Article 5 (27 page)

He ended it too soon, kissing me once more on the temple. Then we were gently pulling open the door, tempering the urge to rip it back off its hinges. I couldn’t believe I was preparing to escape without him. He’d have no money, no supplies. Everything within me told me this was wrong.

He’ll follow,
I told myself.
If he can.

I crept into the hallway, Chase right behind me. I would have to pass the living room to get out through the back door. Patrick was likely back on the couch, maybe with a weapon, reading. Watching. The lights would be on, damn the generator. He would see everything.

I passed the basement door and wanted suddenly to kick it as hard as I could. Had she been the one to call this Billings? Or was it Patrick? Yes, probably him. He could have done it while Chase and I cleaned up for dinner. All this, after we’d saved their child.

Chase passed me, his thumb grazing over my lips once more in the darkness. His good-bye, I knew, and felt the touch shoot straight through my core.

He walked into the living room, and I heard Patrick scramble up suddenly.

“Don’t get up,” Chase said in a low voice. “I was just going to grab a glass of water if it’s all right.”

“Sure. Here, let me,” Patrick offered. I caught one more sight of Chase’s back as he disappeared into the kitchen, and I prayed that it would not be the last. I snuck through the foyer, back toward the laundry room, but paused once my feet hit the linoleum.

If I opened the door, they’d be able to hear it from the kitchen. Chase knew this. He wasn’t going to let Patrick follow me. What that would entail, I didn’t know.

I listened briefly to the sound of water in the sink and muffled conversation. Every nerve within me felt live and raw. I gripped the door handle until my knuckles went white and it rattled under my grasp. The next time I heard voices, they were coming from was the living room.

Why isn’t he running?

But I knew: He was giving me time. He hadn’t heard me open the back door yet. I cursed him under my breath.

I gathered every ounce of courage within me, and raced around the corner, entering the kitchen from the opposite side. The lights were on, blinding my eyes, but the room was empty. I went straight for the fridge, grabbing all the keys from the black ceramic bowl beside it, and returned to the back door.

I opened the door as quietly as I could and bolted outside on numb legs. The freezing air slapped against my face, stealing my breath. I ran for the only thing I thought might help.

The generator. Just outside the kitchen window. Maybe if I could turn off the lights I could give Chase a chance to get out.

I slammed on the brakes in front of the humming metal box, searching desperately through the darkness for the switch. I didn’t have time to get the flashlight out. Every second mattered now.

In my silence I heard another sound break through the night and froze. Footsteps. They were far off; I thought for a moment it might even be the cows in the field. My spine went rigid when I heard low human voices, when the footsteps drew closer.

It couldn’t be Patrick and Chase: They were inside, as were Mary Jane and Ronnie. This had to be Billings.

I listened as hard as I could, but the noise from the generator blocked me from picking anything up. There were definitely men arriving at the house, but how had they gotten here? I hadn’t heard a car approaching.

It didn’t matter. Chase was still inside.

I felt down the serrated metal sides of the power source in a panic. Something burned my hand, and I bit back a cry. Finally I found the switch, flipped the protective sheath back, and shut down the machine.

My ears rang in the sudden presence of silence. The kitchen window above me went black.

There was a great deal of commotion from the darkness inside, and with the fear taking over, I ran blindly. I stumbled over the rocks and raised patches of grass. The moonlight cast an ethereal silver glow over the pasture, and I felt the dull eyes of the cows in the field upon me.

I didn’t go to the woods. I ran toward the barn. I had the keys. I might be able to get the gun and then find Chase and … I couldn’t think any farther ahead than that. I was just pulling open the huge wooden door when I heard someone behind me.

No!

I spun toward the house but was unable to see in the darkness. Crouching into the shadows, I held my breath, knowing whoever had followed might not see me in the faint light if I didn’t move, but if I ran, they could track the sound.

The steps didn’t stop, and a great shadow blocked the moon. Then strong arms lifted me bodily from the ground and hauled me inside the barn. I opened my mouth to scream, and one large hand clamped down over it.

Chase.

I sobbed for joy when I realized it was him. He didn’t speak. He set me down once inside and ran to the back, looking for the rear exit. It was locked and chained. He kicked it, and the wood splintered. He kicked it again, and the chain fell to the ground.
Too much noise!

“Keys!” I whisper-shouted, and revealed to him everything that I had stuffed into my denim pockets.

He searched through them briefly. I thought he was looking for the key to the gun cabinet, but he wasn’t. He let the remaining rings fall to the ground with a clatter and heaved me toward the motorcycle.

An instant later I was mounted behind him. He turned the key and squeezed the clutch with his left hand. The bike hummed softly, but did not yet growl like I knew it would.

I did not hesitate like I had a year ago. I slid close behind him, fit my knees into the backs of his, and wrapped my arms tightly around his body. I couldn’t hear anyone following yet.

“Keep your head down,” he ordered. “And hold on.”

I nodded, my cheek pressed hard into his back.

We pushed out the back door of the barn, which faced the woods. Chase steered right, walking the bike toward the far side of the darkened house. My heart thumped through my chest into Chase’s ribs. We were almost there. Almost to the driveway.

Finally, we could see down the gravel path curving toward the main road. Two cars were parked on the street, but both were empty. They’d left them there in order to surprise us.

A knife of fear punctured my lungs, and I could barely breathe. Not just cars. FBR cruisers.

Billings was a soldier. The FBR bought the Loftons’ cattle.

The government owned most of the major food-distribution plants now. Horizons had bought out all the big brand names during the War. Of course Patrick would sell beef to them.

Chase grabbed my hand on his chest, squeezed it tightly, and rammed his foot down on the pedal. An explosion of growls filled the air. The sound would definitely be heard within the house.

I gritted my teeth and held on.

We hit the road in a spray of gravel. I don’t know if Patrick and the soldiers came outside. I didn’t look back.

We didn’t stop until we reached the road. It took Chase less than thirty seconds to swing his leg over the front of the bike, jump off, and puncture the tires on both vehicles before we were off again.

*   *   *

WE
rode toward a town called Hinton; I saw the name dimly shimmer on a green metallic road sign and felt the crushing blow of defeat as we passed the exit to Lewisburg. We had to. The Loftons would have told the MM they’d planned on taking us there.

We were going to miss the carrier.

As the adrenaline wore off, I began to tremble, though I didn’t know if it was from the freezing air clawing through my clothing, or from the fear.

We were out on a road after curfew with only the occasional flash of the headlight to guide us. The rumbling of the motor screamed in my ears, calling out our location to anyone nearby. I could feel Chase concentrating hard, trying to maintain a rushed pace, but swerving to avoid the debris from the woods that popped up in our path.

I pinched my eyes closed. The Loftons had reported us. Even after we’d saved their son.
Don’t trust anyone,
Chase had said. He was right.

How long did we have before the MM pursued? They had certainly already called in for backup. If we were lucky, we’d bought ourselves some decent lead time by slashing the tires. If we were really lucky, whoever came next would follow the lead to Lewisburg. Was it worth the hope?

The darkness unsettled me. I imagined eyes all around, watching us from the roadside. Each time Chase twitched, seeing a new obstacle in the road, I jumped.

We drove for the longest half hour of my life, finally passing a sign indicating that Hinton was only eight miles farther. Chase helped me off into a shadowed ditch on the side of the road and drove the bike straight into the bushes. We buried it silently and efficiently beneath the brush and pine needles and covered our tracks. Then we disappeared once again into the woods. I couldn’t help but feel fortunate we’d survived this long. Then again, there was still time before sunup.

Chase had taken the backpack and was creeping ahead of me, parallel to the road. The sickle moon barely provided enough light to guide our way.

And then I heard the sirens.

CHAPTER

12

MY
hand was in Chase’s, and he was pulling, then I was pulling, and we were running, dragging each other farther away from the road, where the woods became so thick that even the moonlight couldn’t reach us. The dry leaves crackled beneath our boots; branches clawed against our clothing and scratched burning lines into our exposed skin. I tripped, but before I had the chance to pick myself up, Chase had already righted me.

They were getting closer.

My heart was pounding, and even in the cold March air, a line of sweat dewed at my hairline. The throbbing
whir
of the sirens penetrated the barrier of trees and pierced through the breath that crashed in my eardrums. Blue lights flashed in streaks through the tall, black shadows.

Closer.

“Stop!” I yanked Chase down behind an enormous tree trunk, broken by some long-ago storm and now covered with ivy and brambles. He crouched beside me, still and silent, immediately camouflaged by darkness.

They came speeding up the road, silencing the insects and animals with their sirens. I was too petrified to move.

Don’t stop don’t stop don’t stop.

They blared past. One. Two. Three cruisers. Heading toward the Loftons’.

And then we were alone in the woods.

Chase released an unsteady breath, reminding me that I hadn’t done so in some time.

On trembling legs, we hiked again, all the way until we reached the edge of Hinton. It was a slow grind: Neither of us was willing to get any closer to the road, but the path we carved thirty yards inland was pitch black on account of the thick woods. My body became gradually more exhausted
—
a combination of an adrenaline crash and a sleepless night
—
but my mind was wound as tightly as a copper coil.

Finally, still well before dawn, we reached the edge of a parking lot, dusted with the trash that overflowed the scattered cans. Across the way I could vaguely make out a stucco strip mall. It was deserted; most of the glass shop fronts were covered with graffiti, but otherwise it seemed safe. No FBR patrol cars. No gangs.

There were four cars in the lot. All of them looked abandoned.

“Can you hotwire any of those?” I asked immediately.

Chase snorted. “We’ll wait until closer to dawn. We can’t drive now, and I don’t want to be pinned out in the open if the MM show up.”

I nodded in grudging agreement. There were still several hours until sunrise.

Far to our left was a great hulking shadow. An old, rusted semitruck bed without the cab. I didn’t like how it blocked the woods behind it. It made me feel too exposed, which reminded me that we shouldn’t have still been out in the open. That we should have been with my mother by now. I twisted my heel into the soil.

“Hey, forget about Lewisburg,” Chase said, not unkindly. “I said I’d get you to the safe house, and I will. I promise.”

Tears I didn’t know had gathered spilled down my cheeks.
How?
I wanted to scream.
How will we get there? How can you promise that? You don’t even know the way!
But I knew he didn’t have answers, and asking him would only make us both feel worse. I grabbed for the bag, searching through the darkness for the zipper, and covertly wiped my eyes.

The other clothes we’d stolen from the sporting goods store were near the top. They were still damp from the weather and would be bitingly uncomfortable in the low temperature, but it didn’t matter. We had to change. I handed Chase another flannel, wishing we could ditch our jackets, but it was too cold.

“What happened back at the house?” I asked, after the knot in my throat had gone down. As quickly as I could, I stripped down to my thermal and replaced my sweater with the pink fleece I’d picked up for my mother. The instant the coat was back on, my chin was tucked inside the neck, stifling the cold air that had been needling my face.

“Patrick rode my heels like a lapdog,” answered Chase. “I was trying to pull him away from the back of the house, maybe get him down in the basement with his wife. That’s when the guys he called busted through the front door. Billings, I guess, and three others. I got one good hit in before—”

“You
hit
a soldier?” I squeaked. This could mean terrible consequences if we were caught.

“Didn’t see too many other options,” he said. I heard him change shirts and grunt as the fabric scraped the wound on his arm. “One of them said, ‘It’s him,’ and reached for his weapon. That bastard and his wife must have known it was us before the news report.”

I nodded but then realized he couldn’t see me. “They thought they’d get a reward,” I said aloud.
We got a thousand dollars for the last soldier,
Patrick had said.
Who knows? Maybe they’ll kick in a bonus for the girl.
Knowing our lives had a price tag, one that could keep a family housed and fed, made me nauseous.