Chapter Seven
Go. Go. Go. Faster. Faster.
She pedaled on the shoulder of the interstate like the demons of hell were at her back, because they were. She’d lain under the pickup for hours, afraid of exposing herself if she moved.
A guardian angel must have been sitting on her shoulder, whispering for her to wait. As the shadow of dusk spread over the city, Caleb and Zack returned, stopping beside the truck. She could see their sneakers. Then a set of mid-calf boots joined them.
She took shallow breaths, hardly daring to breathe.
“We couldn’t find her,” Caleb said.
“It’s getting too dark to see,” Zack added.
“That is not my problem,” the Progg spoke. “That is your problem. Deliver her to me by morning.”
“She could be long gone,” Caleb said. “We delivered four others—five counting Sandy. Isn’t that good enough?”
“Do it once. Do it right,” the Progg said.
“We did do it right. We brought Chloe to you. You’re the one who missed the shot,” Caleb said.
Zzzz. Ka-clank. A medallion clattered on the sidewalk.
He vaporized Caleb!
The alien scooped up the medallion. “Don’t think this will protect you from me,” he threatened Zack. “If you do not bring me the human female by morning, I’ll take your life instead. You can’t hide. I’ll find you wherever you go.”
The Progg marched away, his footfalls fading into the night.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” Zack swore. “Goddammit. Oh, Sandy. Goddammit!” He stomped his feet. “And fuck you, you stupid bitch, wherever you are! I’m going to find you!” He strode away, still cursing.
Fuck you back, Zack.
No wonder the trio had been so aloof. Why get close to someone you’d marked for death?
They’d taken her in for the purpose of sacrificing her.
The lack of engagement, the contradictions, the lies, the matching medallions, the complacency made sense now.
Well, three had been reduced to one. You sleep with the devil, you’re likely to get the pitchfork.
Amazingly, she’d survived, but Zack would be supermotivated to hunt her down.
I have to get out of St. Louis. Zack will search all night—he has to, or the Progg will kill him like he did Caleb. No doubt the matching wrist scars resulted from the implantation of a tracking device. Caleb had had one, too, she’d noticed on the way to the mattress shop.
After the footsteps faded away, she slowly counted to six hundred, putting a ten-minute gap between her and Zack, and then scooted out from under the truck.
She could barely see two feet in front of her face.
Until the lights had gone out everywhere, she’d never realized how dark night could be.
There had always been streetlights, stoplights, automobile headlights, neon signs, lamps in windows.
Nor had she appreciated how much illumination a full moon provided.
During the blackout of a new moon with only the faintest twinkle of stars in the sky, it was darker than dark.
A plus: Zack would have trouble spotting her.
A minus: She’d have a hard time seeing him, too.
Another minus: How would she find her way out of the city?
One plus, two minuses. I’ve faced worse.
Arms outstretched, using the cars as a guide, she scurried down the street. Taking the time to get a bike scared her to death, but the faster she vacated the area, the better. Would Zack remember her interest in the shop and stake it out? Or had he and Caleb gone there first?
She had to roll the dice Zack had been there already or hadn’t considered it at all.
At the corner, before turning, she flattened against a building and scanned the area for movement.
Not seeing any, she darted across the street and then proceeded along the sidewalk sticking close to the buildings.
It was so dark, she feared she could walk right past the bike shop, and a moment later, she almost plowed into the car jutting out of the cupcake place.
I’m getting close. Finally, she spotted a bike-like shape in a storefront. She went inside, squeezed the tires of the first bike to ensure they were inflated, then wheeled the bicycle outside, hopped on, and rode away.
Everything the trio had told her was now suspect, but if she afforded a shred of credence to Zack and Sandy’s assertion, the Progg were camped at the Gateway Arch. Since the Arch was roughly north of her location, south was the obvious way to go.
Fast and furiously, she pedaled. She spotted an interstate on-ramp, and, hoping she was heading the right way because she couldn’t read the signs, she veered onto it.
Hulking car shapes blocked the interstate, but the shoulder was mostly clear.
She’d ride until morning light or her legs gave out.
She wished she could log a hundred miles but doubted she had the endurance.
It took athletes in peak condition about six and a half hours to complete the 112-mile cycling portion of the Ironman competition.
She was no tiptop athlete, just an average woman operating on terror and adrenalin.
Fifty, seventy-five miles maybe? Hopefully?
The bike she’d grabbed was a single-speed cruiser.
It would be hard pedaling going uphill, but she hadn’t come to any yet.
It had a bike rack over the rear tire for carrying stuff, not that she had anything.
All her worldly possessions and supplies had been left at the trio’s house—her backpack, food, water, clothes, and her phone with pictures of her family.
Tears blurred her vision. I’ll never see my mom’s face again.
The bike wobbled as she wiped at her tears.
Pay attention! For god’s sake, don’t crash.
One fall had been bad enough—she’d skinned her knees and elbows.
Her knees weren’t too bad—her jeans had mostly protected them.
But her exposed elbows and palms had taken the brunt.
She’d left a bit of skin on the roadway.
When she got a chance, she’d pick up some disinfectant, although it might be too late to do any good.
She couldn’t remember when her last tetanus shot had been.
However, falling had saved her life—putting her on the ground, behind a truck, out of sight. If she’d been standing, she would have been vaporized.
Maybe my guardian angel pushed me! “Duck, you idiot!”
If she had a guardian angel, she worked only part-time. A full-time, dedicated supernatural protector would have prevented the encounter with the trio at the grocery store to begin with, and for sure would have stopped her from going home with them!
She didn’t believe in guardian angels.
Then again, she didn’t used to believe in aliens, either.
Her speed flagged as her sore knees fatigued.
Pedal, pedal. Don’t slow down. She boosted her energy by picturing the Progg.
God, he was ugly. She shuddered. He’d looked robotic, his skin as silver and shiny as the chrome on a bumper.
He’d been mostly bald, with only a strip of bristles running from crown to nape.
Soulless eyes. A brutal face devoid of humanity.
Duh. He’s not human. He’s an inhuman killing machine.
He wasn’t the only one devoid of humanity. With a surge of loathing, she remembered the trio. Was she wrong to rejoice in Caleb’s and Sandy’s deaths? Zack, the traitorous scum, had had some genuine feelings for Sandy. I hope he suffers right up until the Progg zaps him.
She would rather die than join up with a Progg.
Fueled by anger, she pedaled faster into the night.