The Fox Inheritance (Jenna Fox Chronicles 2)

"We can use my money card to hire a car," Miesha says. "That is, if we can find one. And we can get some food while we're at it, too."

"You know I can't eat, don't you? When we go into the diner, I can't eat. Not one bite. What will I do? I can't eat--"

Dot has suddenly developed a mouth that won't quit. She has never been outside her car except in the Servicers' warehouse. "Dot! Be quiet! Just act normal!"

"Pretend like you're not hungry," Miesha adds. "No one will notice."

We rattle along the uneven sidewalk, Dot holding on to the sides of the makeshift assistance chair we made from a rusted-out cart we found in the yard. We threw a piece of canvas over the front of the cart, covering where the rest of her body should be. I open the door to the diner, and Miesha pushes Dot inside. A waitress yells to us without turning around. "Take any seat!"

I look around the diner for available tables. Nearly all are empty. A shabby mix of red and blue vinyl chairs are scattered around them. The floor sticks to my shoes. It's not a place I want to linger in anyway. We'll just find a driver and a car, get some food to go, and be on our way. The sooner the better. I survey the room, wondering who here belongs to the two cars out front. In the corner is a man in a brown uniform with an official-looking emblem on the sleeve. He takes a long, glaring, sideways look at us and turns back to his coffee. At the counter are four men, all with long, dusty black coats. They remind me of the land pirates. They look at us too and snicker among themselves when they turn back to their food. Friendly place.

"Didn't you hear her? Sit down!"

Miesha and I both jump. More snickers. I turn around and see a cashier behind a counter. Half the hair on her head is missing, the other half tangled clumps, and the skin beneath one eye is peeling away. She is a Bot.

"We're sitting! We're sitting!" Dot pipes up. "There! Let's sit!" She points to the empty table right next to us.

Miesha and I look at each other. We've made a big mistake. She nods and I ease myself into a chair. The waitress walks over and smacks the cashier on the side of the head. Now I know why one side of her head is bald. "Shut up, Kit! You're going to scare off the paying customers!"

This isn't going to be a fast stop. We're going to have to maneuver over eggshells we can't even see. I look at Dot. She's not talking anymore, just watching the cashier Bot smoothing her remaining clumps of hair and pressing the skin beneath her eye back into place. She sees Dot staring and hisses at her like a cat. Dot looks down at her canvas lap.

The waitress whirls and squints one eye at us. "You are paying customers, aren't you?"

"Yes," I answer. "Just something quick, though. To go."

One of the men at the counter spins on his seat to face us. "What's your hurry, Fancy Boy? You don't like the company here?"

Fancy Boy. It can't be coincidence. I meet his stare. He is not the same Non-pact that Kara and I confronted on the road. But the words and body language are the same--even the long black coat. Like they are part of some gang. The land pirate gang. I could take him. I want to take him. I want to show him that I am more than just a boy. I want to tear his head right off his shoulders. I'm tired of taking crap, and I want to give some back. I could. I begin to stand. I want to show off my height, my size, and watch him reassess. But halfway up, I see the flash of Kara's face. The momentary satisfaction of splitting this guy's skull is not my ultimate goal, not to mention his three companions might join in. Miesha or Dot could get hurt. We need to get out of here as quietly and quickly as possible.

Like all the times I forced a smile for Dr. Gatsbro because it was expedient, I force one to my lips now as I continue to stand, straightening to my full height, my eye

s never leaving his, and then I hold out my hand. It takes more strength than cracking three skulls.

"My name is Locke. My friends and I need help."

He suspiciously eyes my outstretched hand. By now his three friends have turned in their seats to watch the show. I return my unshaken hand to my side. "We were on our way to a funeral, and our car broke down. If we don't hurry, we'll miss our train in Topeka. We were hoping we could find some transportation here."

"Who died?" he asks.

Miesha and I blurt out our answers almost simultaneously.

"My brother."

"My mother."

He smiles at our misstep, revealing rotten front teeth.

"Both," I say. "They were in an accident together. Her brother and my mother."

"Sure they were," he says, walking closer. He pulls out the remaining chair at our table and sits down. "Tough break. But we can get you on the road again quick enough." He leans closer and says in a low voice, "But these things are costly, Fancy Boy."

I nod. "Of course they are. How much?"

"Seein' as how I'm in a high-minded mood today, I think we could be doing this little deal for ten thousand duros and--"

"Ten thousand! Are you--"

"Wait," Miesha says. "I have it." She pulls her money card from a pocket in her trousers and slides it across the table. "But it will be five thousand, and you'll get us on the road within ten minutes--all three of us. And then you'll forget that we ever existed. Got that?"