Rage and grief welled up in Jenna’s throat. Zack had called her dangerous, but she didn’t go around killing innocent people who just happened to be in the way.
Mercy knelt down next to the man, and after a few seconds, she held up a ring of keys.
“What are you going to do with those?” Jenna asked.
“First, we’re going to see what kind of medical supplies they’ve got around here. They deal with dangerous animals all the time, so they’re bound to have some antibiotics and bandages.”
“Smart.”
“Thank you. After that, maybe we’ll find some dry clothes and some snacks. And then we’ll see if there’s a car to go with one of these.” Mercy regarded her for a few seconds. “Maybe we’ll start with the car. I think you need to sit down before you fall down.”
Jenna wasn’t sure she would even make it that far.
34
“Wake up, sleepy head.”
Jenna heard the words from the midst of a forgotten dream, but did not fully awake until she felt a hand on her shoulder, rocking her back and forth. She mumbled something incoherent and opened her eyes to greet the day.
It was still dark, though not nearly as dark as it had been in the remote depths of the Everglades. There was no shortage of artificial light — overhead streetlights, neon signs, and the occasional flash of passing headlights. Mercy smiled at her from the driver’s seat. Jenna turned her head to look out her window. They were in a grocery store parking lot with just a few other cars. “Where are we?”
“The address Noah gave for the mysterious Mr. Cort is just a couple of blocks from here.”
Jenna felt her bile start to rise at the mention of Noah — she couldn’t bring herself to think of him as her father anymore — and she fought to maintain her bleary-eyed indifference. Mercy didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of her anger.
“I drove past. It’s a house, no lights. Didn’t look like anyone was home.”
“What time is it?”
“Just past six. How are you feeling?”
Jenna sat up, pleased to discover that her various injuries didn’t hurt anywhere near as bad as she had expected, especially considering the cramped conditions. The road-weary Ford Fiesta was not the luxury ride Jenna would have preferred, but it was the only vehicle available. Mercy had driven and Jenna, after devouring a smorgasbord of snack crackers, chips and candy bars, had slept.
“Good as new,” Jenna replied, stretching in place and probing the cuff of gauze around her left arm. It was tender, but the bandage remained dry and supple, which told her the wound was closed and healing. When she had cleaned and dressed the wound, Mercy had remarked that it didn’t look too serious, which was welcome news, but a bit of a surprise to Jenna. It had felt pretty serious when the blade had gone in. But she was a fast healer, or so she had always been told.
Such swift healing didn’t come without a price. She was still famished, and she said so.
Mercy considered the statement. “Normally, I’d say let’s go grab a breakfast burrito.”
“But?”
“I don’t have any cash, and I’m not sure it’s a good idea to use plastic. I’m sure that’s the kind of thing they’ll be watching for.”
Jenna was a little surprised that Mercy had thought of that, and even more so that she had not. The realization blindsided her with a rush of emotion, crushing her good mood. She thought this must be how people felt when they got a terminal diagnosis from their doctor. “Wow.”
Mercy looked at her sidelong. “What?”
“I just realized how completely screwed I am…we are. They’re going to keep coming after us. We can’t go back to our lives. We don’t have anything. We can’t even buy a breakfast burrito.”
Mercy laid a hand on her arm. “You’re still alive, Jenna. They sent four guys after you, but you’re still breathing. We’ll get through this. Now, let’s go talk to Cort, and then see what happens. Okay?”
Jenna managed a bleak nod. She hadn’t told Mercy about Zack’s comments, but Mercy already understood that the men hunting them had an official sanction.
They got out and Jenna followed Mercy from the parking lot to the sidewalk running along a busy seven-lane thoroughfare. Businesses and office buildings, many of which appeared to be vacant, lined both sides of the road. Her first ever look at Miami did not match her expectations. Maybe things were different closer to the urban center or in the distinctive neighborhoods that she had always heard people talk about — Little Havana, South Beach and so forth — but this area did not appear that much different from Key West. She paid attention to the unfamiliar environment, noting the street signs. If she got separated from Mercy or had to make a quick escape, some sense of where things were would help.
She wondered how Mercy had been able to find her way here. Noah’s notebook was gone, probably lost forever in the marsh, and Jenna knew that Mercy had gotten only a quick glance at the page with Bill Cort’s address. Maybe Mercy had an eidetic memory, too. Anything was possible.
Two blocks down from the supermarket, they turned west and headed into a residential neighborhood. The street was narrow and dark, mostly lit by the porch lights of the modest houses they passed. The humid air hummed with the buzz of insects and the electrical current passing through overhead power lines, but this only accentuated the otherworldly stillness and added to Jenna’s growing apprehension. A few windows were lit from within, early risers getting ready for a day at the office.
Something about that seemed wrong. It took her a few moments to remember that it was Sunday. It felt like days had passed since the bomb blew her entire life into chaos, but it hadn’t even been twelve hours. I’ve got school tomorrow, she thought, and she wondered when or if she would ever see her friends and teachers again.
“That’s the place,” Mercy said, pointing to an innocuous looking single-story cottage. The house had bars on the screen door and windows, just like every other house on the block. A wrought iron perimeter fence boxed in a neatly trimmed lawn. There was no car in the carport, and unlike the other homes, which had a lived-in look, this house gave a distinct impression of emptiness. Jenna recalled that the first address for Cort had been crossed out, suggesting that he had moved at some point during the years following Noah’s decision to compose a record of his mission. What if Cort had moved again, after the notebook had been secreted away in the Aerojet silo?
What if this is a dead end?
Mercy rested a hand on the fence and looked at Jenna. “Shall we go ring the bell?”
Jenna felt an almost overwhelming urge to turn away, to run, as if by doing so, she might wish away everything that had happened. It was, she knew, just another manifestation of the fight or flight response, a primal fear of the unknown, or in this case, of the possibility that this last desperate hope would end in a crushing disappointment.
No. I’m done running. And if this is a dead end, I’ll figure something else out.
She reached over the top of the gate and worked the release. It swung open without the slightest squeak of protest, and she stepped through. Mercy followed, but not before putting a hand into a tote bag. The canvas sack, emblazoned with a cartoon alligator, was just one of the souvenirs they’d acquired before leaving Gator Station. Mercy had filled it with first aid supplies and snacks. Jenna had consumed all of the latter. The sack also contained the night vision monocular and the pistol she had used to shoot Carlos Villegas. Jenna had a feeling that Mercy was reaching for the gun.