“Now, hear me out.” The man holds up his hands and I try not to inhale, not to smell that awful, chemical smell. It’s mixed with liquor now. He’s swaying like he’s drunk, and there’s something bulky in his coat pocket. I don’t know what he’s got in there, but it’s bigger than a wallet. I think of the sign behind the gas station counter. Does he have a gun, too? Is he the danger I’ve been sensing?

My body knew something was wrong. Every hour, my skin has crawled. My body prickled and shivered and warned me that I was being watched. Maybe even hunted. And now I know why.

“I don’t mean no harm at all,” he says, words bleeding into each other, “and we can squeeze for a few miles. That’s all I need. A few miles so I’m closer to town.”

“I’m sorry,” Brecken says, “We can’t help you.”

Harper and I start backing toward the car in wordless agreement.

“Oh, you could help,” the man says clearly, no slurring in these words at all. Even the rough edges of his voice seem to be smoothing over, and it’s turning me to stone. “You could help me if you wanted to. And you’ll wish you had helped. One day you’ll remember this, and you’ll wish you’d made a different choice.”

There’s no question on waiting now. I trip over Harper’s feet once. Twice. She pulls me up, and we scramble to the car. Brecken walks calmly to the driver’s-side door, sliding behind the wheel without asking for permission. He doesn’t need it.

I don’t care if he drives. I don’t care that he stole. In this second, I don’t even care if he meant to hit Corey in that parking lot, as long as he gets us away from this place.

And away from this man.

Chapter Twenty-Two

I try not to breathe through my nose. The mix of smells in this car is sending my stomach back to that topsy-turvy place from the earlier parts of the drive. Everyone’s soap and shampoo and even laundry detergent mingles with the faint smell of melted snow and sweat, all layered over a residue of new-car air freshener. Not actual new car smell, mind you, because I’m guessing this vehicle has seen a parade of travelers in and out of its seats, but the artificial chemical odor that seems to fool most people.

I’m not fooled. I’m nauseated.

I shift in my seat, shoving a hand between the belt and my stomach as Brecken creeps down the snow-clogged road. Somehow in the commotion, Josh ended up in the front, and I’m back with Kayla and Harper, my shoulder bumping Kayla’s every time Brecken turns. The nudges make me sicker than the smell.