He shakes his head. “Don’t want to.”

I drive around a charred car frame and fight off images of my mama being tortured. “We’re going to the hospital,” I say, my jaw tight.

Clay pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Are you gonna be this difficult the whole time?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. I’ll take you to the hospital, you’ll see it’s locked up tighter than a bull’s ass during mating season and then we can go. It’s 300 miles west in what’s left of Albuquerque. We’ll stop at my friend Bennett’s, fuel and water up. Get a decent night’s sleep before heading out.”

I straddle a crinkled car muffler between my tires. “We stay one night and then on to the hospital.”

He shakes his head. “We need time to come up with a plan.”

“One night,” I say. Suddenly, my eyelids droop and my vision’s doubling. The Jeep jostles as I pull to the shoulder. “You can drive. I’m tired.”

We slip out of our doors and walk around the Jeep. As I’m almost to the passenger side, I spot the eye shine in the distance. Three pairs of copper coin eyes glow in the moonlight. A black and white tail twitches up at our scent. It’s a mother skunk leading two kits on a hunt. One of the kits, curious and alert, sniffs toward me. The mother yaps once and the kit trots back in line.

As their bushy tails recede into the darkness, I ache for my mother. I used to think her rules were the source of all my problems. Now I have all the freedom I want and feel completely lost.

“You coming?” Clay removes his hat and runs his hands through his wavy brown hair.

I hop in the passenger seat, close my eyes and hope Clay will take us where we need to go.

* * *

When the Jeep lurches to a stop, dawn is spreading out in reds and oranges on the horizon. Next to me, Clay rubs his red-rimmed eyes.

“We’re here.” He pops out of the Jeep and walks toward the house in front of us.

At first glance the red farmhouse reminds me of home. The simple one-story ranch sits alone on a few acres of dirt. There’s a windmill in back for water and an outhouse in the side yard. When I look closer, the differences are clear. The yard could double as a junk heap. On either side of the walkway, rusted car parts, worn out shoes, a crooked bike tire and loads of other junk, discarded and forgotten. A beat-up barn cat with one eye slinks out behind a stalk of scrub grass and darts under the rotting porch. The stink of human waste wafts from the outhouse.

Clay hops up on the porch and knocks on the door.

“Where are we?” Ethan leans forward and brushes the hair out of his sleepy eyes.

“Bennett’s. Stick close to me. If I say run, bolt to the Jeep.”