the jerkier its motions became. I struggled to keep myself seated, and Alice clung to me for dear life. Neither of us said a word, but simply stared below us as old homes and vendor carts passed by in a blur.
When we were out of range for the Polatzi hovercrafts, the man slowed his contraption down and I forced my legs to move. I held onto the sides of the steel body for support and fell into the front passenger seat with relief when I reached the front. “What in the hell is this thing?”
The boy didn’t look at me. He kept his eyes forward and his hands continued to make our getaway. “It’s my buggy. Do you like it? It’s a play on words, you see,” he said, not waiting on my opinion of the machine, “back before the war, before cars and planes, people had things called buggies, but they were silly carriage-like inventions pulled by animals. I fashioned this after the common spider, which is technically an arachnid, but most people call them bugs. Hence, this is my buggy.”
I had no idea what to say, so I turned and stumbled to the back of the bug gadget to sit by Alice. She leaned in and whispered in my ear. “What did you ask him?”
“I asked what this thing was,” I said dully, still trying to swallow everything that just happened.
“And what’d he say?”
“He said it was a spider bug thing.”
Alice shook her head. “I’ve seen spiders, and this is not a spider. Or a bug, for that matter.”
“It’s a buggy, actually,” called the man from the front.
Alice looked at me, and suspicion leaked into the tone of her voice. “Who is this guy?”
He never faced us, but yelled over the din of the metal legs working in unison. “My name is Jaxon Pierce, but you can call me Jax. Pleased to make your acquaintance, ladies. Now why don’t you two shush and let me drive this thing.”
“You know, technically spiders are arachnids,” Alice whispered. “I don’t think this guy knows the difference between a bug and an arachnid.”
I was pretty sure that the classification of a spider was the least of our worries.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
My body ached from exhaustion, but I willed myself to stay awake. Alice, however, couldn’t stave off sleep. Her head bounced gently against my shoulder with each step the buggy took, and I put a hand on her head to steady her.
My muscles burned. Every time I moved, a surge of pain shot through my legs where lactic acid had built up. It felt good but painful at the same time. My toes tingled as though they were asleep.
A million thoughts sped through my mind, battling for my attention. These seats were uncomfortable. Who was this Jaxon figure? Were we going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere? Maybe that’s what happened to my parents.
The familiar twang of loss cracked like a whip across my heart at the thought of my parents. I begged my brain to shut down for a while. Just long enough to make me forget the day. I squeezed my eyes shut and saw red from the pressure.
I’d give steam every day of my life to go back to before my parents disappeared.
Please, God, if you’re there, let it all be a dream.
When I woke up, I noticed the buggy was stationary. I was slumped to the side of the carriage and Alice was curled up on the seat, her head in my lap. My neck ached from being at a strange angle for so long, and pulled myself into a more comfortable position.
“You slept hard,” said a drawling voice, “though I’ve heard near death experiences can do that to a person. Personally, I avoid those like the plague.”
I turned toward the voice, and the muscles in my neck protested. I massaged them with one hand as I drank in the figure before me.
Jaxon was much closer to my age than I imagined. Artfully destroyed jeans revealed cuts and callouses on his knees, and the hem of red plaid boxers he wore underneath peeked through the holes. The sleeves of his cream thermal Henley were rolled up and revealed muscular arms. The shirt was unbuttoned enough for me to
When we were out of range for the Polatzi hovercrafts, the man slowed his contraption down and I forced my legs to move. I held onto the sides of the steel body for support and fell into the front passenger seat with relief when I reached the front. “What in the hell is this thing?”
The boy didn’t look at me. He kept his eyes forward and his hands continued to make our getaway. “It’s my buggy. Do you like it? It’s a play on words, you see,” he said, not waiting on my opinion of the machine, “back before the war, before cars and planes, people had things called buggies, but they were silly carriage-like inventions pulled by animals. I fashioned this after the common spider, which is technically an arachnid, but most people call them bugs. Hence, this is my buggy.”
I had no idea what to say, so I turned and stumbled to the back of the bug gadget to sit by Alice. She leaned in and whispered in my ear. “What did you ask him?”
“I asked what this thing was,” I said dully, still trying to swallow everything that just happened.
“And what’d he say?”
“He said it was a spider bug thing.”
Alice shook her head. “I’ve seen spiders, and this is not a spider. Or a bug, for that matter.”
“It’s a buggy, actually,” called the man from the front.
Alice looked at me, and suspicion leaked into the tone of her voice. “Who is this guy?”
He never faced us, but yelled over the din of the metal legs working in unison. “My name is Jaxon Pierce, but you can call me Jax. Pleased to make your acquaintance, ladies. Now why don’t you two shush and let me drive this thing.”
“You know, technically spiders are arachnids,” Alice whispered. “I don’t think this guy knows the difference between a bug and an arachnid.”
I was pretty sure that the classification of a spider was the least of our worries.
CHAPTER
SEVEN
My body ached from exhaustion, but I willed myself to stay awake. Alice, however, couldn’t stave off sleep. Her head bounced gently against my shoulder with each step the buggy took, and I put a hand on her head to steady her.
My muscles burned. Every time I moved, a surge of pain shot through my legs where lactic acid had built up. It felt good but painful at the same time. My toes tingled as though they were asleep.
A million thoughts sped through my mind, battling for my attention. These seats were uncomfortable. Who was this Jaxon figure? Were we going to end up dead in a ditch somewhere? Maybe that’s what happened to my parents.
The familiar twang of loss cracked like a whip across my heart at the thought of my parents. I begged my brain to shut down for a while. Just long enough to make me forget the day. I squeezed my eyes shut and saw red from the pressure.
I’d give steam every day of my life to go back to before my parents disappeared.
Please, God, if you’re there, let it all be a dream.
When I woke up, I noticed the buggy was stationary. I was slumped to the side of the carriage and Alice was curled up on the seat, her head in my lap. My neck ached from being at a strange angle for so long, and pulled myself into a more comfortable position.
“You slept hard,” said a drawling voice, “though I’ve heard near death experiences can do that to a person. Personally, I avoid those like the plague.”
I turned toward the voice, and the muscles in my neck protested. I massaged them with one hand as I drank in the figure before me.
Jaxon was much closer to my age than I imagined. Artfully destroyed jeans revealed cuts and callouses on his knees, and the hem of red plaid boxers he wore underneath peeked through the holes. The sleeves of his cream thermal Henley were rolled up and revealed muscular arms. The shirt was unbuttoned enough for me to
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