The Offering (The Pledge 3)

When her hands fell against the steel, Brooklynn let out a sigh. A sound that was equal parts ecstasy and relief. “What is it?”

“We call it a Vehicular Assault Navigator. Or VAN,” Caspar said on a chuckle. “It’s like a portable armory. We got it outfitted for travel too, though. You can hole up in there for weeks on end. Trust me, we know. We had to do it more than once when we been out hunting.”

I hadn’t thought about how they’d gathered food, but it made sense that they’d have to hunt, I supposed. I had to admit they were a resourceful lot, and I respected Caspar for taking care of his charges without help.

I hated that I’d have to turn him in once we returned home, but I couldn’t just leave them out here to fend for themselves. “So, what? You’re just letting us take it?”

“Yes,” Eden told Brook. “It’ll make it easier to travel at night. Safer to keep . . . her . . .” She looked at me and frowned, as if she hadn’t considered what she was supposed to call me in front of anyone else.

“Layla,” Brook offered, with a roll of her eyes as she glanced meaningfully at Eden, waiting for her to continue with her explanation.

Eden frowned at me. “To keep Layla here hidden.”

I ignored the looks they exchanged and hoped Caspar hadn’t noticed, as I turned my attention back to the VAN.

The vehicle was long—as long as three of any other vehicle I’d ever been in before, and it was painted no singular color but rather a mishmash of blues and reds and greens and browns, all smattered together like a slapdash collage. The tires were enormous as well, almost as tall as I was, and they seemed almost too large for the VAN itself.

It was hideous, but magnificent all the same.

As I rounded the other side, I noted there were windows that ran all along both sides. Most of them still had glass, although some had been painted over and some were crusted with age-old dirt and grime. But there were other openings in the sides as well, small rectangles below the windows that had been cut all the way through the metal and were soldered around the edges.

I ran my finger around one of the welded gaps.

“For weapons. So you can fire without opening a window,” Caspar explained from behind me.

I nodded. “Can we go inside?” I didn’t even have to ask the question. Caspar was already opening the door to lead us in.

I wasn’t sure what my trepidation was all about. I wasn’t afraid, but I was most definitely awed. It was very much the way I’d felt when I’d first held Zafir’s sword in my hand, like it was too powerful for me. Too much to handle.

The interior of the VAN was dark, and the oily scent of petroleum mixed with the smells of mold and stale dirt. Even without much light I could make out five rows of bench seats, paired two by two across a short aisle from each other. Each seat could hold two people—and perhaps three, if they squeezed together. After those five rows, there were metal shelves that were battened down to the floors and walls with large metal rivets. They were likely sturdier than they appeared. Beyond those there were three large steel barrels and some floor mats and blankets.

The inside was as colorful, and as daunting, as the outside.

Brook sat in a bucketlike chair at the very front of the VAN and ran her hand around the steering wheel. “Who’ll drive it?”

Caspar clapped Eden on the shoulder. “Eden here can drive just about anything. She can fix about anything too.” His chest puffed up with obvious pride. “Taught me everything she knows. Isn’t that right, Sis?”

Eden glared at her little brother but didn’t argue.

Brook eyed the control panel, all of the gauges and dials, her fingers hovering just above—but not touching—them. “Do you think I could learn to drive too?” she asked, sounding far more hopeful and childlike that she’d probably meant to.

I thought Eden would bark at her, tell her not to mess with anything and ridicule her for thinking she’d ever allow an amateur like Brook behind the wheel of such a formidable vehicle. Her mood was definitely impatient.

But something stopped her, and her answer wasn’t at all what I’d anticipated. “We’ll see,” she answered instead, surprising both me and—from the way Brook’s eyes widened eagerly—Brooklynn too. “Not sure I want to risk my life. Let’s just see how things work out.”

Brooklynn practically squealed, a giddy sound that made me grin, and if it had been anyone but Eden—and if I hadn’t been afraid she might push me or punch me or abandon me altogether—I might’ve hugged Eden for giving Brook that moment of glee.

Instead I turned to Caspar, more pressing matters on my mind. “How will we fuel it?”

Caspar marched to the rear of the transport and knocked on one of the disfigured steel drums. “There’s enough fuel in here to get you across the country and back. Twice.” “Where’d you get it all?” I asked, impressed and a little uneasy that anyone had provisions like this. I wondered if my own army had this much fuel at its disposal.

“That was one of the perks of being a munitions camp. We were never short of fuel around here,” he replied, winking at me.

He turned back to the drums again and pounded on the third one—one that looked identical to the other two. “This one’s water. You’d be smart not to mix ’em up,” he told us, then winked at me again.

The idea of drinking anything that came from one of those barrels made my stomach turn.