“How do you know about the bullets?” she asked.
Enzo shrugged, unphased by the question. “I did data entry for some government supplies. I had to know which category different ammunition went into. I also know way too much about boots, blankets, and solar charges.” Enzo opened a box of pellets that could have possibly fit his gun and picked one up. “They’re not the right size.”
“Then you’ll have to take the Magnum.” Her father gave the slaver’s gun to Enzo and held out the Glock to Charity.
She didn’t take it. “You think we’ll need two guns?” Did he know something about this trip that he couldn’t say with Enzo standing there?
“No,” her father replied, “I just think you’ll feel better having two.”
She grudgingly took the Glock.
Her father shut the safe’s lid and locked the box. “If you can, spend a little time with Callum’s parents and see what they’re like.” Meaning, he considered Callum a good candidate for New Salem and wondered about his parents. Did her father want her to make a plug for the community to them?
She tucked the gun into her pocket. “I doubt I’ll be able to get to know very much about them. We’re just dropping Callum off.”
Her father slid the box underneath his bed. “You’re a better judge of character than you give yourself credit for.”
Hedidwant her to talk to them about New Salem. She inwardly groaned. They’d think she was crazy, a near stranger asking them to give up everything and move to an unknown settlement in the breakaway states. “I probably won’t have a lot of time to talk to them,” she insisted.
“Do your best.”
Callum bounded through the bunkhouse door. “Let’s go,” he chimed. “What are you guys waiting for?”
A good excuse not to go. Or divine intervention. But apparently, that wouldn’t happen either.
The three set off to the truck. Callum raced ahead, practically dancing on the balls of his feet. Enzo took out the rifle’s magazine and checked it. Perhaps that was warranted since burn marks spotted the gun.
“It works,” she said. “We’ve tested it.”
He replaced the magazine. “You know, it’s dangerous to test a gun if it might be damaged.”
He was probably right, but she didn’t want to talk about any of the decisions she, Milo, and Zia had made at the market. “Sometimes you don’t have much of a choice.”
Enzo’s voice grew soft, and his pace slowed. “I’m sorry. I know this trip will be hard for you. Do you want to talk about it? Sometimes that helps.”
Right. Like she was going to open up to him again. “I’m going to give repressing the memories a try.” She hit the key fob to unlock the truck’s doors. The truck bed had been fitted with a reinforced, locked shell to keep their items safe. She tucked that key around her neck. “Do you want to drive or ride shotgun? Or, in this case, handgun.”
“I’ll drive.”
Callum climbed into the backseat. Charity threw Enzo the truck key, opened the passenger side door, and slumped into her seat. Neither of them spoke as they drove toward the main road. Callum talked so animatedly to his parents that the silence between Charity and Enzo was hardly noticeable. Too bad they would lose service as soon as they got out of range of the farming compounds’ cell towers. Otherwise, the two could just ignore each other and pretend they were being silent for Callum’s sake.
Enzo cut a glance at her. “Are you doing okay?”
“I’m fine.” He didn’t have the right to worry about her now after he’d cared so little about hurting her last night. Why had he even kissed her? At the thought, she couldn’t help but remember the way his mouth had moved softly on hers, as though he were tasting her lips. His hand had gone from her waist to her back and pulled her to him. He had held her there, pressed against him like he didn’t want to let her go.
“Not having any flashbacks?” Enzo asked.
His words jarred her from the memory. “What?”
“Flashbacks about that day at the market.”
“Oh, um, no.”I’m having completely unrelated thoughts … about other normal things.
The farmland they passed was so orderly. Rows of corn. Rows of trees. Such a change from the wild, tangled places they would be driving through soon.
His gaze slid to her again. “You seem jumpy. Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?”
“Yes. Some things are best forgotten.” In order to function, she needed to forget about last night. The problem was that questions kept popping up. When he’d told her that he hadn’t had a girlfriend in five years, she’d assumed he hadn’t kissed anyone during that time—that his kiss with her meant something.