The bus pulled into a transfer station in the middle of nowhere. It was a bleak concrete island surrounded by cornfields and darkness. The driver announced a twenty-minute break.
Passengers shuffled off, stretching their legs and lighting cigarettes. The air outside was damp and smelled of diesel fumes and wet asphalt.
Eva followed the crowd, her stomach twisting with hunger. She hadn't eaten in twenty-four hours. She stood near a vending machine, counting the crumpled bills in her pocket. She had money, but the fear of spending it paralyzed her. Every dollar was a lifeline.
She stared at a ham sandwich behind the glass coil. It looked dry and unappealing, but her mouth watered anyway.
The man from the bus-Hoyt-was standing a few feet away. He was drinking black coffee from a styrofoam cup and eating a pack of peanuts. He wasn't looking at her, but she felt his awareness. He seemed to know where everyone was at all times.
He finished the peanuts and crumpled the bag. He glanced over and saw her staring at the machine.
He frowned. Eva quickly looked down at her shoes, ashamed of her hunger.
Hoyt walked over to the machine. He fed a dollar bill into the slot. He pressed a button. A pre-packaged peach pie fell with a thud.
He reached into the bin and grabbed it. He didn't look at her. He just walked past her and, without breaking stride, dropped the pie into the open hood of her sweatshirt.
Eva jumped. She reached back and pulled the package out. She looked up, startled.
Hoyt was already walking away, his back broad and indifferent.
She tore the wrapper open with trembling fingers. The pie was sugary and artificial, but it tasted like heaven. She ate it in three bites, licking the sticky glaze from her thumb.
The loudspeaker crackled. "Route 402 to Blackwood Creek, boarding at Gate 3."
Eva wiped her hands on her jeans and moved toward the gate.
Hoyt was walking toward the same gate. He stopped abruptly. He turned around so fast that Eva nearly walked into his chest.
She stumbled back, looking up at him. He was glaring.
"Why are you following me?" he demanded. His voice was low and dangerous.
Eva shook her head frantically. She wasn't following him.
"You got off the bus, you hovered near me at the machines, and now you're here," Hoyt said, stepping closer. "Who are you? Did someone send you?"
Eva's heart hammered. He was paranoid. He thought she was a threat. The idea was laughable-she was a broken girl with a limp-but the look in his eyes was deadly serious.
She pointed a shaking finger at the sign above the gate: Blackwood Creek.
Hoyt narrowed his eyes. He looked at the sign, then back at her. "You live there?"
Eva hesitated. Then she nodded. It was a lie, but it was the only answer that made sense.
"Bullshit," Hoyt spat. "I know everyone in Blackwood. I've never seen you."
Eva shrank back. She didn't know how to explain without a voice. She reached into her pocket for her notepad, but Hoyt took a step back, his hand twitching toward his waist.
"Don't," he warned.
Eva froze, her hand still in her pocket.
Hoyt stared at her for a long moment, assessing her. He seemed to decide she wasn't an immediate physical threat, just a suspicious anomaly.
"Get on the bus," he said, his voice cold. "But stay away from me."
He turned and boarded the smaller connector bus. Eva waited a full minute before following.
The bus was nearly empty. Hoyt sat in the very back row, his back against the corner so he could see the entire vehicle. Eva sat three rows ahead of him.
She could feel his gaze burning into the back of her head. It was a physical weight, heavy and hot. He was watching her every move.
She pulled her sketchbook out of her bag and opened it to a blank page. She gripped her charcoal pencil, pressing down hard. She started to draw the line of his jaw, the anger in his eyes. Drawing was the only way she knew how to process fear. It turned the monsters into lines and shading. It made them manageable.
But even as she sketched, she knew this man was different. He wasn't just a monster. He was a guard dog. And right now, he was deciding whether to bite.
