“A boat isn’t going to do you any good,” Stephan says, his laugh closer to a scoff.

“Why?” I ask, frowning.

“Because there’s no water in the Mississippi anymore. The riverbed is completely dry.”

“What?” I snap. “Then why would we even bother going that way?”

“Because it’s still the best route,” Zeke says gently. “And at least this way we won’t have to go back for the boat.”

I chuck my empty can down on the ground, making it clatter. Everyone jumps at the sound. I don’t know why I’m so angry, it’s just that fate seems to be throwing every obstacle it can at us.

“You really need to chill out,” Stephan says.

“Chill out?” I say, getting more irritated by the second. “What about this scenario do I have to be chilled out about?”

“Well,” Stephan says, haughtily, “how about the fact that I know somewhere nearby where we can get motorcycles?”

I stare at him, my mouth agape. “Why didn’t you say so?”

He gives me a smug look. “Maybe something to do with you punching me out cold. It didn’t exactly warm me to you.”

“Brooke!” Bree chastises me. “You didn’t, did you?”

“He was pointing a gun at Molly!” I cry, defending myself.

“Stephan,” Bree snaps at him. Then she looks at each of us in turn. “Can we all please stop arguing? It’s not doing any good. We’re all in this together so we may as well start acting like friends.”

I fold my arms and stare Stephan down. He gives me a fake smile, one that says we will probably never be friends. But if he knows how to get us bikes, and as long as I’m in possession of his gun, then we’re sticking together.

“Fine,” I say, relenting. “Let’s get some sleep. We leave for the Mississippi in the morning.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

“Ta-da,” Stephan says, gesturing to the open garage door.

I peer into the gloom. Inside I see several old vintage motor bikes and choppers, covered in thick dust and cobwebs. They look like they could have belonged to a gang of Hells Angels once upon a time. They’ve certainly seen better days.

“And these things work?” I ask, incredulous.

I can’t help thinking that Stephan’s led us on a wild goose chase.

“Oh, they work,” he replies.

He walks into the garage and toward one of the choppers, then retrieves the keys from inside its seat compartment. He twirls the keys around his fingers, showing off. I roll my eyes.

“Hurry up, please,” I say. Stephan’s really testing my patience.

He grins and finally puts a key in the ignition. The bike thrums to life, its engine roaring and throwing out fumes.

“I don’t believe it,” I say, pacing forward and drawing up beside the bike. “How much gas is in this thing?”