Scorched

Chapter 3

My stomach gives a loud gurgle for the zillionth time and I look over at Ronin, hoping that he'll notice this time. But no such luck.

We've been in my car for hours now, as soon as we left that sketchy clothes store he tore off in one direction and hasn't moved a muscle since. Except to breath; probably. The conspiracy theory that he's a government controlled robot gone off the rails hasn't been ruled out yet.

We've kept to country roads, only seeing civilization from a distance in the form of small towns. Ronin hasn't stopped for anything. Not for gas, (I can't believe the tank still isn't empty) not for coffee, and definitely not for food.

We pass another cluster of dwellings and I gaze longingly at a lit up McDonald's sign.

I look to Ronin but his face gives no indication that he even saw the golden arches. He keeps one hand on the wheel and a steely gaze on the road in front of him.

Considering who he is there's no way I'm going to beg. You don't ask favours from the guy with a button between his fingers that could blow you up right then and there. So I grumble silently to myself but don't say a word.

I've thought about turning the radio on a couple of times but I'm scared I'll turn it to the wrong station and he'll kill me for listening to country instead of 80's rock. And of course I could just ask him but he doesn't seem like much of a talker, his only replies of grunts and scowls have been riveting so far.

Thankfully the silence gives me time to think.

It took a long time for the shock to fully exit my system, but now I'm more focused than ever. He forgot to take my phone, that means there's hope. He has to let his guard down sometime, and when that happens I'll be ready. I won't be his hostage for much longer, and I'll be free to eat all the hamburgers I want.

• • •

The sky has changed from its dull blue to blazing orange and is now finally giving way to black. There's nothing else out here to look at and the horizon was quite pleasant to watch. It's ever changing streaks of colours were almost soothing.

Ronin blinks slowly, his eyes actually staying closed for a moment, causing us to veer slightly to the left. A loud throaty honk fills the air as the car veers into the path of a glaring red semi. He suddenly jerks awake again, dragging us out of danger by abruptly turning the wheel. That's happened a couple of times.

I can finally stop fearing that my life will end accidentally when he pulls up to a motel. As we step out of the car I look up to see a couple of stars shining brightly, peaking out from behind the elusive clouds. We walk, and stumble, wearily toward the "reception" room.

The motel is naturally cold and grimy, and has an uncanny resemblance to the set of a cheesy horror movie. The hideous wallpaper is yellowed and even peeling off the wall in some spots and the ancient wood floors are so beat up that I have to watch where I put my feet so that I don't trip. I swear this place is infested with every creature imaginable, and I know that giant rat scampering along the baseboard is not just staying for a vacation. As we approach the shabby desk Ronin taps the bell and a soft ding resounds in the space. Instantly a lady looking older than the invention of the light bulb scurries over, and by scurry I mean drags along at a painfully slow pace, from a dark door frame that the rat disappeared into.

"One room," Ronin says gruffly.

Clearly he gets cranky when he's had a long day of escaping the hospital and meeting creepy friends and having to drive for hours without any French fries to ensure the police don't bring him justice.

"75 dollars," she replies in a bored tone that implies she'd rather go back into that dark room to die.

Ronin promptly looks at me like my only job in the world is to pay for this room and I've ruined his life by making him wait so long.