Leo supposed there was one reason to be grateful for Bradley’s nonconfrontational nature: with Terry along for the ride, at least there was something Leo was less excited about than riding a horse for the first time in a decade.
Chapter Three
JOLTED ABRUPTLY AWAKE, Leo angled forward in the unforgiving bus seat, reaching back to cup his neck.
“What happened?” Bradley asked, slowly straightening from his slumber across the aisle.
“We stopped.”
Bradley groaned. “Where?”
“No idea.” All Leo knew was that the bus, which reeked of soil and ethanol, had just come to a hard, abrupt stop seemingly in the middle of nowhere.
“What the hell, dude?” Bradley called to the bus driver, crossing his arms over the seat in front of him. “How about a little warning the next time?”
The driver’s raspy response barely reached them: “This is as far as I take you. Climb on out.”
Focusing his gaze through the window, Leo could distinguish nothing but vague shapes in the blue-black darkness. He would have sworn the sun was up only a few minutes ago, but he’d drifted off somewhere outside of Green River, Utah—worn thin from an unending travel day, including three hours delayed on the JFK tarmac, a bumpy and crowded flight, and this bus ride to who knew where.
Leo felt like he’d slept crammed in a box, but despite the interminable travel for whatever Wild West adventures might lie ahead, Bradley looked entirely untouched. For a man wearing leather driving shoes and a cashmere sweater, he was surprisingly game for the great outdoors. Beside Bradley, leaning awkwardly against the window and wearing an ancient green T-shirt that read MIDDLE EARTH’S ANNUAL MORDOR FUN RUN, Walt remained blissfully comatose, snoring softly.
Behind them, Terry’s perpetually flushed face split into an unsettling grin before he reached forward and sharply slapped Walter on the back of the head, jolting him awake.
“Come on, man,” Leo said. When Leo first met Terry, he thought he was perpetually sunburned, then Leo wondered whether he drank too much. Now, of course, Leo knew Terry was just chronically pissed off. Worked up all the time, angry at women, socialists, his mom.
Leo shifted and threw Walt a commiserating Wow, do I hate Terry look before turning his attention down to his phone, mumbling, “One bar already? Did we drive to 1992?”
“Should’ve brought a satellite phone,” Terry said, stretching in the aisle. “Cell service is gonna be sketchy at best.”
“Come now, gentlemen.” Bradley stood, too, pounding his chest. His thick blond hair fell away from his forehead in easy, travel-immune waves. “Where we’re going, we won’t need phones.”
Bradley led the group off the bus to collect their various bags. About twenty feet from where they stood, Leo could make out a small, rickety wind shelter cupped around a handful of weathered wooden benches. A tumbleweed somersaulted by on the dry cement, a small cyclone of dust following in its wake. As Leo’s eyes adjusted, the sky slowly turned purple; the ground was swallowed up by shadows that seemed to stretch uninterrupted for miles.
The bus rumbled to life again, and the group of men watched it trail away, the taillights fading into darkness.
Walter’s brows furrowed in worry. “Does he know we’re—I wonder if he—” He looked over to Leo, stating the obvious: “We’re not on the bus with him.”
“Maybe now is when you tell us what we’re in for, Bradley,” Leo said.
“All you need to know is we’re in for adventure. Don’t worry, guys, we’re not going to be out here alone for long.”
As soon as he finished the sentence, a coyote howled and its pack followed with eerie, rallying yipping.
Leo stretched and his back cracking sounded like a stack of dominoes falling. “I fell asleep but am willing to bet we haven’t passed anything for hours. Can you at least tell us where we are?”
Terry freed a GPS unit from one of several cargo pockets. “We’re at thirty-eight degrees north and—”
“Thank you,” Leo said dryly.
“God, fine, nobody enjoys mystery, I see.” Bradley pulled out his phone, and the screen illuminated his frown, making his pampered skin look oddly lined and spooky. “We should be just outside of Hanksville, Utah, but I’ll read you the brochure information if I can pull it up.” He turned the screen to face them, pointing to the way his mail icon spun uselessly. “It’s an adventure guide company,” he explained defensively. “We’ll be riding horses and camping and hunting for treasure. Tell me that doesn’t sound like a fucking blast.”