Chapter 21
NOAH
Two hours. It’s gotta be close to two hours of walking.
Rue whimpers as she walks, not having said more than two words since we started, and Bullet’s tiring faster than ever.
This place is the polar opposite of Moccasin Cove, where he can tromp and chase rabbits and then rest until he’s recovered.
He’s too old for this journey through the desert, and we’re too injured to carry him.
So, we slow down more. Rue stops to give him water. And I keep my head down every time a truck blares past at eighty miles per hour.
This is growing increasingly more frequent.
“Look,” Rue points as soon as the travel center comes into view, breathless. “We can probably stop there.”
“Yeah,” I say. “We’re probably about a mile out, but I don’t know what we do once we get there.” My voice is flat, mostly because I know of an answer, but it’s just as reckless as Rue’s idea to set the Pathfinder on fire.
“We could… Um…” Rue’s voice grows quiet, and I see the wheels turning in her head. “People hitchhike all the time… I could maybe find a phone, call my mom, and get a rental?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. If you were going to do that, you should’ve stayed at the SUV.”
“I don’t have a fucking phone, Noah,” she snaps at me. “You threw it out the window for no good reason.”
“It was impulsive, but I didn’t trust that we wouldn’t get ratted on,” I admit, raking a hand through my hair. My bad arm is aching horrifically beneath my hoodie, and the sweat has soaked through—but I can’t take it off. I can’t risk someone seeing the bullet wound.
“We wouldn’t know at this point,” Rue says blankly. “There’s no way to check.”
“The travel center will have cameras,” I think aloud. “I need to stay away from it.”
“Every fucking truck that’s passed us has probably had dash cams,” Rue’s voice is sharp, and I’d like to blame her fatigue and concussion, but also…
Yeah, this is a very shitty predicament.
Though still admittedly better than prison.
“I’ll look at the hours of the travel center,” Rue says, as we gain another tenth of a mile. “I know there’s a truck stop up ahead, but we won’t make it before daylight. Sometimes I’ve seen cars parked at the travel center overnight. Maybe we could hitch a ride.”
“That’s risky.”
“Well, if I can’t rent something, then what else are we supposed to do?” She peers up at me, confusion etched in her face.
My silence is an answer.
Her jaw drops. “We’re not stealing a car. I’m not fucking thief.”
“Right,” I scoff, “Just a murderer. Got it.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes but manage to keep them in place. I’m too fucking tired to deal with her reaction right now.
We fall into silence again, the sound of the soul-sucking sand and Bullet’s pants intermittently filling the quiet between the rushes of wind and the occasional semi.
We finish the final stretch, and as soon as we reach the travel center parking lot, we’re met with a row of four eighteen-wheelers, one beat-up white utility truck, and one silver minivan.
There are options… We could take the van.
I toy with the thought and stay off to the side, watching the van, as Rue reads off the hours for the travel center on a distant sign. I keep scanning the area around us. There’s nowhere to fucking hide.
Nowhere.
I tug my hoodie further over my head, my gut sinking.
“I think I need to use the bathroom,” Rue mumbles, and then points to the restroom, which is situated just on the other side of the security camera sign.
I take Bullet’s leash from her. “Go. Be fast. We can’t fucking camp out here. I have a bad feeling.”
She nods and then heads for the bathroom, leaving me at a sad patch of trees and sand. I watch her disappear, the door closing behind her. I keep my head down, trying to conjure up how the hell this will work out.
She’s going to be tracked here. With me. They’re going to know.
I rock back onto my heels, just as another vehicle pulls into the parking lot. An SUV with New Mexico plates parks, and a man, probably around my age, slides out and makes a beeline for the bathroom.
The car is still running.
Fuck. My heart jumps in my chest.
It’s so reckless. It’s a bad idea. But it’s the only idea I have right now.
And I can leave Rue here. At the Travel Center. She can get help.
I adjust the backpack, sling the duffle bag up further, and scoop the elderly dog up in my arms to drop off by the bathroom.
But just as I start forward, Rue reappears, her eyes jumping from me to the SUV I’m sprinting for. Her eyes narrow.
“No,” she snaps at me, but it’s too fucking late.
I try the driver’s side door, and it pops open. “I’m leaving.” I look over the top of the silver door to meet her eyes. “Either get the fuck in the car or stay the fuck here. Your choice.”
She glances back at the building and then back at me.
And dashes for the passenger door.