I gesture at the gas station. “And we’ve slipped into a gas station from 1978, where everyone fishes and the gas stations only take cash.”

“Don’t you have some money squirreled away somewhere else?” Kayla’s question is clearly directed to Brecken and Harper. I get it—they definitely look like they come from money—but it’s a ballsy ask.

“Seriously?” Brecken snaps. “Why do you just assume we’ve got cash? In case you forgot, Harper lost her wallet!”

Kayla snorts. “Your Patagonia fleece tells me you’re not hurting for money. I didn’t think it would be a leap. And don’t get me started on that girl’s earrings.”

“I spent my cash at the rental agency. And lay the hell off of Harper,” he says, a muscle in his jaw jumping. Why is he so defensive about a girl he doesn’t even know? I turn and catch Josh’s eyes from the back. He fires me a look that tells me he’s thinking something along the same lines.

“Brecken gave me cash for part of the rental,” Harper says. “I had two hundred dollars. I need to find my wallet.”

“I’m pretty sure Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Creeper are going to be ready to throw down if we don’t get this gas paid in the next ten minutes,” I say. “I paid them like seven. Does anyone else have anything?”

Josh flips through every pocket. “Nothing. Sorry.”

Brecken opens a sleek wallet. “I’ve got a ten.”

Kayla tosses three crumpled dollars. “I’ve got nothing else. And don’t look at me like that, I told you in the airport I couldn’t pay.”

“Seriously?” Harper says, looking panicked. “We have five people in this car and twenty dollars among us?”

“It’s not our fault this place is stuck in the Dark Ages,” Brecken says. “I could buy this damn station with the amount of open credit I have in my wallet.”

“Don’t they have one of those old-school card machines?” Josh asks.

“Apparently not,” I say. “And the guy wasn’t exactly accommodating when I asked about it.”

“I wouldn’t mess with that old one,” Kayla says. Her expression isn’t glazed or sardonic or breezy. She is deadly serious. She’s looking at the station, a frown tugging her thin lips downward and I wonder if she saw the same sign I did, about the attendant being armed and possibly ready to pump bullets into people who don’t pay for their gas.

“What are we going to do?” Harper asks, her voice small and thin. She is so different than the confident girl she was on the plane.

“Just breathe,” Brecken says, reaching over the seat toward her.