For a country whose capital city boasted a smaller population than the park Rusty'd grown up in, and that had only been built after a stiff wind knocked the first one flat, Belize was a surprisingly difficult place to get the hell out of.

"Girl says she's got no record of us ever entering the country, so she can't clear us to leave. You got any money?"

Danny was standing there, hands in his pockets, a flat expression on his face. He didn't answer.

"Fine," Rusty said. "Did you try Reuben?"

Danny didn't answer.

"What about Basher? He was supposed to be just across the border."

Danny didn't answer.

"Okay," Rusty said finally. "We'll do it your way," and he put his hands in his pockets, ready to wait.

Danny didn't answer.

"Okay," Rusty said again, after a while -- maybe ten minutes of people milling around them, getting tickets, checking luggage, disappearing onto crappy turbo-prop planes that Rusty wouldn't have trusted with his life, not that he would have to. He considered lodging a formal complaint with the government, or at least the local transit authority. "This was so, by far, the worst idea you've ever had."

"It was Reuben's idea," Danny said suddenly.

"You agreed to it," Rusty said.

"You stole the car."

"Yeah, and you wrecked it."

"That wasn't part of the plan."

"No shit, Danny." Rusty's shoulders slumped. "Come on," he said.

"Come on, what?"

Rusty looked at him. Danny's jaw was tight but his expression gentle, like he'd spent so much time gritting his teeth at Rusty that, now that he wasn't even pissed anymore, he couldn't make himself stop. Rusty grinned.

"We could start walking," he said.

 

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