“Everything’s in the truck,” Amadeo said. “The food, the supplies, the ammo.”
We stood in the ranch’s garage looking upon the beast of a machine that would take me to the entrance to the Howler’s lair. At such an early hour of the morning, it was illuminated only by the fluorescent lights that flanked either side of the walls, but that did little to diminish the enormity of the cobalt-black structure before me.
Black as night, the Spanish Kaldr had been fit to say. Quiet as can be. Tinted windows. Nondescript.
The plates were registered under a different name from someone who now lived in a different state with documentation that would raise no wariness or speculation. With the vehicle arranged as it was, Amadeo said someone would have to peer through the front window in order to see its occupant, and even then they’d be hard-pressed to identify someone whose height only allowed him to look over the steering wheel.
You’ll be fine, the man would have said, had he the inclination to believe in me.
Instead, he figured me nothing more than dead—a stupid kid on a suicide run to save his boyfriend.
Amadeo gave me a brief tour of the truck and all its features. GPS navigation on the dashboard, overhead sunroof above the console, the various dials that controlled the heat in both the front and back cab—at one point, he pulled out a drawer beneath the passenger seat to reveal a full pack of bottled water and an emergency kit, complete with maps tucked behind the seats.
“You’re set,” the man said, after he deemed me informed of the appropriate knowledge.
The scrutiny in his eyes was unbearable. Torn between the urge to flee and the knowledge that he was providing me the keys to my kingdom, I nodded and stepped back as he secured the truck’s back door.
From his pocket he dangled the ring, simple with the ignition key and a Swiss Army knife. “I’m trusting you know what you’re doing,” Amadeo said, his voice almost lost in the shadow of the nearby generator.
“Yes sir,” I said. “I do.”
Leaning forward, Amadeo took my hand, pressed the keys into my palm, then wrapped my fingers around them. “Godspeed, Jason.”
He pressed a kiss to my brow.
Breaking away, he walked to the garage door, took hold of the bar, and dragged it out of position, looking back at me as I rounded the hood to enter the vehicle. “I’ll open the front gate,” he said. “After that, you’re on your own.”