"Sherry," I whispered, shaking her gently by the shoulder.
She came back slowly, reluctant, body heavy and warm against mine. Her head lifted from my chest with a soft inhale, brunette hair sticking to her cheek. She blinked, taking in the tangled mess of limbs across the back seat—May's leg still draped over my knees, her own thigh hooked between mine—and let out a quiet, raspy chuckle.
"Sorry," she murmured, voice thick with sleep. "Used you again."
"It's okay."
She studied my face for half a second, then followed my gaze out the window. The plain was sliding past us, dry grass and yellow sand moving steadily from front to back. Not us driving through it. It moving past us.
We both looked through the windshield at the same time. Then twisted to check the rear glass.
