The Collective

Chapter Five

Max pulled onto a dirt road. It wound its way up the mountain. A big, blue house sat all by itself at the end of the road. It was very, very different from the red country house. It looked more like a mid-century modern. It was out of place, too clean and precise to be out in the woods.

Max turned off the truck. He leaned against the steering wheel, tapping the dashboard. "This is a safe house. Ethan and I set up in case of emergency. Oversight doesn't know about it, so it should be safe."

"Who's Oversight?" I knew she was in charge, but that was it.

"Not now."

Fine. I followed Max inside. Only to find the inside matched the outside. Everything was monochromatic and clean. The chairs were boxy, and not at all welcoming. The coffee table was made out of glass. The rug underneath it looked like it had never been touched. There wasn't even a speck of dust.

I perched on one of the bigger chairs, careful not to touch the rug. This house had pictures, unlike the country house, but they were generic stock photos. Having strangers staring back at me was somehow worse than having no pictures at all. They didn't even match. The one on the wall had a blonde woman with a small girl and a tall, dark haired man. The one by the stairs had a brown-haired woman with a smiling blond man.

I peeled my shoes off. This house was too clean to walk in with shoes. I carried them to the kitchen. I kept my footsteps light, sure a harried grandmother was going to jump out at any second and scream about the dirt I was tracking through the house. I set my shoes by the back door, wincing at the fog rolling.

Max bent over the stove in the kitchen, a whole slew of food on the counter next to him. He nudged me over, swaying to the music in his earbuds. He pulled a pot out of the island, spun to the stove, and popped it on the burner. It set alight almost immediately. He swayed back and forth, coaxing the flames down. He dumped the syrupy residue over a plate with thinly sliced veggies, and steak. He plopped the plate in front of me. He sat across from me with his own plate, jerking his earbuds out.

"Is this from the same place as the crêpes?" I poked at it tentatively. Nothing squirted out.

Max choked on a laugh. He shook his head, coughing. "No. Those two were radical vegetarians. They had these rescue cows who lived like royalty, and a chicken who ate at the table with them." He swirled his steak around in the sauce. "That chicken was an ugly SOB." He ate a carrot, grimacing. "This particular recipe came from a guy who swore off civilization. I met him in the Australian outback. I jumped out of the plane, and completely missed the target zone. I was wandering around, with no water, for days. This skeleton of a man, dressed in these awful, tiny black shorts came out of nowhere." He put his plate in the sink. "He was a good guy, though. You done?"

I nodded.

He turned the sink on, popping his earbuds back in. He pointed to my bare feet. "We can't leave here until everything's clear. Better get comfortable."

Learning to live with Max was like learning to live with an absent-minded squirrel. He left his clothes everywhere. He would start one task and get distracted and forget what he was doing before. He regularly forgot to say when he was turning the alarm on. He left food everywhere, too. On the bright side, the house looked like it was lived in.

I peeked out the door, watching for signs of him. It looked clear. He'd gone to bed around two hours ago. But that didn't mean anything. On top of being a hot mess, he was also insanely quiet. Maybe he snuck out.

I shook my head. I hadn't eaten all day. I was going to have to leave. Eventually. I closed the door, resting my head against it. It's not that I hated Max. Kind of. It was just being stuck here, for so long, with nobody but him, was making me hate him. He never shut up. And he wouldn't stop leaving his stuff everywhere. I'd asked, begged, bribed, but to no avail. The only room free of him was mine.