Jenna tore it open. Inside was a strip of paper with a string of numbers.
25.321304 -80.557173 (-80)
She took a moment to absorb the digits, letting her abnormal memory file them away for later with perfect clarity. Like people with eidetic memories, she could recall images, sounds and objects with high precision. The difference was that normal eidetic memories faded after a few minutes. Any information Jenna focused on stayed with her forever. She also learned quickly, intuiting things that usually required instruction or training, recalling bits and pieces of casually remembered details suddenly made relevant by a new challenge.
“Great,” Mercy muttered. “In case of emergency, do math.”
Jenna shook her head. “These are navigational coordinates. At least the first two sets of numbers are. Twenty-five north latitude, eighty west longitude. That’s in the Glades, somewhere south of Miami.”
“I’m impressed.”
“I live on a boat.” She winced even as the words were uttered—Not anymore, I don’t—but she shrugged it off. “I better know how to read map coordinates.”
Mercy dug out her phone and began swiping the virtual buttons on the screen, and Jenna found herself craning her head around for a look. Although the Kilimanjaro had been outfitted with a variety of electronic devices, some necessary for navigation, others for the comfort of passengers, Noah had never upgraded to the latest generation of smart phones. When Jenna had asked him for one, he had mumbled something about becoming too dependent on technology. Noah himself avoided technology, and refused to even own a personal computer. The administrative side of his charter service had been handled by an outside agency, freeing him of the need to own a computer or maintain any kind of personal presence in the digital world. At the time, she had written it off as a lame excuse, but now it occurred to her that his anti-technology tendencies might have been motivated by a desire to reduce his exposure to potential enemies.
But they found him anyway.
Before Jenna could put these concerns into words, Mercy said, “You’re right. It’s just outside Homestead. Looks like the middle of nowhere.” She tapped the screen again. “Why would—”
“We should go there,” Jenna said, rising and tucking the strip of paper into a pocket. “Now.”
Mercy stared back at her, lips moving as if to form a question or perhaps an excuse, but then she nodded. “Okay. It’ll be midnight before we can get there, but we can grab a hotel room and head there first thing in the morning.”
Jenna was grateful that Mercy seemed to understand her urgency. She turned for the door, threw it open and nearly collided with the man that was ascending the steps.
It was Zack, and in the frozen instant that followed, Jenna saw that he had found a new gun.
11
Jenna leaped back through the doorway and slammed the door closed behind her. She reached out for the deadbolt knob, but before she could twist it, the aluminum door shuddered, struck from the outside. For a fleeting moment, Jenna thought Zack was pounding on it with his fists, but that didn’t explain the holes, each as big around as her index finger, that were suddenly erupting with tufts of fiberglass insulation. Then she felt something burning along her left biceps.
She threw herself flat as bullets continued to punch through the door, passing right through the space where she had been a moment before.
Mercy overcame her astonishment and dragged her pistol from its holster. She seemed to be moving with exaggerated slowness, but Jenna knew this was merely a trick of her own heightened awareness. Mercy got the pistol up, holding it, Jenna saw, in what Noah had once told her was a Weaver’s stance. One leg was behind the other, body turned sideways, lined up directly behind the gun, right hand pushing the weapon out, left hand cupped around it and pulling back for stability.
Fire jetted from the muzzle of the pistol. The report was painfully loud in the enclosed confines of the trailer, and Jenna felt the heat of the round passing through the air above her. Mercy yelled something. Jenna’s ears rang, and she couldn’t make out the words, but the accompanying nod in the direction of the back door was easily enough understood. Let’s go!
“Not that way,” Jenna shouted. If Zack had managed to replace his lost gun, maybe he had replaced his dead partner. Someone might be covering the back, or worse, the door might be wired with explosives, just as the boat had been. She headed for the bedroom. “This way.”
As she swept into Mercy’s bedroom — the room where she most often had hung out, laying on Mercy’s bed, with its dark green comforter, watching Mercy’s forty-two inch, plasma-screen television — it occurred to Jenna that the people trying to kill her had now taken away her only remaining home. True, Mercy’s trailer had not been physically destroyed — not yet, anyway — but its sanctity had been breached. It would never again be that place of refuge. They had taken that from her forever.
That realization made it easier to wrap her arms around the television set and heave it through the enormous bay window that looked out from the end of the trailer. Pain throbbed in her arm, a reminder that she’d been struck by something when Zack had shot through the door. She glanced down to inspect the injury site. She did not think she had been hit by a bullet, but something had scraped across the outside of her arm. It hurt, but appeared superficiaclass="underline" a stripe of raw flesh, slowly oozing sweat-like beads of blood.
Mercy came in just as the glass exploded outward. If the destruction bothered her, she gave no indication. Her attention, and the business end of her gun, were both fixed on the front door as she backed into the bedroom.
Jenna scooped up the plush comforter and threw it over the windowsill, knocking jagged shards of broken glass out of the way. “Come on!”
Once again, she didn’t wait to see if Mercy would follow, but clambered over the windowsill and lowered herself down. Twilight had fallen over the island, turning the surrounding homes into surreal, shadowy blocks silhouetted against a purple sky. She looked back up and saw Mercy peering down.
“Come on!” she urged again.
There was a loud bang behind Mercy as the front door burst inward. The impact that had forced it open shook the whole trailer and gave Mercy the impetus she needed to make the leap. Jenna put out a hand to steady her as she landed, and then both of them were running for the truck. There was no sign of Zack or anyone else, but Jenna didn’t doubt he would soon discover their escape route and move to cut them off. She headed straight to the passenger door, got in, then locked it and hunched down out of direct view. Mercy slid in behind the wheel and fumbled with the key.
“Give me the gun,” Jenna whispered.
“What?”
“You can’t drive and shoot at the same time.”
Mercy’s face, barely visible in the darkness, drew into a frown. “Do you know how to use it?”
“I’m a quick learner.”
Mercy gave a weary sigh then handed it over, careful to keep the business end pointed away from either of them. As Jenna curled her hand around the gun, which was much heavier than she expected, Mercy said, “Do not touch the trigger, or do anything else unless I tell you to, okay?”
Jenna nodded. Mercy slotted the key into the ignition. The engine roared to life after just a second, and then she threw the truck into reverse and stomped on the gas pedal. There was a roar of spinning wheels, and a scattering of loose gravel shot out ahead of the pickup as it lurched backward into the street. Mercy hit the brake.