Chapter 24
I barely sleep at all, so I’m already alert when the night matron wakes us up while it’s still dark to start our morning compost duties.
If I believed in a god, I’d suspect he was blessing our endeavors this morning. There’s a thick fog in the air as we step out of the Training House.
That will help.
It might actually make the difference.
Hauling compost really is a vile and difficult job, and it takes a long time.
We have to shovel up various piles of refuse from different buildings, filling up two large bins and hauling them behind us.
It takes a couple of hours to fill them up, and we can’t skip or rush for fear of alerting the guard who’s escorting us.
He doesn’t say anything other than a few brief orders, directing us to the piles and telling Burgundy to keep up when she falls behind.
I try not to look at his face. I don’t want the mental image of him to stick.
Pretty soon I’m going to have to kill him.
By the time we’ve filled our cans, the sun has fully risen, casting bleak light into the fog. Our escort leads us out the back gate and toward an enormous compost pile not far from the wall that surrounds the compound.
No wonder they keep it outside the walls.
It smells like shit.
It’s still foggy. I can barely see the guards who are stationed at the gate.
I release my big bin and crouch down quickly. “Ouch! I twisted my ankle.”
My knife holster is at my right ankle this morning, still kept out of sight by the long sack of a dress.
“Oh come on, girl, stop whining,” the escort says, sounding tired and impatient. He comes over to pull me back up to my feet. “You’re fine.”
As soon as he starts leaning over, I pop to my feet like a jack-in-the-box. Knife in hand, I plunge it into the side of his neck, aiming as carefully as I can in an attempt to get to his carotid artery.
It works. He makes a weird choked sound as he collapses to the ground. He jerks a couple of times and then nothing.
He’s dead in only a few seconds.
I feel sick, but that can’t matter now. I take my knife back and meet Burgundy’s eyes as she leans over to grab the guard’s gun. Then we take off in a sprint. The fog is thick enough that the compound is completely out of sight in only ten or fifteen seconds.
We’re halfway up the hill before we hear any shouts from the guards at the gate. Pretty soon we’ve reached the spot where I left my rifle and binoculars. They’re still there, hidden by the tall grass. I grab them, and we keep running.
If we can reach the place where I hid the motorcycle without being caught, we might actually make it.
My lungs and thigh muscles are burning as we push our way through tree limbs and underbrush. I really wish I was in my jeans and not this ridiculous dress. Burgundy is right behind me, running hard and keeping silent. I’ve been impressed by her at every step.
She’s a good partner to have for an escape.
Before I believe it’s possible, we’ve reached the motorcycle. We clear off the brush I used to hide it and pull it back into position on the overgrown trail.
“Do you want to shoot or drive?” I ask.
She doesn’t hesitate. “Drive.”
I let her get on first and then straddle the seat behind her. We both have to hike our skirts up to our hips to make it work. Then she starts the engine and accelerates, dirt flying up from the spinning of the wheels.
“Have we done it?” she asks as she drives us through the trees and onto the road.
“I think maybe we have.”
I can’t believe we managed it without incident, but we’re driving now. We can outpace anyone chasing us.
Maybe we really have gotten away from that nightmare compound.
We drive down the hill on the trail until we reach the road that heads north along the river. The sun is well up from the horizon now. It’s a couple of hours after dawn but still foggy.
Because we don’t have a very clear view into the distance, we’re not ready when the road straightens from its tight curve around the bend of the river to see a vehicle directly in front of us.
It’s a pickup truck. I see that much before the motorcycle starts skidding as Burgundy tries to veer out of the way of the truck.
Both vehicles are going too fast to make the maneuver easily. The truck cuts into a ditch on the side of the road, and the motorcycle almost topples. I jump off to keep from falling.
“Sorry about that,” one of the men calls out from the driver’s side window. “You girls okay?”
“We’re fine,” I say as Burgundy manages to straighten up the motorcycle. “Thanks.”
“Where are you girls from? You shouldn’t be out on your own this way. Come with us, and we’ll take you to safety. We’re from that big compound not far from here. We’re coming back from a mission and heading there now.”
Shit. They’re Holy Rollers. That’s all we need.
“We’re fine,” I say again, hurrying back to hike up my skirt and straddle the motorcycle seat behind Burgundy again. My rifle is strapped to my back, so I discreetly pull out the guard’s gun from the small saddlebag where we put it. “Thanks though. We sure appreciate the offer.”
The driver must have really looked at us for the first time. “Wait, where are you from?” He’s eyeing our sack dresses. They’re really quite distinct.
“We’re headed home,” I say. “Thank you!”
“Wait, wait!” It’s a different voice. From the passenger seat of the truck. The man leans over to peer out the driver’s window. “Who is that?”
I know that voice.
I know it.
I suck in a gasp, my whole body tightening.
Jesse.
Jesse!
He didn’t go with the group that broke off from the militia to join the drove like I always assumed.
He joined the Holy Rollers.
Of course he did.
I see his face when he recognizes me.
“You know her?” the first guy asks.
I give my head a quick shake, hoping that any affection Jesse ever had for me will get him to hold his tongue right now.
But he was always a disappointment back then, and he’s still one today.
“Yes, I know her,” Jesse says, sounding surprised and indignant. “That’s my wife!”
“Go,” I mumble to Burgundy. “Drive. Now!”
She does so as the driver calls out, “Wait! Stop!”
I turn back and, with the guard’s gun, shoot out the truck’s tires. One. Two. And even a third before we’re out of range.
An exhale bursts out of me, half sigh and half sob. Damn it all to hell. Just my luck.
Jesse. In exactly the wrong place.
“Good job with those tires. Was that really your husband?” Burgundy asks as she drives. She’s very good on the motorcycle. Better than me.
“He’s not my husband anymore.”
“But he’s a Holy Roller now, I guess. And any woman they claim is theirs for perpetuity. Thank God we got away.”
I gulp. “For now.”
“What do you mean? They can’t follow with blown tires, and by the time they gather reinforcements, we’ll be long gone.”
“But Jesse knows where I live.”
Shit.
Damn, damn, damn, damn.
That’s my home. My camper in its own spot in the woods. Gone for good.
It will never be safe again. Not if Jesse knows where he can find me.
“Oh no.”
“Maybe he won’t come after me.”
“Of course he will. He’ll have to. There will be too much pressure from the other men. If you’re his wife—even if it’s just in his own head—he’ll have to come. And he’ll probably bring others to help.”
It’s a horrible thought, and it’s too much to fully process. “We need to go there anyway. That’s where Micah and my dog are waiting.”
“Then we’ll head there first. Then we can go to Logan. He’s the only one who’ll be able to help you.”
“Why would he help me? He doesn’t even know me.”
“He’ll owe you. For rescuing me. He’ll help, Kat. I promise. You’re not going to lose your home because you got me out of that place. I promise.”
She clearly believes this is true, and I want to believe it too.
But life has never been good to me, and I don’t really know if I do.