will shoot her—so she will do what we want.”
“Good idea,” Shay said. Back at the hotel, she and Twist had written scripts for the two groups to follow when they confronted Dash and Janes. Clicking on the safety, she handed the gun back to Cruz, who put it in his waistband, and they started from the top.
“Give me the gun,” Shay said in a stone-cold voice.
Cruz pulled the gun out and handed it to her. Shay thumbed off the safety with a dramatic flourish, held the pistol upright in front of her face, and took aim.
“What are you doing?” Cruz asked in mock alarm.
Shay shook her head and lowered the gun. “The line is, ‘What are you going to do?’ ”
“Sorry….What are you going to do?”
Shay widened her stance and again took aim. “I’m gonna kill the bitch. Say good-bye to Senator Dash.”
BANG!
The can flew through the air like a hockey puck.
—
Feeling slightly more prepared, they continued south to Kingman, Arizona, stopped to use the bathrooms and buy water and some snacks, and then headed east on I-40, rolling along at an efficient eighty miles an hour. The Jeep wasn’t the most comfortable vehicle in the world, but out in the desert, it felt seriously competent.
They passed the time explaining the word
snack
to Fenfang, in both verb and noun forms.
“So I snack on a snack?” she asked.
“Yes,” Shay said. “My brother once said he felt a little snacky—meaning he wanted to snack on a snack.”
Cruz said, “You can get snack cakes…so that’s like an adjective. If you’re feeling a little snacky, you could snack on snack-cake snacks.”
“Could you snack on a dinner?”
“No, because a dinner is a meal…so you eat a dinner. Of course, you can also eat a snack….”
Cruz and Shay traded off driving every couple hours. Whoever wasn’t driving sat in the backseat with Fenfang to help her if she had a seizure and monitor her for signs of Dash. They were nearly nine hours out of Vegas without a seizure, and all of them were starting to privately brace for trouble.
As they approached the lights of a huge casino at Acoma Pueblo, New Mexico, X, sitting up front with Cruz, suddenly stood, leaned over the seat, and pointed his nose at Fenfang. She was in the midst of telling Shay and Cruz about Internet blackouts by the government in China, and how she and her university friends got around them, but the dog’s nose, two inches from her own, made her stop.
“Don’t be rude, X,” Shay said, and pushed him back over the seat. Fenfang resumed speaking, but the dog came back at her with his nose, sniffing at her. Suddenly Fenfang stiffened, and then her eyes rolled up and she started to thrash.
“She’s seizing!” Shay said, and threw herself across Fenfang, trying to hold her away from the hard surfaces in the car, things that could hurt her. Fenfang’s back arched, and she began to rhythmically shake as Cruz pulled to the side of the road.
When the Jeep was stopped, Cruz knelt on the front seat and asked, “What can I do?”
“Nothing, unless…she gets out of control, but I think I have her….”
Ninety seconds after the seizure started, Fenfang began to relax and her eyes opened, and she said something in Chinese and looked at Shay as though she didn’t recognize her. She turned her head away and said something else in Chinese, then turned back to Shay and said, “Shay?”
“Are you okay?”
“I think I am okay.”
“What’s the word?”
“Háixíng.”
“Okay. You’re back.”
“I have…” Fenfang touched her head. “Pain inside. How do you call it?”
“I don’t know, maybe we need to find a hotel….”
“No, no…this is, mmm, normal pain. Is that correct? Like when you study too hard? I need, mmm, aspirin.”
“That, we’ve got,” Cruz said. “Check in my backpack.”
During the seizure, X had been intently focused on Fenfang, almost like a hunting dog focused on its prey; now he relaxed and settled back in his
“Good idea,” Shay said. Back at the hotel, she and Twist had written scripts for the two groups to follow when they confronted Dash and Janes. Clicking on the safety, she handed the gun back to Cruz, who put it in his waistband, and they started from the top.
“Give me the gun,” Shay said in a stone-cold voice.
Cruz pulled the gun out and handed it to her. Shay thumbed off the safety with a dramatic flourish, held the pistol upright in front of her face, and took aim.
“What are you doing?” Cruz asked in mock alarm.
Shay shook her head and lowered the gun. “The line is, ‘What are you going to do?’ ”
“Sorry….What are you going to do?”
Shay widened her stance and again took aim. “I’m gonna kill the bitch. Say good-bye to Senator Dash.”
BANG!
The can flew through the air like a hockey puck.
—
Feeling slightly more prepared, they continued south to Kingman, Arizona, stopped to use the bathrooms and buy water and some snacks, and then headed east on I-40, rolling along at an efficient eighty miles an hour. The Jeep wasn’t the most comfortable vehicle in the world, but out in the desert, it felt seriously competent.
They passed the time explaining the word
snack
to Fenfang, in both verb and noun forms.
“So I snack on a snack?” she asked.
“Yes,” Shay said. “My brother once said he felt a little snacky—meaning he wanted to snack on a snack.”
Cruz said, “You can get snack cakes…so that’s like an adjective. If you’re feeling a little snacky, you could snack on snack-cake snacks.”
“Could you snack on a dinner?”
“No, because a dinner is a meal…so you eat a dinner. Of course, you can also eat a snack….”
Cruz and Shay traded off driving every couple hours. Whoever wasn’t driving sat in the backseat with Fenfang to help her if she had a seizure and monitor her for signs of Dash. They were nearly nine hours out of Vegas without a seizure, and all of them were starting to privately brace for trouble.
As they approached the lights of a huge casino at Acoma Pueblo, New Mexico, X, sitting up front with Cruz, suddenly stood, leaned over the seat, and pointed his nose at Fenfang. She was in the midst of telling Shay and Cruz about Internet blackouts by the government in China, and how she and her university friends got around them, but the dog’s nose, two inches from her own, made her stop.
“Don’t be rude, X,” Shay said, and pushed him back over the seat. Fenfang resumed speaking, but the dog came back at her with his nose, sniffing at her. Suddenly Fenfang stiffened, and then her eyes rolled up and she started to thrash.
“She’s seizing!” Shay said, and threw herself across Fenfang, trying to hold her away from the hard surfaces in the car, things that could hurt her. Fenfang’s back arched, and she began to rhythmically shake as Cruz pulled to the side of the road.
When the Jeep was stopped, Cruz knelt on the front seat and asked, “What can I do?”
“Nothing, unless…she gets out of control, but I think I have her….”
Ninety seconds after the seizure started, Fenfang began to relax and her eyes opened, and she said something in Chinese and looked at Shay as though she didn’t recognize her. She turned her head away and said something else in Chinese, then turned back to Shay and said, “Shay?”
“Are you okay?”
“I think I am okay.”
“What’s the word?”
“Háixíng.”
“Okay. You’re back.”
“I have…” Fenfang touched her head. “Pain inside. How do you call it?”
“I don’t know, maybe we need to find a hotel….”
“No, no…this is, mmm, normal pain. Is that correct? Like when you study too hard? I need, mmm, aspirin.”
“That, we’ve got,” Cruz said. “Check in my backpack.”
During the seizure, X had been intently focused on Fenfang, almost like a hunting dog focused on its prey; now he relaxed and settled back in his
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