HOTSPOT

10

I wait until Ama's chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm, curled up against me on the thin mattress in our tent. I ease myself away from her, listening to her mumble indiscernibly and curl further in on herself. Guilt eats away at my chest.

I'm not even saying goodbye. She'd try to stop me if I did.

I lean over her, lifting a hand to her hairline and running my fingertips through the baby hairs that curl in wisps along her forehead. In the darkness, she furrows her brows in her sleep, the soft edges of her face bathed in shadow. I bend down to place a kiss on her forehead, combing my fingers once more through her hair before I slowly get to my feet, crouching once more to pull a fallen blanket back over her shoulders. The idea of staying here, of pulling her into my arms and falling back asleep with my nose pressed to her neck, is almost too tempting for me to resist.

I could leave a note, but I don't think I need to. She'll know.

I let out one final exhale, steeling myself, and move the tent flap, stepping outside and letting it rustle back in place as softly as I can. My timing is perfect—Noah ducks out from the shadows of the garage, hands tucked in the front pockets of his jeans. His pistol is holstered at his hip; I haven't had many chances to teach him to use it, but any weapon is better than nothing.

"Ready to go?"

No.

"Yeah."

I fall in step with him, deciding not to mention the watery glint in his eyes.

A croaking bird's call pierces the night as we head outside, giving the guards at the gate a nod in passing. The air is warm and humid, pressing on my skin like a damp blanket.

Noah leads me to the bus with purpose in his stride, winding through the streets until it appears in view. He pries open the doors, heading straight for the rear emergency exit, throwing it open. I hurry past the remaining rows of seats, grabbing at his shoulder as he fumbles for the blood-stained mattress.

"Noah. Noah, let... let me help."

He moves aside, breathing hard, while I grab the edge of the mattress and shove it out the doors. It folds limply onto the crumbling asphalt, bloodstain disappearing into the dark shadows beneath the tires. I pull the door shut and move the latch into place, pushing the two remaining mattresses over to cover the gap left behind. Noah's calmed down when I turn back to him, expression stony.

"Do you know how to drive a bus?" He asks.

"I... I've driven other vehicles before. Can't be that hard."

"Then we should get going. Got everything you need?"

I tug at the strap of my backpack, hand flicking to my rifle. "Yeah. How long are you thinking it'll take?"

"I don't know. I've never been to the Golden Gate Bridge."

"Me neither." I settle into the driver's seat, examining the dashboard. "Oh, boy. Okay."

"You sure you got this?"

"Yeah. It'll just take some getting used to."

"Good. We have to get going."

"Right. Got a map?"

"Yeah." He sits down gingerly in the seat behind me, not casting a backwards glance at the rest of the space. He settles his backpack in the aisle and pulls out an aged, yellowing square of paper, unfolding it and spreading it over his knees.

"Will this thing even run?" I place my hand on the ignition key.

"It should. James takes—James took good care of it. Good as he could manage, I mean, with whatever we could rip from other cars. We ran it sometimes... uh, once every two weeks or so, to make sure it was in shape." His voice gets quieter as he talks, until it verges on breaking. I can tell how hard he's trying to hide it, lips pressed together, chin trembling.