Chapter 27 – Janelle
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Janelle
Rana drives the first two hours and after we hit up a Chick-Fil-A drive through and I eat a very satisfying chicken sandwich with mac and cheese for my side dish, we switch roles and it’s my turn in the driver’s seat for a while.
Driving feels liberating and this Mazda feels safe and peaceful compared to Zeb’s bike.
But I secretly miss the rush. Rana has to ask me to slow down three times, and I feel like it’s a sign that my journey with Zeb already changed me.
We have to stop for gas when we’re three hours east of the motel.
Rana gets out of the car to go use the bathroom inside and takes my coffee order so we can fuel up for more driving.
The further away we get from Zeb, the more tempted I feel to text him.
I’m surprised he hasn’t messaged me yet threatening my life or at least telling me what a huge bitch I am for disappearing without saying goodbye.
Shouldn’t I be happy that he’s respecting my wishes and letting me go?
I swipe Rana’s card and start pumping gas when I hear the very familiar sound of motorcycles.
Zeb… There are at least nine motorcycles approaching our rest stop, which is on the smallest state highway parallel to the old Route 66 tourist highway.
We’re specifically here to go undetected, so I quietly tell myself that these bikers have nothing to do with Zeb.
The closer they get, the more true that seems. The lead biker rides a huge, snarling Harley-Davidson with red-chrome metal and a sticker on the side that unsettles me immediately.
I know we’re in the South, but it’s still freaky to see confederate flags proudly displayed in these modern times.
I look at the screen as the number rises.
Gas hasn’t gone down at all since this new president took office, despite the bullshit promises more than half the country fell for.
The lead biker pulls his bike into the slot behind mine and my nerves heighten like before.
I knew there might be more men after Zeb, but it’s not exactly like motorcycle clubs are rare around this part of the country.
A second and third bike park next to the first guy, and I feel more uneasy about how easy it will be for me and Rana to get the Mazda-CX5 back on the highway without graceful maneuvering.
I casually remove the gas nozzle and put it back into its cradle on the pump, all while trying to keep at least one eye on the bikers.
When the guys swing their legs over the bikes, I’m calm at first. But one removes his helmet and I don’t know why, my instincts drive all the hairs along my arms and the back of my neck to stand up.
Run! A small voice screams at the back of my head, even if there’s nothing happening yet except one…
two… a few bikers taking their helmets off and…
Oh God…
Guns.
“Down on the ground,” a dark-haired man wearing a black cut snarls at me. I hear the gas station door opening up and Rana’s voice yelling… “HEY!”
The guy fires in her general direction – and all hell breaks loose from there.
I lunge for the weapon, even if it seems counterintuitive.
I don’t know why, I just assume that I can grab it.
My fingers curve around the metal and I nearly scream with enthusiastic victory before even prying the weapon away from the man’s hands completely.
I don’t even think. I pull the trigger and I can tell from his eyes that I killed him.
It’s not like I haven’t done it before. I hear Rana screaming and everything else happens in a blur.
I shove my way past the guy’s body as he collapses to the ground and my body instinctively climbs over the back of this man’s motorcycle.
The keys are still in the ignition. I look over my shoulder and I see Rana reach for the door handle of her car.
She’s going to be fine. You can’t look back, Janelle.
You can get Zeb and find her, but you can’t look back.
I can barely control the motorcycle, but some part of my brain kicks in and I just have to do it.
The other bikers are reaching for either weapons or keys.
I don’t stick around long enough to find out.
I hear engines revving, but I can’t tell if I hear any bullets – the engine of the bike I’m stealing is way too loud.
Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself.
I didn’t think I would know how to ride one, but there’s so much adrenaline connecting every synapse in my brain that the bike moves.
The roar of the engine protects me from the nervousness I would feel otherwise, drowning out the sound of what the other bikers are doing.
I just have to escape – I have no other choice.
There are eight men back there either ready to kill me or chase me down and finish the job afterwards.
I try not to scream. I turn the bike onto the highway and zoom away.
I hear more engines behind me. Please, Rana.
Please, get away from them. I look over my shoulder, but the sun glare nearly blinds me.
Fuck. I can’t look back. I just have to ride and hope that whenever I stop this stupid bike I can text Rana and we meet up.
I’m not convinced that I lost the pair of bikers chasing me for another hour.
I pull over at a gas station and text Rana before sneaking into the all-gender bathroom at the gas station to lock the door and watch a YouTube video about how to use the gun I just stole from the guy who looked like the ringleader of the whole thing.
It’s a 9mm black polymer handgun, which is enough for me to figure out how to unload it and turn the safety on.
It’s probably a Glock, but it doesn’t look exactly like the weapons Zeb made me handle.
Still, I’m lucky that this isn’t the first time I’ve seen one of these.
Once I unload the ammunition, I stick it in my pocket and text Rana again.
No response. I don’t like what that means, but I’m beginning to accept the truth – Rana’s gone. I don’t know if she’s dead or if the bikers who ran up on us just kidnapped her, but either way, I’m terrified, despondent, and have no money except for what’s in my wallet from Rana for the road.
I don’t know where to go without her and Rana came all the way West for me.
I can’t abandon her. I open up my messaging app to text Zeb – one last effort to reach out.
But before the message is sent, my phone dies in my hands.
I watch that little bar get halfway there before the screen goes black.
The tightness in my chest nearly yields to a loud, aggressive scream.
I’m so fucked.