passenger-side window.

The tension in the car is so palpable that–even though I have the air conditioner blowing–the air feels heavy.

I grip the steering wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white. Why can't she understand we had no choice?

After many minutes of tense silence, Renee shifts in her seat. "We could have helped them, Charlie. They weren't a threat," she says, her voice tight.

"We don't know that," I reply, my voice even. "Our priority is getting Harry to Solisdad."

I can feel Renee's blue eyes bore into me. "But at what cost? We're losing our humanity if we just leave people to fend for themselves," she shoots back.

"We have to survive," I say, my grip on the steering wheel tightening even more. "We can't save everyone."

Renee doesn't respond, but the way she leans against her closed window lets me know she doesn't agree.

And I get why she is mad. Renee is a helper. She let me and Marcy jump out of her dorm room window without asking any questions. That's just who she is. But that doesn't make my decision wrong.

The car falls back into an uneasy silence, with only the hum of the engine and the occasional bump in the road filling the gaping space that has opened between us.

The scenery outside is a blur of barren land and desolation. I focus on the road ahead, trying to push down the gnawing guilt that Renee's words have stirred up.

Is she right? Did we make the wrong choice?

Behind me, Harry lets out a low moan.

I glance into the rearview mirror and see Alex, who is still holding the scanner, reach out to feel Harry's forehead. "Are you okay, Harry?" they ask, their voice soft and reassuring.

Harry nods weakly, his breathing still labored but steady. "I'm okay," he mutters, his eyes half-closed. "Just tired."

"Okay, keep holding on," Alex says, their voice reassuring. Then they lean forward. "Any idea how much further to Solisdad?"

Paper rustles next to me as Renee unfolds the map we've been using to navigate. She studies it for a moment, then responds. "We're on the homestretch, but there's a bridge up ahead." Out of the corner of my vision, I see her tracing the road with her finger. "According to this, it's the only way across the river for miles."

She holds the map up for me to see. I glance over before returning my eyes to the road, and reply with a grunt of agreement.

Renee leans forward. "The ride's been smoother the last few miles," she says. "I hope that's a good sign."

The road we're driving on cuts closer to the coast. Salt air comes in through the vents and a few gulls fly overhead.

Then we round a curve, and I see it.

As we approach, my heart sinks.

The bridge is a twisted mass of metal and concrete, completely impassable. I pull the car to a stop, and we all get out to stare at the obstacle in front of us.

The bridge is a wreck, and unlike the potholes in the road, this isn't from lack of maintenance. Someone has tried to demolish it.

I stare out at the ocean on our right. Steep cliffs lead to the churning surf. A wide river flows below in the deep chasm that separates two bluffs. Even if we ditched the car, there wouldn't be a way to cross.

"Great. Just great," I mutter, running my fingers through my hair.

Renee lets out a loud huff. "This is exactly why we should have asked those strangers for more information. They might have known an alternate route."