Page 112 of So Thirsty

My throat is bone-dry, my tongue like sandpaper, and I itch all over. That itch. That fucking itch.

Henry and Elisa come into the back.

“The collection will be sometime in the next half hour. That’s our window,” Henry says. “I’ll get the lights and cameras.”

Tatiana speaks in French. She’s animated, using her hands.

“When Tati goes in the front to distract, I will go to the back,” Ilie says. Henry tosses him a lanyard with a key card at the end, encased in plastic. “Go in, get the good stuff, get out.”

“And on your signal, Henry, I will pull the camper around the side, blocking access,” Elisa says.

“Good,” Henry says. “Sloane, you will be with Elisa, and Naomi will stay out front to make sure no one goes in behind Tati. Okay?”

“Um, okay?” I say, looking to Naomi, who nods.

“Now,” Henry says. He pounds his fist to his chest and opens the door of the camper. When he’s gone, Elisa returns up front, and I pull back the curtain to watch. He strides coolly across the parking lot with his head down, hair hanging in his face. It’s snowing, flurries appearing fast, like a magic trick, as zealous as confetti. The sun is gone, and Henry’s a shadow among shadows.

A minute passes. There’s a murky silence inside the camper. Outside, the wind sounds pained, like a scream smothered under a pillow. The illuminated signs, the streetlamps, suddenly fizz and then go dark. I think of the gas station, and a shiver hikes up my spine.

“Go,” Elisa says, and Tatiana opens the door. Naomi moves to follow her.

“No,” Tatiana says, without looking back. “Stay here.”

“But, Tati,” Ilie says, “Drago said—”

Now she turns around. “His judgment is clouded. He likes this one because she’s a beautiful waif full of angst and self-loathing, because she is like him. She inspires his need to be heroic. Once a prince, always a prince. And this one…” She points to Naomi. “This one has beguiled you and Elisa because she will go down on you both and you can all have a laugh after. Ha-ha. You do not see. They are a danger to us, and to themselves, until they commit to their existence. Until they learn that they must embrace their thirst if they ever hope to control it. The problem children will stay in the car because I say so.”

She steps out and slams the camper door shut.

Naomi and I exchange a look. She sucks air through her teeth and says, “Could be wrong, but I don’t think she likes us.”

“Elisa?” Ilie says.

“It’s okay. They’ll stay with me,” Elisa says. “Your turn.”

He shifts back into his American accent. “Awesome.”

He adjusts his beanie and then gets out of the camper, letting in a gust of cold air and snowflakes.

“Is everything cool?” Naomi asks. “I can still go out there. I won’t fuck it up. I’m not thirsty.”

“You’re not?” I ask her, the words scoring my throat.

“I feel all right,” she says. “It’s not as bad as it was.”

“No, no,” Elisa says, starting the engine. “We’ve got this. We—”

She’s interrupted by the groan of the camper. It makes the same horrible grumbling it did right before we ended up in Ms. Alice’s cannibal murder town.

The stench of exhaust is immediate and overpowering. I retch and cover my nose.

Elisa pulls out of the parking spot. The tires screech and slide, and a calamitous rattling noise harmonizes with the grumbling.

“Something tells me Ms. Alice is not as good a mechanic as she claims,” Elisa says. “On further thought, I do not think she really wanted to help us this time.”

“Well, fuck,” Naomi says.

“We should call this off, right?” I ask.