Lost Highway by Hunter Bijou

Author:Hunter, Bijou [Hunter, Bijou]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2016-07-28T07:00:00+00:00

Chapter Eighteen

Odessa

Quill holds a grudge after I knock him over the head and chain him to the wall. I don’t blame him, but I also can’t really remember why I thought attacking him was such a great idea. As insane as my behavior was, I feel better after enjoying his warmth.

Curled up on the couch with my eyes closed, I imagine his rough stubble against my cheek. As long as I focus on that particular memory, the chaos of the Lost Highway can’t touch me.

The real Quill’s face appears above mine as he leans over the back of the couch.

“Put on your shoes and jacket. I need to run an errand, and you’re coming with me.”

My thoughts immediately seize on him ditching me somewhere. I don’t blame him for wanting me to go, but I still hope he’ll kill me quickly rather than handing me over to another Death Dealer.

“Where are we going?” I ask.

“To the outpost for supplies.”

I think to ask questions, but my mind remains numb. Besides, Quill is probably on his last nerve with my interrogations.

Once my tennis shoes are on, Quill hands me a jacket a few sizes too large. He waits for me to complain, so I keep my mouth shut. We leave the cabin and clearing behind. Having forgotten how dense the woods are, I look up still expecting to see the faux sky. All I find is the canopy of trees.

“Who runs the outpost?” I whisper after we walk for long enough for my feet to hurt.

“I don’t know who they are. Tom called them scavengers. They remove the abandoned cars from the highway and gather items from inside. They’d have taken your bags if I hadn’t gotten to them first.”

Quill speaks in a normal voice, so I stop whispering. “What do you give them in exchange for what they sell?”

His only answer is the bouncing bag on his back. I think to inquire more, but the woods suffocate my curiosity. The only goal I have for the rest of our trek is to keep up with an unyielding Quill.

Once we reach the highway, we pause in the brush on the side of the road. Quill studies the woods while I squat next to him. I don’t see any sign of my car. The two-lane road is clear and quiet.

“Be ready to run,” Quill tells me.

Nodding, I keep quiet and follow closely behind him. Stepping onto the highway, I notice a crackle of electricity in the air. The sky is brighter here, yet I only see gray clouds mirrored back at me.

More than once, I hear the sounds of cars racing by. My gaze keeps lifting upward, searching for the noises.

I bump into a stopped Quill. Despite his disappointed frown, I’m only interested in finding comfort. My mind races with possible threats, and I struggle against the urge to run into the highway. Much like in the basement, voices call out to me and promise a quick death.

Quill roughly places my hand against his cheek.

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