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Despite my restless night—the conversation with Javi and the crushing anxiety thrusting my eyelids open anytime a tendril of sleep attempted to coax them shut—I’d thrown on a pair of faded lilac Levi’s, buttoned a capped gingham shirt, sprayed a couple pumps of surf spritz in my hair, and met my…friend? enemy? chauffer? at ten AM sharp at my curb.

We’d diverted from the Pacific Coast Highway for halcyon pastures, foxtail valleys, and grazing cows, and soon the coastline was all but covered by the rolling golden hillside.

Forcing myself back to the moment, to our mission, I figured Ryder’s declaration didn’t mean for gas or sandwiches, as my upper body bounced over the sandy potholes. “And what are we stopping for, may I ask?”

“Munitions,” he said under his breath.

“Weapons?!” I clarified, hoping I’d misheard him.

He dipped his chin as he chuckled, then put his eyes back on the road. “Don’t worry, we likely won’t need them. But it’s better to be prepared.”

For demons? Werewolves? Vampires? Some other kind of monster that surely existed but I hadn’t had the pleasure of being introduced to yet? I sank into my seat, crossing my arms. “Do I even want to know?”

The flare of mischief in his eyes told me enough.

The unpaved road got bumpier and bumpier, the dirt puffing up behind us, dusting the briny air in a drifting cloud. Boulders and oak trees wavered in the stretches of dried meadow before us, outlines fuzzy like a mirage in the heat.

A soft hum erupted above the tires’ crunch—a low, almost infrasonic, vibration that ran from the grass’s tips to the dash gauges. Scanning the horizon, I saw no source. In fact, the windless fields and cloudless blue sky painted the picture of a perfect day. Totally innocuous, yet the skin on my arms rose in anticipation.

“Do you hear that?” I couldn’t be the only one. But Ryder didn’t respond, he didn’t even smirk, he just repositioned himself into a lazy lean and kept his eyes on the road.

The sound grew heavier, impossible to ignore, so intense it shook the windows, rumbling my seat and spiraling to my core. I shifted my gaze to the side mirror, ready to breeze over my reflection, when something stopped me.

Twisting in my seat, I craned my neck towards the road behind us and saw the source of the hum: a cloud of dust—not the spray of pebbles from the rotating rubber, but a small tempest made of soil, earth, and rock. It grew behind us, spinning larger and larger, hazing the air within the truck.

Coughing, I rolled up my window. “Ryder, how long before we get those weapons of yours?” I didn’t take my eyes off the mirror.

He joined the surveillance in his own sideview, then put his focus back on the wheel. And that was that. No stiffening posture, no nervous tap of his fingers, no reaching for his arrows.

“They’ll catch up before we get there.” There wasn’t a hint of fear in his voice.

“Uh…” I don’t know what worried me more, the dust devil’s increasing momentum or Ryder’s clear lack of concern. “Well, they’re gaining on us,” I attempted to say, but by then the thunderous whirling drowned out my words and overtook the car.

Pebbles flung against the truck, so unbearably sharp and distinct they might as well have been impaling my skin. A bone-rumbling sound, like the rev of an engine, did just that, and my hands went straight to my ears. The air, thick with dust and panic, stung each inadequate breath. I brought my knees to my chest, praising myself for each attempted inhale and exhale while the noises blew out my senses and scrambled my thoughts.

To my right, a flash of silver and piercing spotlight penetrated the chalky vapor. They, whatever they were, trailed us so closely they rode our bumper, shrouding the glass in a beige film. The dust coated the sleek black hood and scratched my eyes, despite the windows being rolled up. Two bulky chunks of metal escaped from the cloud and whizzed to the sides of the truck.

Motorcycles. That’s what overtook us.

Then all hell broke loose.

Dozens of bikers hightailed past us, mocking us with cranking engines, head to pointed toe in leather, moustaches flapping in the wind, rocking braided tresses under their skull caps, riding so low their polarized lenses barely reached past the bases of the tall, arched handlebars.

I tried to ignore the catcalls from the riders next to me, but their hoots and hollers outdid the mufflers. Scrunched into a near-fetal position, I turned to Ryder for some affirmation, but he was too busy returning a gesture to a red-bearded, spiky-shouldered biker.

The rest of the gang roared past the Chevy, popping wheelies and blowing kisses. The dirt storm followed like a living, breathing thing, drifting where its rogue choppers took it.

Soon the sun’s rays flooded the windshield as the last of the gang brought up the rear and passed us, taking the last of the swirling dust with them.

My hands dropped, one splayed above my chest. “What. The hell. Was that?”

“Dwarves.” There it was again, that matter-of-factness. And his stupid, dimpled smirk.

“There’s the information I could have used five minutes ago.” I smacked his arm. “Your friends almost gave me a heart attack.”

He played a smile and flinched away, like it actually hurt, but I was in no mood.

“I can’t—” I sucked in a frazzled sigh, forcing myself to remain calm. “I can’t do sudden, unexpected chaos like that. It overwhelms me.” I massaged my temples. “I thought the engines might shatter my eardrums.”