“That bad, huh?”
“I don’t do the spinny rides. The Gravitron, the Scrambler, the Himalaya, they all make me sick.”
She chuckled. “Are you comparing Thorin to a cheap carnival ride?”
“If the shoe fits...” I scowled at the subject of my analogy, but he was focused on the single eighteen wheeler parked at the rear of the motel: a huge black Kenworth tractor attached to a plain white shipping container, same as the ones from Helen’s warehouse. “Have you checked it out yet?”
“No. We just got here.”
I glanced around at the Valkyries—fifteen women of varying ages and ethnicities, most wearing what amounted to tactical gear: heavy-duty boots and pants that had been most likely purchased from law enforcement or army surplus stores. For accessories, they wore utilitarian gun holsters, sword and knife sheaths, belts loaded with extra ammo, even a couple of pairs of handcuffs here and there. Everyone kept their hair cut short or tucked it up in tight braids or under caps.
I eyed my cheap sneakers, jeans, and hoodie sweatshirt and frowned. Upgrading my wardrobe would have wasted time and money. Everything I wore burned away whenever it came to a fight. What do they make Johnny Storm’s uniforms out of, anyway?
“Seems a little strange for it to be sitting here, all on its own, at a roadside motel,” I said. A mostly abandoned motel at that. Judging by the parking spaces in front of the rooms, the truck and its driver were the sole occupants of Finney’s Roadside Retreat. No surprise. Sleeping in the backseat of a car appealed to me more than this broken-down motel with its peeling pink paint and bleached-out signs. Even the fading sunlight failed to mask the motel’s worn and weary appearance.
Skyla nodded. “This was the only one with an active GPS signal. The other trucks are still dark. We have no idea where they are or where they went.”
“I know I think everything is a trap. And it pretty much has turned out to be, so why should things be different this time? Maybe Helen wanted us to find this truck.”
She shrugged. “And what have you done each time you faced this situation?”
I grimaced. “I stepped in the trap.”
“Your survival record is pretty great, so far.”
“No one has a perfect score forever.”
“So what are you going to do?”
I exhaled and stepped forward, heading for the rear of the truck. “What I always do. Take the bait.”
Our whole cadre—fifteen Valkyries, Thorin, and me—grouped around the back of the truck and eyed the doors as if they might open on their own.
“Has anyone ever seen Maximum Overdrive?” I asked.
Standing beside me, Naomi turned and slapped my shoulder. “Don’t go there. This is creeping me out enough already.”
“Siobhan. Keisha.” Embla pointed. “Start knocking on doors. We need to talk to the driver.”
I sucked in a breath, steeled my nerves, and hopped onto the bumper without a second thought. I always take the bait. Before I could fully grasp the handle, the door blew open, knocking me from my perch. I yelled as I fell back, and Thorin caught me. He set me down and rose again in one fluid motion, Mjölnir already in his hand, ready to go.
Stone men streamed from the cargo hold, and Thorin stepped up to the plate, a regular Casey Jones. Heads rocketed into the air like pop-fly baseballs. Torsos exploded. The Valkyries streamed in around me, weapons drawn, blades flashing, booted feet kicking and striking.
Skyla scooted up beside me. “This is the worst Easter egg hunt ever.”
“I was thinking it was more like the worst piñata.”
“Same idea, though.” She drew a big black gun from a holster under her armpit and fired into the head of a grabbing monster. His skull exploded, but he kept reaching for us. I put a foot to his abdomen and shoved. He stumbled, lost his balance, and fell onto his back, where he lay scrabbling like an overturned turtle.
“Why were we scared of these things again?” she asked. “They’re ridiculously stupid. Like zombies, but without the bite, and none of those pesky cravings for brains.”
“You know how you lose in a zombie movie?” I asked. Another golem stumbled close. Skyla blew him away in two shots, point blank. “Numbers. When there’s too many for one person to overcome, it doesn’t matter if they’re slow and stupid. And these guys aren’t slow.”
Thorin pressed in beside me and made rubble of another stone man. “Hanging in there, Sunshine?”
From the corner of my eye, I spotted a stony arm reaching for me. I ducked under it, shoved my shoulder into the golem’s pelvis, and knocked him off center. He teetered, and I swiped his leg out from under him. When he crashed to the ground, Thorin casually dropped Mjölnir to the golem’s chest, shattering him to bits.
I rolled my eyes. “Showoff.”
Piles of rubble lay around us, and the Valkyries made short work of destroying the few remaining stone men. Naomi shoved her short sword into the juncture of a golem’s neck and shoulder, in a place like soft mortar between bricks. Careful to stay at his side, beyond the stone man’s reach, Naomi separated head from shoulder, using her sword like a pry bar. She grunted and heaved, and his head came loose with a gritty crunch. She shoved him to the ground, and Skyla fired a round into his chest, blowing a crater into his ribcage. If he had a ribcage.
“Okay, Dirty Harry,” I said.
Skyla slipped the pistol into its holster. “This isn’t a Dirty Harry gun. It’s a Desert Eagle. Point five-oh.”
Naomi grinned. “Go on, girl. I like it when you talk dirty to me.”
Voices rose in the distance, loud protests and shouts. We spun around, searching for the source. Siobhan and Keisha approached, dragging a reluctant man between them. A bruise had already started forming around his eye. Blood dribbled from his nose.
“Did we miss all the fun?” Siobhan eyed the rubble.
Keisha shoved her captive forward. He stumbled, caught himself, and stopped, chin raised in a defiant posture. “He’s the only one here,” she said.
Embla stepped to the front of the crowd and appraised the truck driver. Her gaze scraped from his dingy sneakers up to his balding head and back down again. She slipped her knife from a sheath at her waist. “Open his shirt.”
As Siobhan reached for the man, flashbacks of Nate’s horrible interrogation assaulted me. I pushed my way forward and raised my voice. “Wait. Maybe you could just ask him.”
Embla peered down her nose at me. “My way is more efficient.”
