MILA PULLED INTO the parking lot of an empty Halloween store. She dug through her duffel bag and pulled out her Illinois license plates, one state early. Rubbing her bruised, bloodied knuckles, she pulled off the Indiana plates and screwed on the new ones.

    Getting back into her car, she drove to the gas station a couple blocks down the road. She hopped out and hoped the cop couldn't find her. As she walked inside, she shoved her hands in her pockets. Caffeine. She needed caffeine. Stat. And she didn't care how she got it.

    Mila barreled through the gas station to the back refrigerated wall. She scanned the shelves until she found the goods: energy drinks. Shoving one in her pocket, she made her way to the far corner of the shop where they housed a coffee station and poured herself half a cup. She'd dump the energy drink into the rest. She was unhinged and desperate times called for desperate measures.

    Her arms full of caffeinated beverages, she headed to the register and piled them on the counter. She added an energy shot to the stash.

    The cashier raised an eyebrow at Mila as she rang her up. She reeked of cigarettes. Tattoos arched up both her arms. "You're gonna get yourself killed with all this caffeine, kid."

    "And is that any of your business?" Mila had had a rough day.

    The cashier shrugged. "Guess not." She plopped the energy shot and drink into a plastic "thank you" bag.

    Mila forked over a twenty dollar bill. The cashier handed her her change and receipt. Mila shoved them into her wallet, swung the bag over one arm, and took hold of her coffee.

    "Thank you." Mila smiled at the cashier, though her eyes were empty and hollow. She may have had a rough day, but she had been raised right. "Have a nice day."

***

    BACK IN THE SAFETY OF HER CAR, Mila poured the energy shot and drink into her coffee, giving it a hearty stir. She took a swig. She was ready to fight God.

    Adrenaline from punching a cop still buzzed through her veins, deafening the effects of the motion sickness medicine. Her blood tingled. Her head spun, her breathing coming in ragged gulps.

    The shot of near straight caffeine sang in her bloodstream. She knew this was temporary and the effects would soon wear off. She needed to get as far away from Indiana as she could before she hit another wall.

    She wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel. Her knuckles were a fiery shade of red, dried blood plastered to the outer edges of the bruise.

***

    THE HIGHWAY OUTSIDE OF St. Louis. Traffic rolled to a stop. Mila stretched her fingers and rolled her head on her neck. What should have been a five hour drive had turned into an all-day affair. Nearly every hour, she hit a wall. She didn't know if it was the adrenaline wearing off, the motion sickness medicine kicking in, or a caffeine crash. Maybe it was all three.

    Sitting in the slow crawl of traffic, Mila watched as the Gateway Arch appeared on the horizon. Slowly, it grew until she passed it and it steadily decreased. There were no fireworks or confetti to mark her entrance into the West. The arch was an otherworldly silver curve against the night sky—an alien McDonald's. Mila's stomach growled. Except... it was more like the ring of an alien spaceship. It only had one arch, after all. Mila's stomach growled again. What was she craving? Martian?

    Soon, the Arch disappeared from her sight. An odd sense of calm washed over her.

She had passed the Gateway to the West.

She had officially left her old life behind her.

She tilted her chin and sat up straighter in her seat.

    As free and as calm and as at home she felt in the West, her heart ached. So did her stomach and her head. She missed Malachi. She missed her parents and her friends. And she missed Adrian. She was exhausted and strung-out. She could barely keep her eyes open; she'd been fighting sleep all day. Her last meal was hours ago. It was dark and cold and the highway was crusted over with sleet.

    She needed to stop somewhere for dinner and pull over for the night. Her stomach roared. She was salivating at the thought of a good burger and an even better milkshake. And Lord, the things she would do for some loaded cheese fries.

    Mila pulled into the exit lane.

***

    MILA TREATED HERSELF TO a monstrously greasy burger, a whooping plate of loaded cheese fries, and a creamy strawberry milkshake. Once she got back to her car, she searched for cheap hotels on her GPS before the food coma could hit.

    She headed toward the closest one, a sketchy motel brightly lit with retro neon signs. The night grew colder and darker, but the traffic didn't get any thinner. The veins of St. Louis were clogged with it. As Mila headed inside, a flamingo in a Santa hat winked at her. Inside, the green carpeted floor stretched toward the ancient mahogany welcome desk. Hanging from the far wall was a tacky blown-up postcard of the Arch. The curly-haired white woman behind the counter nodded as Mila walked in.

    "Hi," Mila said. "I'd like to make a reservation for the night."

    The woman smiled at her. "Sorry, hun. We're booked."

    "You don't have a single room open in the whole motel?"

    "No, ma'am. Like I said: we're booked."

    Mila sighed, thanked her for her help, and headed back to her car, where she cursed loudly. She scanned the local hotels for another cheap one, but they were all on the other side of the arch in Illinois. She didn't want to backtrack. She didn't want to go back to the East. She'd never felt at home there. She was more of a West Coast spirit, all deserts and open roads and crashing cobalt waves.

    She closed her eyes and tilted her head against the headrest, imagining herself on the beach in California. Her toes in the warm, sunbaked sand; the icy, salty spray of the Pacific on her face. Looking out at the water and knowing there was nothing for miles and miles but the sea, the clear-blue ocean. A surfer in a wetsuit running past her into the waves. She'd follow her, diving into the frigid water, disappearing into the waves, never to be seen again.

    This was where she belonged. This was what she was meant to do. Maybe this was even who she was meant to be. A traveler, alone on the open road.

    She scanned the GPS again, finding another motel down the street. She drove toward it and headed inside, only to be told the same thing. No vacancy.

    Mila groaned.

    Tired and frustrated, she headed toward the next motel. Nothing. Why were all these places booked? Who was in St. Louis in the middle of March other than the coyotes? One howled in the distance. Mila shivered.

    She drove steadily southwest, stopping at every motel she came across. None of them had any rooms available. The clock ticked closer to eleven. Mila had had enough.

    She pulled into a brightly lit Walmart parking lot and pulled into the spot closest to the front door. The cameras would be trained on her all night, that close to the entrance. If something happened to her... She took a deep breath and held her head in her hands. After a second, she stuck her hand out the door. The cold stole the breath from her lungs. What was she thinking? She would freeze to death in her sleep. And that was assuming she wouldn't be murdered—or worse. But Mila had a gun. Nothing would happen to her. She wouldn't let it.

    She locked her doors, taking note of her surroundings. No one was around. She grabbed her bag and pulled out her warm pajamas, sliding them on under her sweatshirt. She leaned back in her seat as far as it would go, wrapping her blanket around herself and pulling it up around her chin. Her body quickly pulled her into a deep sleep...

***

    IT DIDN'T LAST. Thump. Thump. Thump. Mila jerked awake. Her eyes snapped open, blinking hard to adjust to the dark. Outside her window, the dark outline of Walmart loomed far above her. Thump. Thump. Thump. Icy fear ran through her veins. Trying not to make any sudden movements, she reached across the passenger seat and dragged her duffel bag toward her, unzipping it. Her hands closed around her gun. She pulled the safety.

    Trembling, she peeked out the window. Nothing. Just an empty, brightly lit parking lot. The emptiness didn't ease her nerves. If anything, it set her more on edge. Thump. Thump. Thump. Where was that coming from?

    She threw her blanket over her head and nestled deep down inside it like a child hiding from the monster under her bed. She pulled the safety again and nestled her gun against her chest like a teddy bear.

    She squeezed her eyes shut and prayed.

***

    FOR THE REST OF THE NIGHT, sleep evaded Mila. Each noise outside snapped her awake as she readied her gun. Just before sunrise, she realized her efforts were futile. Even though she still felt the weight of her exhaustion pressing behind her temple, she knew it'd be better to get a head-start on the day's drive. After all, she didn't feel safe out here. She was too exposed and vulnerable. She couldn't stay here any longer without losing her mind.

    She was used to surviving on less sleep, anyway.

***

MILA PULLED OVER early after her restless night. She could barely keep her eyes open. Still, it'd been her most productive day yet. (She wasn't sure what day it was. She'd already lost track. Was it a Tuesday? It felt like a Tuesday.) No blips, no cops, no crashes. Nothing to put her in danger. Just her and the open road. Route 66. She'd never felt more free. More real, more alive. More herself.

    She never wanted to leave Route 66.