Heat meant life. I opened my eyes to a partly opened car window smeared with bird poop. Scraggly-looking thunderheads were building in the west, but the sun still shone between them, glaring through the windshield, I felt like an ant under a looking glass, the rays focused into a beam concentrated enough to blister my exoskeleton. This was the one part of coming back from the Deeps that I would never get used to.
We were stopped outside a Wendy’s just off the highway. The girls munched French fries and spicy chicken sandwiches. When Ellen noticed me alert, she reached for a sack and handed it to me.
“We got one for you, too. Have a nice nap?”
“Not … a nap,” I said, all thick-tongued and befuddled. “Four o’clock.”
“Actually it’s more like four-thirty.”
“No. I mean … I was just trying to remember something.”
I was burning up, sweating profusely. My inside of my mouth felt as dry as leather. I grabbed a cold soda from the tray and began sucking it down.
“Um … that actually my Coke you’re drinking. But what the hell. Go ahead.”
“Where the heck are we?”
“White River Junction.”
“Where’s that?”
“On the edge of New Hampshire. Close to Hanover, actually. We’re only about twenty minutes away. Wendell’s been sending texts, by the way. I think he wants you to call him.”
I picked up the phone from the dashboard. The sun-warmed aluminum casing felt like a hot potato in my hands. I counted three messages from Wendell since I had been away. I rang him up.
“Hey guy. Good to hear from you. Nice to see you guys back on track.”
“What’s the address?” I said.
“Whoa. Chomping at the bit, are we? Did I touch a nerve there? Is it that little girl Isobel? She must mean a lot to you.”
“Fuck you. Give me the fucking address.”
“You already got it. Check your GPS. You’ll find there’s a new waypoint uploaded.”
“How did you—?”
“Magic. What can I say?”
“What’s his … her name?”
“Just look at your GPS. I’ll send you a picture once you’re on site. I need you there no later than 6:15 pm. I’m a little worried about the weather, but it may not be an issue. In fact, it might work out to our advantage. I have to say, I like your change in attitude. I guess it takes all kinds. Some Facilitators … all they need is carrots. A nice, fat expense account and voilà—it’s like we got a natural born killer on our hands. But I guess you don’t respond as well to material wealth. A guy like you needs a good stick. Something for the personnel file, I suppose.”
“Yeah. Whatever. Bye.”
I pulled out the GPS, turned it on, clicking through the screens until I found that a third set of coordinates had been added to ‘treegirl and ‘laurent.’
‘JasonCollins.’
I glanced over at Ellen. She was staring at me, trying to bore into my psyche again.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You’re sounding a little too eager to find this next guy.”
“Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.”
“But … we agreed—”
“Shush! You gotta trust me, Ellen! I’ve got a plan. Now, how do we get to Hanover?”
