“Oh, come on. It’ll be fine,” he said when he insisted on parking at a rest stop with a handful of people already milling around it.

It was becoming readily apparent that he used his skip-tracer identification like it was a bulletproof shield, flashing it to anyone who gave him a second look. A part of me wondered if he was too used to playing this part or if something inside him had really shifted.

The rest of us waited, scooted as far down in our seats as possible, while Chubs took his time using the restroom, mining the vending machines, and breathing in the fresh wintry air.

“I thought you said this kid was smart,” Vida hissed.

“He is.” I watched him over the curve of the dashboard.

“Then he’s just freaking rude,” she shot back. “Or he’s trying to get us caught.”

No—it wasn’t that. Chubs was a lot of things, but he wasn’t malicious enough to try to push someone out who needed his help.

Oh really? came the small voice at the back of my mind. Isn’t that exactly what he tried to do with you?

I shook my head as he climbed back into the SUV, tossing his haul of chips and candy onto my lap. Chubs glanced at me, then looked again. “What are you doing?”

My lips parted in surprise. “What do you think? Any of these people could have reported us!”

Chubs’s brows drew together, the realization finally coming to him. He looked at the others, still crouched down in the back. Jude had his arms wrapped around his knees, burrowed down into the gully of space between the metal grate and his seat.

“Yup,” Vida said to no one in particular, “just a f**king idiot.”

“It’s okay,” Jude said with forced brightness. “They wouldn’t have called us in. They didn’t look like PSFs or skip tracers anyway.”

Skip tracers didn’t have a look—Chubs was evidence of that. He had maybe dressed the part, but he wasn’t one of them. He didn’t have that detached coldness that seemed to permeate from the others. His reaction now, the way he jammed his key into the ignition, made me wonder if he had ever noticed how irresponsible he was being until this very moment.

It didn’t become a real problem until we reached the outskirts of Nashville and the blockade the National Guard had set up and staffed with a few dozen of their finest.

“City closed,” Jude said, reading the spray-painted sign we flew past. It was a series of signs, one after another. “Flood zone. Slow. City closed. Turn back. National Guard entry only. City closed.” Jude’s voice dropped just a little bit more with each one he read, but the SUV only picked up speed. The makeshift station began as a dark, blurry line at the horizon of the snow-slick road and took shape, one barbed tangle of wires and fence at a time.

“Slow down,” I told Chubs. “Stop for a second.” He ignored both requests.

Vida glanced up from where she had been typing out another message to Cate on the Chatter. “Oh. Yeah. Cate said the city’s been blocked off since the summer. Something about how a river flooded the city and some people started rioting when they didn’t get any aid.”

I sighed, pressing my face into my hands. “That information would have been useful to know twenty minutes ago.” Back when we were, you know, in the middle of a discussion about the best way into the city.

Vida shrugged.

“Uhhhh,” Jude began, a distinct note of panic in his voice. “There’s a guy coming toward us. He is coming toward us really freaking fast.”

Sure enough, a National Guardsman had pulled away from the chain-link fence and dirty yellow barrels they were using to block our path down the road. He was jogging, his gun and supplies jostling with each step. A spike of cold panic shot straight up my spine.

The National Guardsman stopped, his hand drifting to the firearm at his side.

Then Chubs asked, “Does everyone have their seat belt on?”

“You’re joking,” I began. There was no way. He would never.

Vida finally looked up from the Chatter.

Jude yelped as the car lurched forward. Chubs had floored the pedal.

I reached over and jerked the wheel, forcing the car to veer sharply to the left. Chubs tried to shove me off, but I guided the car around, narrowly missing the soldier who had come out to meet us. He eased up immediately on the gas, but we were already headed back in the right direction—away from the fence, the soldiers, and danger. Vida slammed her palm against the grate and the pedal floored under her influence, locked hard against the SUV’s dirty carpet. Chubs tried pumping the brakes, and the car seemed to shriek in protest.

When the blockade was finally a small blip in the rearview mirror, Vida lifted her hand and Chubs’s foot came down on the brake. The seat belts snapped over our chests.

“I…” I started when I’d finally caught my breath. “Why… You…”

“Dammit!” Chubs began, slapping his hand against the steering wheel. He didn’t sound like himself; he had yelled at me before, countless times, but this was…I actually felt myself shrink. “How dare you do that! How dare you!”

“If you’re going to fight, can you do it outside?” Vida said. “I already have a big enough headache without hearing Mommy and Daddy at each other’s throats.”

Fine by me. I unbuckled my seat belt, ignoring Chubs’s growl as he did the same.

“What?” he demanded, coming around to meet me at the front of the SUV. His boots slid through the snow clinging to the dark surface of the road. His breath was hot with anger. It fanned out white and sticky against my stinging cheeks.