TWENTY

We crossed the state line.

‘Does that make this … what does that mean?’ I asked Todd.

‘It means don’t buy any cauliflowers and try to take them home,’ he said. ‘What’s the gas doing?’

‘It’s being consumed steadily by the engine,’ I said. ‘Will we run out before they do? What kind of pickup was that anyway?’

‘Dodge Ram 3500 HD,’ said Todd. ‘It’s a guzzler but it’s got a huge tank so it’s a crapshoot.’

‘If we pass a petrol station we should stop,’ I said. ‘And then you can take over driving and floor it to catch up so even if we get stopped it won’t be me who gets into trouble.’

‘Are you serious?’ he said. ‘You think if someone’s going to speed and get pulled over it should be the brown guy?’

‘Oh yeah,’ I said, which really annoyed him.

‘Oh yeah,’ he echoed in a mocking voice. ‘Systemic racism. It went clean out of my pretty blonde head for a minute there. No, Lexy. If we’re going to stop for gas and floor it to catch up, you’re driving. If we get pulled over, talk about Outlander for a woman sheriff, and golfing at St Andrews for a man sheriff, and you’ll get off with a warning.’

‘Deal,’ I said and, leaning over to shake his hand, I missed the very moment that our prey, the car we’d been following all the way from Cuento until my eyes were gritty from watching its brake lights, suddenly disappeared.

‘Where’d it go?’ said Todd. ‘Where’d it go?’

We both stared out into the blackness of the road ahead. There was no exit sign in sight and no pickup sitting on the shoulder with its lights off, waiting for us to catch up.

‘Slow down,’ said Todd. ‘Slow down and let me look to see if there’s any kind of a … Only how could there be? I mean, I know we’re in the boonies, but it’s still a highway. There can’t be little lanes and private driveways opening off of this. Where the hell did it go?’

‘There!’ I said. I had slowed all the way down to twenty. ‘Look. Off to the side.’ I was sure of it. Beyond the hard shoulder of the road, the land was unfenced and, while most of it was black with blacker smudges that had to be trees and paler smudges that were probably distant hills, one bit of it seemed to be a smeary pinkish colour. Like the colour of brake lights still showing through the dust as a pickup truck travelled overland.

‘We can’t follow them off the road,’ Todd said. ‘There’s no YouTube video ever made that could make that unsuspicious.’

‘Throw something out the window,’ I said. ‘Right when we pass where the lights are and we’ll keep driving, then come back once they’ve had a chance to get ahead.’

‘Throw what?’ said Todd. ‘You mean like litter?’

‘Anything,’ I said. ‘Something that won’t blow away. But quickly.’ We were getting close to being level with the pink blur and it was very small now as the pickup kept moving into the scrubland, away from the road.

‘Antibacterial wipes, owner’s manual, throat lozenges.’ Todd was pawing through the glove box. ‘I can’t see anything suitable. Do you have anything?’

I didn’t answer. I used the button on my side to open his window then I snatched up his personal go-cup with the integral mixer, for fad-hoppers who were currently dissolving all sorts of crap in their drinks, and lobbed it out to land on the shoulder with a sickening crack as we passed.

‘Roger bought me that cup,’ said Todd. ‘Why didn’t you throw yours?’

‘Because my mum sent it for Christmas,’ I told him. ‘It’s from Greggs.’

‘So?’

‘So it’s made of very cheap plastic and it would roll away.’

‘Replace mine,’ Todd said, ‘and I’ll forgive you.’ He was up on his seat, looking out the back window. ‘I’ve lost sight of them. That was a brainwave, Lexy. Turn around now. This is getting exciting.’

I gave it another half a minute, just in case the pickup driver could still see the road even though we couldn’t see them, then, as Todd instructed, I wheeled round on the empty tarmac and headed back to where his bashed-in go-cup was still leaking cold coffee on to the ground. I parked on the hard shoulder and pulled the handbrake on.

‘Now we swap,’ I said. ‘Surely. You’re the owner. If anyone’s going to be driving off-road, shouldn’t it be you?’

‘The brown guy,’ Todd said again.

‘Oh, come on!’ I said. ‘Your name is Dr Todd Kroger and you’re not as brown as I’d be if I had all summer to sunbathe. Todd, I’m not spitting on your proud Latinx heritage, but seriously, would a cop from away out here in the back of beyond conceivably pick up the subtle vibes of … I don’t even know what … that say your dad was Mexican? I don’t think so.’

‘Lexy,’ he said. ‘We don’t have time to go into this right now, but I am deeply, deeply … Yeah, OK.’ He got out and went round, swiping up the ruined cup on his way, while I wriggled over to the passenger side.

‘Apart from anything else, I’ve never driven overland,’ I said.

‘Me either,’ said Todd, like every other jeep owner in California, I daresay.

It wasn’t too bad. We couldn’t go quickly, because we were following the tracks of the pickup truck as it wound between little scrubby bushes and past the odd boulder, like in a cowboy film. Occasionally there was a burst of sharp stink as we drove over something Todd told me was called vinegar weed, but mostly we were just bumping along, trying not to think what would happen if we ran out of petrol all the way out here.

‘Call home, I suppose,’ I said, when Todd first aired the question. Then I glanced at my phone. ‘Oh no.’

‘Dead battery?’ Todd said. ‘There should be a cable in the console there. Thank God no one threw it out the window.’

‘My battery’s fine,’ I said. ‘There’s no signal. Let’s see yours.’ I was clutching at straws because we were on the same network and my phone was a bit newer, and right enough when he tossed his into my lap, it was wearing a grey frown emoji on its home screen and was stone dead.

‘That’s unsettling,’ Todd said. ‘I’ll turn back the minute the fuel gauge bongs. That gives us forty miles.’

‘Deal,’ I said. ‘Wait. I’ve got two bars back. We must be picking up on someone’s Wi-Fi.’

Todd slammed the brakes on and put his hand out in a classic soccer-mom save to stop me getting whiplash.

‘What the hell are you doing?’ I snapped anyway.

‘Duh,’ he said. ‘If you’re picking up someone’s Wi-Fi, we’re probably getting close to where they were headed, don’t you think?’

‘We could be,’ I agreed. ‘So … what do we do now?’

‘I think there’s a little hill ahead,’ Todd said. ‘We could go up on foot and look over. If we can’t see anything, then we keep on driving, following their tracks.’

‘OK,’ I said. ‘Let’s do it. Is there enough moonlight to walk by? Or can we put our phone lights on?’

‘On low and trained at the ground,’ Todd said. ‘We don’t want to advertise our arrival, if they are nearby. Hey, what’s the Wi-Fi called, by the way?’

‘“Direct 36-HPM-281”,’ I said, reading it off my settings menu. ‘Shame. “Kidnappers R Us” would have been much more snappy.’

We climbed down and Todd locked the jeep; the beep sounded alarmingly loud in the cold, quiet air. After it stopped reverberating, we stood still and listened to perfect silence. It was a chilly night up here and not a breath of wind. Besides Todd’s breathing, there was nothing. And it felt somehow as if that nothing went on forever. I looked back over my shoulder. There was a road there. But there was no one on it and it might as well have been scrub desert for a hundred miles all round. I swallowed.

‘Are there any …?’ I said. ‘What’s the wildlife situation like round these parts?’ The cold air swallowed my voice. Maybe there was a fog starting.

‘It’s too cold for moths,’ said Todd. ‘Or I would not be standing here. Mosquitoes too.’

‘Anything else?’ I said.

‘Rattlesnakes,’ said Todd. ‘Coyotes, bears. Why?’

‘But no moths,’ I said. ‘Phew.’ I looked up into the glittering navy-blue sky and told myself this was an adventure at best and a waste of time at worst, then I pressed my light setting down as low as it would go, trained the puny beam on the ground in front of my feet and started walking.

There was indeed a hill ahead, as Todd had thought, but it was so gradual that we walked and walked for what felt like half an hour and nothing about the ridge in front of us ever seemed to change.

‘This dust gets in your throat,’ Todd said, eventually, with a slight cough. ‘And your eyes.’

‘And your shoes,’ I said. ‘I’ve got grit in my insteps.’

We walked another while. Sometimes there was another patch of vinegar weed and once a scuffle as a tiny creature took off out of our way.

‘Was that a snake?’ I said.

‘That scampering sound?’ said Todd. ‘Only if it had its tap shoes on. What’s wrong with you? It was probably a gopher.’

‘Cool,’ I said. I didn’t actually know how vicious gophers were and I didn’t want to.

‘Put your torch out and see if you can see anything up ahead,’ Todd said.

We waited for our eyes to adjust, then looked all round.

‘Nothing,’ I said. ‘And I’m not sure I like it.’ I was dead sure I hated it actually: out here a hike from the jeep, with only someone else’s password-protected Wi-Fi and no clue what we were walking into. If this ended as badly as it might, I was going to make a very sheepish corpse.

‘You never want someone to read your obituary and say, “Well, what did she expect?”’ I said. ‘Ideally, if you die suddenly, you want people to say, “No way! Who could ever have foreseen that?”’

‘No one’s going to die,’ said Todd. And I chose to believe that the break in his voice was from the dust.

We trudged on. The way was getting steeper, I was sure. It was certainly getting stonier; the bits in my shoes were too big to call grit now. And I was almost sure that there was a faint lightness coming from behind the ridge we were finally approaching.

‘Put your light off again,’ Todd breathed. ‘Stand still and listen.’

Without the torchlight, it was unmistakable – a glow of sodium. And without our footsteps the sound was unmistakable too – the flatulent hum of a petrol generator put-put-putting away somewhere not too far off.

‘What will we do?’ I breathed.

‘What do you mean?’ said Todd. ‘We’ll go and see what’s what.’

‘What do you think might be what?’ I said.

‘Why? What do you think might be what?’

‘I don’t know. And I don’t think I want to.’

‘Why not?’ said Todd. Then before I had a chance to answer he said, ‘Oh for God’s sake!’ And he started walking towards the light and sound.

I had the choice of following him towards the lair of a statue nabber and peach potato aphid bomber, or of being left all alone in the pitch black surrounded by snakes, coyotes and bears. And at least one gopher. And – this was the crunch – letting Todd walk into a potential nest of aphids on his own.

‘Wait for me,’ I hissed and scuttled after him.

Now, of course, the ridge came rushing up to us. Before another minute had passed, we found ourselves lying on our bellies, peering over it at what lay beyond.

There was a fenced compound dead ahead. It looked about the size of a small mall or large farm: a collection of buildings and a few exterior security lights. There were also a few humped shapes of various heights that might have been statues wrapped in tarpaulin, but might have been a hundred other things too.

What there wasn’t was any obvious entrance. It was beyond frustrating to be this close and yet still so short of answers. We couldn’t hear anything but the generator. And we couldn’t see much detail through the close slats of the high fence. Todd shuffled to his left and I followed him. We still couldn’t see much inside the fence, but we were on the other side of a big dead-looking sage bush now and at least we could see what it had been hiding from our view. Quite alarmingly close to where we lay, outside the fence, sat a row of pickup trucks, including – I was sure – the one we’d been following. Its engine was still ticking as it cooled down.

‘Look at the licence plate!’ Todd whispered, grabbing me.

‘P-one-two-four-P-P,’ I said. ‘So?’

‘PPP!’ said Todd. ‘PPPerfection!’

‘Hang on, what?’ I said. I sat up a bit to get a better view. ‘Wait … what? So … these people steal statues, kidnap people, send ransom notes, do the thing they did tonight that we’re not talking about, and run spa retreats? That’s … puzzling. Nah, it’s got to be a coincidence.’

‘Really?’ said Todd.

‘Well, what’s one-two-four?’

‘I’ve let my Nazi numerology slip a bit, what with one thing and another,’ Todd said.

‘I don’t think the numbers are anything,’ I said. ‘Look at the other two – P-two-nine-one-one-P-P and P-three-one-six-P. They’re just fillers to make the plates legal. Let’s see if we can find the way in.’ I knew he’d never agree. Hoped not, anyway.

‘We’re not going in!’ he hissed at me. ‘Lexy, are you mad? Maybe if our phones were working …’

‘They’re working enough to film,’ I said. ‘They’re working enough to record.’ I fished my phone out of my pocket and dinged it on. ‘Actually,’ I said, ‘it’s worth a try … We’re up to five bars on their Wi-Fi now. If we could take a guess at the password …’

‘P,’ said Todd. ‘They seem pretty keen on that. Try PPP.’

‘Nope.’

‘P-one-two-four-P-P?’

‘Nope.’

‘PPPerfection?’

My phone played a long chorus of beeps, telling me about missed messages, as I furiously turned the sound right down. ‘Yay!’ I said. ‘OK, are you willing to come with me now?’

‘Wait till I get mine on and open a FaceTime with Roger … No, not Roger; he’ll tell me not to. With Kathi. What are you doing?’

‘I’m looking up the number plate,’ I said. ‘I can’t find anything. I’ll try P-one-two-four … Oh, Proverbs! It’s a Bible verse.’

‘Of course it is,’ Todd said. ‘God is great, but he has terrible taste in friends. What does it say?’

‘Proverbs, chapter one, verse twenty-four,’ I said. ‘“Because I have called and ye refused; I have stretched out my hand and no man regarded.”’

‘Not one of the greatest hits,’ said Todd. ‘What kind of thirsty little bitch chooses that for a vanity plate?’

‘Oh no,’ I said. Because I had had another thought and followed it through. I had looked up chapter twelve, verse four instead. I held my phone out, so Todd could read what it said.

‘“A virtuous woman is a crown to her husband,”’ he recited, ‘“but a disgraceful wife is as rottenness in his bones.”’

‘Bingo,’ I said. ‘Tell me that’s not the mating cry of a sick bastard who’d knock down statues and chop bits off them.’

‘Yep,’ Todd said. ‘Whatever they’re selling through that website, thank God Brandee didn’t give it out as holiday gifts.’ He was clicking photographs of the number plates. When he had finished, he got up on hands and knees. ‘Once round?’ he said. ‘See what we can see?’

‘As long as you don’t think they’ve got cameras trained on us,’ I said.

‘If they had cameras on us, they’d have us tied in a sack already,’ Todd said.

Good point, well made. He had already started crawling, so I followed him, through the dust – much worse, now that our noses were closer to it – through the vinegar weed – ditto – and through some piles of dried shit that I actually prayed were coyote, gopher, snake or bear, because that was a safari kind of shit to crawl through, much better than what it felt like, which was dog. I think everyone would agree that, if you’re crawling through dog shit on your hands and knees, you’re not having a good night.

We saw nothing on the side where we started, and nothing on the next side once we’d turned a corner. Just that same high, slatted fence and the lighted buildings beyond. When we came round to the far side, though, facing away from the distant road, it was obvious that there was a gate halfway along. There was a bump in the fence line, like an arch, and more light spilled through wider slats. Todd, ahead of me, got his phone out again, ready to take a picture, if we could get a view into the compound itself, I think, but after a couple more feet of crawling he stopped dead in his tracks.

‘What is it?’ I whispered. ‘Is someone there?’

‘Oh God,’ he said. ‘Oh God. I know we said it, but I didn’t really mean it. Not really. Lexy, look at the gate.’

I crawled up beside him and squinted at where he was pointing. There was an arch. It was made of wrought iron in a slightly wavy curve and it had writing in between its top and bottom band.

‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘Who the hell puts three words in metal over a gate?’

I answered myself and Todd answered me too, so we spoke in unison: ‘Nazis.’

Then, as quick as we could move, we scurried backwards on all fours until we were back on the safe side of the ridge. There, we stood, put our torches on full and ran hell for leather back to the jeep, sanity and the road home.