Discovering Licapta

3 (pt. i)

ÉMILE SPEEDS PAST the yellow rectangular sign that reads, in bold black font, LAST EXIT BEFORE LICAPTA. Instead, he continues forward until a bright red stop sign blocking our path forces us to come to a halt. Just beyond the sign and to the left, dividing the freeway into two halves, is a small shelter. At the front is a window, and I can make out a human figure moving behind it. After a moment or two of waiting at the obstructive stop sign, the bar its attached to swings upward. We roll forward, and Émile rolls down all four windows at the same time the window on the shelter slides open.

"Please tell me you're not another one of those incompetent drivers who took the wrong exit. Because if you are—"

"I'm not," Émile states, and I notice his voice cracks slightly on the first syllable. I can sense that his unwavering confidence I've grown accustomed to over the past thirty-two hours or so is finally disintegrating. He clears his throat, clearly aware of the timidness his speech has assumed. "We'd like to go to Licapta," he declares more firmly.

The lady behind the window perks up, her eyes narrowing as she studies Émile. When she looks past Émile and directs her interrogative gaze at me, I feel a wave of self-consciousness wash over me. Her dark hair is piled up in a neat bun on top of her head, and even though she has a very pretty face, her dark skin flawless and brown eyes bright, her perfection only reminds me of the power she possesses. The gun I spot attached to her waist when she exits the booth and steps toward the car is another not-so-subtle reminder.

She holds out what resembles a cell phone to Émile. "Fingerprint please," she states.

He obliges, pressing each of his fingers against the screen as she instructs him to.

"I need to take a swab," she states, pulling out a small white stick. "Open your mouth," she instructs.

Again, Émile does as she says. When she has a saliva sample, she re-enters the shelter for a moment. When she reappears, she performs the same rituals on me.

As we're waiting to hear back from her, I study our surroundings. In front of us are two lanes, each blocked by spike-bearing metal bars. The lane on the left appears to loop around the shelter, directing traffic back the way we came. The other lane, I presume, leads to Licapta.

"Right lane," the woman states. Her voice is loud enough that I jump, reflexively turning to look at her. Even though he doesn't dare to while we're under the watchful eye of security, I can imagine Émile laughing at my reaction.

Émile nods, then rolls up all four windows. Once we're in the right lane, the metal bar swings upward.

Does this mean we're in?

Once we're out of sight of the shelter, Émile hits the gas, and we're cruising down the empty stretch of highway, nothing but sunny skies above. The weather's changed significantly since we left, and I try to shrug out of my jacket, which proves to be tricky with my seatbelt on.

"That was quite the jump," Émile remarks, and I look sideways to find him wearing his usual smirk.

"Shut up," I say, giving my sleeve a good tug by its cuff.

"Aw, somebody was scared."

"You were too," I backfire. "I mean, the way you sounded while talking to her? You were practically croaking. Like a frog. Croak. Croak."

Émile raises an eyebrow, shooting me a questioning glance.

"Well, it's true. And they can probably hear us right now with voice recorders and cameras and whatever."

Émile finally cracks a smile. "It's not totalitarian rule Gem."

"Gem? Is that what you're calling me now?" I ask.

"Yeah," Émile states, his smirk returning. "Why— you don't like it?" he teases, sparing me a glance.

"No," I say firmly, watching as the mirage ahead of us disappears and reappears as we continue forward. "I've just... nobody's ever called me that. I've never had a nickname before."

Émile's smirk disappears, his expression hard to identify as our gazes lock before his is back on the road.

"When I worked at the bookstore, I had a name tag. Customers never really strayed from calling me my actual name."

I return my gaze to Émile to find the smallest of smiles on his face. "Okay Gem."