A World Together

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

Stella

My dreams are filled with red hair and blood. Or maybe it's fire, and I've finally arrived in hell. Hair, blood, fire. Whatever it is, I'm engulfed in the stuff, swept up in a wave of it that I can't swim free of. Something tightens around my neck. Only when I try to rip it away do I realize that it's a noose of hair pulling me further and further down. Who has fashioned this necklace for me? Rocket? Jacob? Probably both. My lungs are filling with liquid, the taste of blood thick on my tongue. It's impossible to breathe. A fire is burning somewhere. My nose is filled with the overbearing stench of smoke. Each gasp for air only earns me another mouthful of blood. I jolt awake right before I drown completely.

The world around me is zooming past at an impossible speed. For an instant I think I've been handed from one nightmare to another. Who will kill me in this one? Then my surroundings fully register to me. I'm in the front seat of a car that's speeding down a dark road.

"You're awake." I turn towards the voice and find Logan sitting in the driver's seat. His gaze flickers to me. "How are you feeling?"

Something about him looks wrong. I notice it immediately. Like he's been replaced with a doppelgänger who hasn't quite mastered the real Logan's mannerisms yet. The pinch of his brows that make it look like he's constantly scowling is gone. So is the rigid, tense posture that usually has him hunched forward slightly. Even his grip on the steering wheel is different. It's slack, where normally it is firm. These are all small things, but combined they paint a picture of him that doesn't quite come together the way it should.

When I don't answer him right away, he casts another glance in my direction. "You killed the Gas Man," I say, my voice rusty.

I don't know why this is the first thing that leaves my lips. Maybe because it's the last thing I can remember that made an impression on me.

"Yeah," he says. "So?"

So, I want to say, that isn't something you would do. Murder that isn't motivated by self-defense. You're supposed to be the good guy, who wants to help everyone and feels guilty when he can't. But instead of saying any of this, I just mumble out, "I'm sorry."

"What for?" he asks.

For Rocket. For making us go to the coast instead of Canada. None of this would have happened if we stayed with the others, if I didn't go off on my own. There's no way of knowing for sure, but I'm almost certain Rocket would still be alive if I didn't direct us off course. Or, she would most definitely be alive if I had just taken her hand. Instead I left her to die. The more I think about it, the more responsible I feel for her death. It no longer feels right to even share the blame with the bandits or the Gas Man.

All of this is too horrible to say aloud, so I shake my head in response. "I don't know."

"Have some water," he says. I look down to my right and find an unopened bottle sitting in a cup holder.

"We're not in the Jeep," I say, opening the bottle and drinking half of it. I don't remember the Jeep having any cup holders, and I'm right, it didn't. Logan explains finding the SUV in one of the Gas Man's storage units and how it made more sense to take it than risk going back for the Jeep. He tells me all this with a flat, hollow voice. Just how much has Rocket's death torn him apart?

Now is not the time to find out, when the wounds are still fresh and bleeding. The fact that he chose to abandon the Jeep, that he looks and sounds different tells me they will be bleeding for awhile though.

In an effort to turn my attention elsewhere, I twist around to get a look at the backseat where Maisie and Gale are sleeping. When my eyes start to linger on the vacant space between them I quickly turn back to the front.

"I broke her lamp," Logan says.

"What?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Doesn't matter."

I'm not sure if I'm fully recovered yet. Or if I've suffered any permanent damage from all that head trauma. My thoughts are still somewhat foggy. Logan doesn't seem too worried about me though, which I interpret as a good thing. My head is throbbing and despite being unconscious for an unclear amount of time, I'm somehow still exhausted. But other than that, for the most part, I don't feel too bad. The fact that I can lift my head up now without feeling nauseas is an indicator of my good health. I must still need rest though, because after a few minutes of silence I'm drifting back into the cradle of my nightmares.

When I wake again, the world is still. My eyes peel open to find a cloudless, azure blue sky that converges almost seamlessly with the ocean below it. My gaze follows the sparkling waves to where they kiss the shore and meld with the glowing sand.

"We're at the coast," I say, almost disbelievingly.

Warm sunlight bathes the car in a pool of gold, but a certain chill manages to remain. One that no amount of sunshine will be able to remove.

Logan just nods.

We are both barren of emotion. There's no sense of vigor or achievement. And why should there be? Coming here doesn't feel like a victory because it isn't one. It borders on being a mistake. I only hope it doesn't cross over into becoming one completely. In fact, I'm going to make sure that it doesn't. I will make sure that Rocket's death was not in vain. I will meet up with Max and I will find the happiness and security that I once had.

Or I will die trying.

End of Book Two