Grounded

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

All my life, I've wondered what it would be like to ride in a car. I've seen them when Bradford Adams or Doc Nelson visited Hemlock Hollow, but I've never been inside one. Would it be exciting, like galloping on a horse or falling from the haymow?

In Officer Reynolds's vehicle, behind the protective plastic that separates the front from the back, I don't feel excited. I feel claustrophobic, like the doors are collapsing in on me.

The other Green Officers drive away while Reynolds punches letters and numbers into a screen on the dashboard. Is he entering information about me or where we are going? The engine rumbles to life, much quieter than the Adamses' car, but then this one looks newer. Instead of a wheel, Reynolds uses a stick with a knob to guide the vehicle as we back from the driveway and gain speed. It's not unlike our buggy but faster, much faster. The rush of scenery beyond the window makes my head swim and my stomach turn over. I press my fingers over my lips.

"I'll never understand how you people live offline. But then, you're probably used to this in Willow's Province," Reynolds says, bouncing in his seat and making adjustments to keep us on the uneven pavement. The road here is riddled with potholes. Debris pings against the car and windows. An especially large bump knocks me against the car door.

I lean across the seat and vomit my fast food onto the floor mat.

"Hey! Aww, hell!" Officer Reynolds glances over his shoulder. He presses a button, and the plastic divider stows itself in the seat back. With his free hand, he digs into a compartment in the dash and hands me a towel.

"Thank you," I say. The material is strange with fibers that grip my skin. I rub it between my fingers before wiping my mouth with it. "My head is spinning."

"Why didn't you tell me you get carsick?" Looking annoyed, Reynolds presses a button to his left.

My window lowers half an inch, and a breeze chills the sweat on my forehead. The rush of air sweeps away the smell of sick, and I mop up the mess as best I can. "I'm sorry," I say. "It must be from the electrocution."

He squints at me skeptically. "A few more miles to the grid. Just leave those on the floor for now."

I lean against the seat and close my eyes. Eventually, the jostling becomes more sporadic and the scattering gravel gives way to a smooth hum. The car jerks one last time and then I don't hear the wheels anymore. I open my eyes. Out the window, cars of all shapes and sizes whiz by us, hovering over narrow strips of steel rather than full stretches of pavement. To be sure, there is a road far below us, the kind I am familiar with, but up here in "the grid" as he calls it, layers of traffic fly high above the earth. The illusion of flight is only diminished by the occasional glimpse of the silver mesh that I assume supports whatever technology holds us to the grid. The roads merge and separate at such high speeds, I have to wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. Above and below us, hundreds of vehicles are nothing but colorful blurs and flashes of light.

"This was not in the book," I mumble to myself.

"What's that?" Reynolds asks.

"I'm feeling better," I say to him.

"Good." Reynolds types something else into the keypad on the dash and grabs a fresh rag before turning his seat all the way around. I have no idea how the car drives itself, but I don't dare ask. He leans over the divider to collect the rag I've left on the floor, wrapping it inside his own.

"Normally I wouldn't risk lowering the divider, but something tells me you're not the violent sort." He laughs a little, eyes darting over my slight frame. A strange defensiveness tugs at me, but I dismiss it.