Chapter Text
"The news coming up, but first, let's go to the weather. There's a cold front moving through North Idaho. Temperatures are currently 63 degrees and sunny, with wind gusts later this afternoon of up to 40 miles per hour. These winds are expected to bring cold air as low as 20 degrees this evening, possibly dropping to below zero overnight. 'I t's unknown what's causing this weather,' is a statement I make every day. Is it God? Perhaps it is the government. Perhaps Earth itself. Is it out of boredom, that the weather exists?-"
Baird hit the stereo 'off' button from her seat behind the wheel, promptly cutting off the low voice of the radio presenter.
"If I have to listen to that existentialist drivel any longer I'm going to go insane," she snapped, fingers tight around the steering wheel. She exhaled heavily through her nose, a frustrated huff that nobody in the car dared comment on. They were seven hours into their 47-hour road trip from the annexe in Portland, Oregon, to where the clippings book reported strange magical interference in Salem, Massachusetts - between Cassandra's high-pitched roadtrip excitement, and Stone's historical info dumping about the roadside attractions they drove past, Ezekiel was just grateful for the newfound silence that had settled over the car. He kicked his legs up from his spot in the rear passenger seat of the minivan, swivelling so that his head pressed back against the glass of the window. He rested his chucks on the middle of the seat - a long bench with three seatbelts evenly spaced across it - a few inches away from Stone, who didn't seem to notice, too caught up in the pages of a road atlas. Not that he'd need it with Cassandra up front, who was happily navigating from the atlast in the vastness of her mind, but it never hurt to be prepared.
Ezekiel glanced to the side of the road, eyes scanning the signs. Sweet relief flooded his body as he skimmed a sign purporting a rest stop in a quarter mile.
"Baird, can we stop by the Services? Been cooped up for bloody ages, and I need a piss,"
Eve grimaced at the phrasing but switched lanes all the same, pulling off the highway and into the rest stop. The car park - an ugly thing made of cracking concrete and dried dirt- sat next to a small grassy knoll, populated with picnic benches. Just beyond them stood a run-down off-licence, a sign that read 'BATHROOM FOR PAYING CUSTOMERS ONLY' was tacked to the door, barely supported by ancient sticky-tape that had yellowed from its years of service.
The car had barely come to a stop before Ezekiel tumbled out of it, one foot tangled in his freshly unbuckled seatbelt. He kicked the belt back into the rental, turning his nose up at it like it had caused him personal offence
Eve rolled down her window and shouted a futile "You got twenty minutes before we're back on the road!"
Ezekiel didn't turn around, instead attempting a vague thumbs-up gesture over his head that Baird was fairly sure was something rude in Thieve's Finger-Thumb. She couldn't bring herself to give a damn - she'd be driving off in twenty minutes whether Ezekiel was in the car or not, he knew that.
She watched from her seat in the car as Ezekiel disappeared into the store to "buy" snacks, probably coughing up just enough cash stolen from Jenkins' wallet to pay for something bubbly and caffeinated to avoid suspicion. She then watched as he strolled back out, energy drink in hand (called it), and promptly dumped out the contents of his hoodie pockets in the back seat. How he'd managed to sneak as many snacks as he did was a question Baird dared not ask - she'd learnt to avoid asking Ezekiel questions, as she often didn't like the answers.
"How much time left on the clock, Baird?" he asked, grinning at his hoard of delights
She checked her watch. "Fourteen minutes,"
"Excellent, I'm gonna go jimmy the lock on those pissers - Cassandra, you need to go?"
The redhead turned from where she was sat facing the knoll of grass, making a face of disgust. "The average gas station stop brings an individual into contact with 14.5 million germs, 31% of which is Bacilli bacteria,"
"Take that as a no, then?" he asked, grinning.
"I'll hold it, thanks."
"Twelve minutes, Jones," Baird piped up, pointing to her NATO regulations watch - a mechanical silver face on a thick nylon strap.
Ezekiel rolled his eyes, jogging across the dusty lot to the bathrooms and picking the lock with ease. The door swung open, the acrid smell of hot urine assaulting his senses. He gagged, pulling his shirt up over his nose.
"Alright Jones let's make this quick,"
When he returned, hands thoroughly washed (he knew Cass was right about those bathrooms and wasn't about to risk the side effects of whatever bacilli bacteria was), Baird and Cassandra were re-packing the cargo space of the carefully budgeted minivan they'd been sent out in. Cassandra had her hands spread out in front of her, most likely doing tetris math, and Baird was stacking their go-bags according to her calculations. Stone stood perched against the bonnet of the car, arms folded, face like a slapped arse.
"What's the matter, Cowboy? Thought you liked the open road,"
He exhaled - it was almost a laugh. "I love open road. Highways, however, are not open road. Too uniform, and nobody knows how t' drive,"
"At least we've got Baird to save us from your roadrage,"
Stone went to argue, but the hefty 'clunk' of the trunk slamming shut cut him off. Baird clapped the imaginary dust from her hands and squared her shoulders. Time to go.
"Cheer up, Stone. Only forty hours left to go," He joked, nudging Stone with his elbow. With that, Ezekiel wandered back to the side doors of the minivan, hopping back into his seat and resuming his position leaning against the car door - now shut behind him.
Once again loaded up with the three librarians and their guardian, the minivan pulled out of the rest stop, heading back towards the open highway - behind them, the storefront of the off-licence burst from the front door, chasing behind the vehicle. It was to no avail, of course, and the group left him in the parking lot, cursing out the thief who sat smugly in the backseat, hand halfway into a bag of five-finger-discount Cheetos. Safely back on the road, silence once again fell on the four of them; less oppressive this time, almost peaceful. Ezekiel had stolen enough snacks to keep them all happily munching on something or another, and in lieu of the radio, connected his phone to the car's aux cord, playing a haphazardly thrown-together playlist that he made as they set off from portland. Whilst not his finest work, it had something for everybody: a little classical for Baird, some Johnny Cash for Stone, mathrock for Cassandra, and a smattering of genres for himself.
Somewhere along the way, Stone had stretched out too, throwing his legs into the passenger side footwell so as to stretch diagonally across the back seats, settling on top of Ezekiel's legs. His jeans had Cheeto dust on them from where Ezekiel had brushed off his hands, but such was the price he paid for leg room - it would dust off. He was, however, rather bothered by his choice to wear jeans in the first place. He hadn't changed into his khakis at the rest stop, and at nine hours in, he was as uncomfortable as an unshorn sheep in an Oklahoma heatwave.
That is to say, he was sweaty. And chafing.
He shifted in his seat, resting his forehead against the glass of the window and hoping the scenery would distract him. Johnny Cash's deep gravel hummed through the car's speakers, singing something about the wise man will bow down before the throne, and at his feet they'll cast their golden crowns, and it was just enough for Stone to zone out, blisfully unaware of his growing swamp ass for just a few moments.
He wasn't sure just how long had passed when a sharp pain erupted in Stone's lower thigh, startling him out of his train of thought. He cried out, attention snapping to where Ezekiel was sitting, fist raised over his leg from where he'd thumped the cowboy.
"What the hell, Jones? What's wrong with you!"
The thief shrugged. "Yellow punch buggy, mate. It's the law," he said, nonchalant. He pointed one foot at Stone, poking him with the toe of his chucks.
Stone swatted at his foot, satisfaction rippling through him when the thief let out a whine of protest.
"C'mon man, it's the rules! Y' see a yellow car, you punch!" Ezekiel complained, bringing up his knees so that his feet were out of Stone's swatting range.
Stone smirked, knowing full well Ezekiel would stay out of his space for at least half an hour. "We're in Idaho - rules are different this side of the border,"
A blatant lie, but Ezekiel didn't know enough about Idaho to argue.
"Why are we driving all the way to Salem anyways?" Cassandra interjected, "We have a magic door that takes a fraction of the time,"
For a split second, Baird's knuckles whitened on the wheel once again. "Since Flynn's... disappearance-" the three librarians winced, Baird had spent days avoiding having to talk about the Librarian's sudden exit, and they all felt a little guilty for bringing it up, "the back door has decided to take... let's call it industrial action, and isn't working as it should. Jenkins doesn't think he can fix it in time for us to get to Salem and stop whatever's going on, so we're having to use alternative routes,"
Ezekiel tapped on his phone screen, brow furrowing. "You realise that flights to Massachusetts are only about 6 hours, right? Would be faster to fly,"
"Charlene has been gone for months, Jones, the books are totally out of whack. You really think the library has the money for multiple airline tickets? I had to fight Jenkins in hand to hand combat for the minivan- and even then he was still adamant we could take his car. So I'll tell you what I told him: It may be my job to keep you all safe, but if I have to be in a space any smaller than this-" she gestured vaguely to the interior of the minivan "-with all three of you for two straight days, I think that by the end of it, we'd have three less librarians,"
The three of them spoke at once, voices overlapping
"Fair,"
"Yeah that's understandable-"
"Speak for yourself, I'm a bloody delight!-"
"The point is," Baird interrupted, silencing the others, "Until the door is fixed, we're stuck driving. Jenkins is hoping to have it repaired by the time we finish up in Salem, so hopefully, this is just a one-way trip and we can placate the rental company for leaving the car in Massachusetts,"
"Or pull some Library do-hickey magic out our arses so they don't notice it's gone," Ezekiel suggested, receiving an excited squeal from cassandra, and dirty looks from the other two in the car. "It was just a suggestion!"
The four of them lapsed into silence once more, save for the odd sing-along to the songs floating from the speakers, making their way further south into Idaho. Between watching the traffic, the odd nap here and there, and some intensely competitive games of i-spy (seriously, how Cassandra thought any of them would get 'molecular structure' was beyond Ezekiel's understanding), the hours passed comfortably, the sun slowly sinking as they made their way into the fifteenth hour of driving.
Somewhere along the way they had left Idaho, having been met with a cheery 'Welcome to Utah!' sign along the side of the road that inspired absolutely no welcoming feelings whatsoever. The paint was peeling off the otherwise plain, industrial sign, font typical of a government-paid-for roadside adornment. Much like the state itself, their welcome into Utah was largely underwhelming.
The sky had slowly shifted into a deep blue colour, the sun having set hours ago, and the four of them began to feel the fatigue of the day slowly creep into the backs of their eyes, an ache in the sockets of their joints.
"Okay team, next motel we see, we're stopping for the night. Sound good?"
Ezekiel pulled up his phone once more, fingers dancing on the screen's keyboard. "There's one in Brigham about half an hour from here called the Lazy Susan. Much like Stone, it looks cheap and easy,"
Stone thumped him on the leg. Ezekiel was about to cry outrage when he said "Yellow punch buggy."
Ezekiel would have bet money on there being no yellow car. "I thought you said the rules had changed?"
"That was Idaho. We're in Utah."
He sulked. "Bastard."
Much to Jacob's chagrin, Eve shot Ezekiel a tired, grateful smile in the rearview mirror. "Good job, Jones,"
Sure enough, half an hour later, the minivan pulled into the parking lot of the Lazy Susan Motel - which, much like the everything else they've seen of Utah, inspired an insufficient amount of whelm. It was your standard motel, nothing to write home about. It had a half-assed attempt at 1950s diner decor, with flickering neon lights declaring "va--ncies". The four of them stumbled into the reception, bags in hands, dead on their feet. They were met with a pathetic attempt at air conditioning, and yellowing vinyl tiles. Behind the counter sat a woman, seemingly middle-aged, her wrinkled mouth puckered around a lit cigarette. Baird stepped forward, greeting her with a smile that was not returned.
"Hi there, are there any rooms available for four people, for tonight? "
The woman looked up from the glossy magazine placed in her lap, eyeing Ezekiel up and down with an expression close to distaste. She raised an over-plucked brow, the thick makeup pencil she'd used to fill it in shifting and cracking. "Do you have a reservation?"
Cassandra stepped forward, nodding, her usual bubbly smile affixed to her face. "Yep! We're the librarians,"
She huffed, unconvinced, cigarette smoke billowing from her overlined lips. "And I'm Donna - now do you have a reservation?"
Cassandra's smile faltered. "Well, no, but-"
"Then I can't help you."
Stone nudged Cassandra, taking her place. "This's a motel in the middle of nowhere an' you need reservations?"
Donna shot another grim look to Ezekiel, who was trying to scam an old uncle sam handshake machine that sat in the foyer. "Company policy. Can't just have anybody stay, runs the risk of... damages."
Stone followed her gaze to Ezekiel and scowled, taking in a breath to say something to the bitch behind the counter- Baird cut him off before he could even start, a similar scowl on her on face.
"Look," Baird started, "We've been driving for fifteen hours, the sun went down hours ago, and we need somewhere for the night. Any damages and I'm sure my employer will compensate them," She flashed her NATO ID card, and the Donna sighed, closing her magazine. She looked at the computer monitor in front of her, clicking through something the four of them couldn't see from their position in front of the counter. She took a drag from her cigarette, inhaling it, pausing, before exhaling right into Cassandra's face again. The librarian suppressed a cough, wafting her hand in front of her face to dissipate the cloud in front of her.
"You got lucky: some family didn't check in to the rooms they reserved." Donna swivelled in her desk chair, pulling two keys off the hooks behind her. "You're in rooms 104 and 107,"
Baird reached for the keys, but Donna quickly pulled back her hand. "Rooms are thirty per person per night, upfront, cash only."
Of course they were.
Reluctant, but ultimately far too tired to argue, Baird pulled out her wallet, rifling through the notes there. She slammed $120 on the counter, swiping the keys from Donna's now open palm, and lead the three librarians out of the reception through a hallway signposted 'rooms 100-109'
104 and 107 sat across from one another - a small comfort knowing that if anything happened, they'd at least all be close by one another - but when they opened the doors, the four were met with a single double bed in the centre of the back wall of each room.
"Looks like we're bunking it tonight. Cassandra, you're with me in 104, boys, you take 107," Baird said, handing the key to the room to Stone, who took it without question
Exhausted, the four of them split into their assigned twos, saying their goodnights in the hallway before shutting the doors behind them.
Stone threw his bag down to the side of the bed nearest the door, a habit formed from his occupation. The closer you are to a door, the closer you are to an escape route. Ezekiel took the side nearest the window with no hint of complaint, likely for the same exact reason. The two kicked off their shoes, shedding their clothes in the summer heat, leaving only their boxers. A fan sat on the table opposite their bed, lazily wafting from side to side, humming quietly in their exhausted silence.
Kicking the sheets to the bottom of the bed, Stone collapsed onto the too-soft mattress whilst Ezekiel made his way to the bathroom to brush his teeth, returning shortly after and turning out the lamp. Navigating the room in the dark, Ezekiel stubbed his toe on the box of the bed, letting out a hiss of pain, collapsing onto his side of the bed as his pinkie toe throbbed angrily.
Too tired to turn the light on to check his toe, he shut his eyes and sighed, willing the sleep wash over him.
Any pinkie damage was Tomorrow Ezekiel's problem.