The Bones Beneath My Skin

THEY HAD another close call in Wahpeton, North Dakota, two days later. A cop had followed them for a couple of miles just outside of town on a straight stretch of road. Just when they thought they were about to get pulled over again, the cop turned off in another direction.

Nate had breathed out a sigh of relief, unclenching his hands, his fingernails leaving marks on his palms.

Alex hadn’t spoken much for the rest of the day.

They headed south, and Nate knew they were floundering. From what he’d gathered in the bits and pieces he’d managed to get from Alex, the plan had only extended so far as to get Art away from the Mountain as quickly as possible. They’d initially meant to go farther than they had, but Alex had been gutshot and they couldn’t even be sure he’d survive, much less that Art could heal him enough for him to move. They’d found the cabin by a sheer stroke of luck. Nate thought the car they’d been in was at the bottom of Herschel Lake, though he didn’t ask.