Page 75 of Snake-Eater
“On the contrary,” Father Aguirre said pleasantly. “The suspension is barely seventy years old. Someone told me that’s not old at all.”
Grandma Billy opened her mouth, closed it, gave the priest a glittering glare, and muttered, “Practically new, then. Mechanic must have robbed you.” Father Aguirre’s smile would not have shamed the Mona Lisa.
He parked in front of Jackrabbit Hole House, pulling far over to one side, as if there was really going to be an unexpected stream of traffic going by. Selena opened the front door, remembering all of Grandma Billy’s stories about disemboweled zombie squirrels, and got ready to leap out of the way.
No squirrels. No roadrunners, for that matter. Nothing appeared to have changed. Apparently Snake-Eater hadn’t had time to send out a minion capable of working a doorknob.
She sighed with relief and gestured everyone inside. It was a little embarrassing having them all crowd into her bedroom—she hadn’t made her bed, and there was dirty underwear on top of the hamper—but no one commented.
“Jackrabbit Hole ...” Grandma Billy muttered, kneeling on the bed and tracing her finger over the map. “Jackrabbit, jackrabbit ... aha!” She jabbed a nail at the paper. “Right there!”
Selena, who had only just had time to start worrying about whether she’d been wrong, let out a sigh of relief.
“That’s a full day of walking,” said Father Aguirre, peering at the map. “Amelia may have made camp in Snake-Eater’s home ground and that’s what brought her to his attention.”
“Oughta take the map with us,” Grandma Billy said.
“I can take it down and fold it up,” Selena offered. She tried to reach the thumbtacks at the top corner and realized that she was about an inch too short. “Err ... let me get a stool ...”
There was a soft, familiar click. Father Aguirre looked up from his phone and said, “What?”
“You have a cell phone?” Selena said. She was astonished, although she couldn’t really say why.
“Wehavecoverage in town, you know,” the priest said. “We’re not complete barbarians.”
“Yes, but ...” It occurred to her belatedly that she hadn’t even checked for signal, or thought to buy a burner at the general store. She’d just been keeping her phone off so Walter didn’t find her, and had gotten out of the habit of checking it every five minutes.
“Idon’t have one,” Grandma Billy said loftily. “The government can track you through it. And also those cell plans are highway robbery.”
“I havetoldyou,” said Father Aguirre wearily, “that if you will get a new phone, I will show you how to set it up.”
“It’s still highway robbery.”
“There are discount plans for seniors—”
“Are you calling me old?”
Father Aguirre’s exhale came from his toes. “Let me just get a close-up of the map, please.”
He took several more photos, traced lines over the map with his fingers, and finally grimaced. “Some of these roads are more like suggestions, but I can get us pretty close. I think.”
“Stop by my place first,” said Grandma Billy. “I want to get my shotgun.”
Selena would have questioned whether you could actually shoot a spirit, but the memory of the exploding roadrunner was still vivid. When Grandma Billy came back out of her house, she was carrying the gun, a backpack, and a coffee can full of eggs.
“Here,” she said, handing Selena the coffee can. “We’ll want dinner eventually.”
Selena clutched the can between her knees as Father Aguirre executed a three-point turn that was more like nine, then set off down the road and into the desert.
Chapter 18
They drove through the desert for hours. Father Aguirre picked the most cautious of paths, which meant that the roads were only washboarded instead of washed out, but the farther they drove, the rougher the surfaces became. Selena could no longer feel her tailbone and at least one egg had become scrambled on the bottom of the coffee can.
The only two people who were enjoying themselves were Grandma Billy and Copper. Copper hung her head out the window, grinning hugely, with her tongue dangling like a peculiarly meaty pennant. Grandma Billy was not so much a backseat driver as a backseat heckler: “You coulda made that!” “I bet this thing can do twenty miles an hour, if you really push her.” “C’mon, Padre, you drive like my old granny and she’sdead.”
Father Aguirre did not respond to any of this provocation, but hehadbeen muttering to himself in Spanish for the last five miles.
At last they reached the end of the road they were on, and it was, quite literally, the end. The ground fell away into a dry streambed and the other side was overgrown with gnarled shrubs that were already starting to lose their spring flush of leaves. Father Aguirre parked the truck, got out, and looked both ways.
