Chapter 28
RUE
The darkness inside the storage compartment is absolute, pressing against my eyes like a physical weight. And while I’ve never considered myself claustrophobic…
I sure as hell am now.
I huddle on my hands and knees on the ribbed metal floor, my back bowed to keep from hitting the low fiberglass ceiling. The space smells intensely of mildew, dust, and the stale nylon of folded canvas camping chairs.
It feels like there’s not enough oxygen. But I try not to think about that.
Beside me, Noah is folded into an impossibly small shape, his knees pulled to his chest. Even in the pitch black, I can hear the rigid catch in his breathing—the sound of him gritting his teeth as the cramped position pulls painfully at the fresh stitches in his arm.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
The sound of heavy boots on the gravel outside is so close it feels like they are stepping directly on my spine.
I press my hand over Bullet’s snout, terrified the dog will let out a whine. My heart hammers violently against my ribs, the sound deafening in the tiny metal box.
“Check between the axles,” a gruff voice commands, sounding like it’s barely three feet away.
A blinding silver of white light slices through the thin crack of the compartment door. It sweeps across the dark space, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air and casting a harsh, pale line across Noah’s jaw. He doesn't even blink, his eyes locked on the door hinge, entirely motionless.
A police radio crackles loudly, the static sharp enough to make me flinch. “Perimeter secured. No sign of the suspects around the SUV.”
“Copy that,” the cop right outside our door mutters. The beam of the flashlight flickers away from the crack.
I let out a fraction of a breath, thinking he is about to walk away. But then, a new set of heavier, more relaxed footsteps crunches on the gravel approaching the RV.
“Whoa, hold it right there,” the cop barks, the sudden authority in his voice making me jump. “Keep your hands where I can see—” The cop stops abruptly. “Bill? Is that you?”
“Hey, Jimmy,” an older man's voice answers, sounding completely bewildered. “What in the heck is going on? I almost spilled my coffee walking out of the diner. You guys look like you're setting up for a parade.”
“Sorry about that. Didn't realize this was your rig,” the cop—Jimmy—says, his tone instantly shifting from authoritative to friendly. “We got a hot one. A stolen SUV was dumped right over there in the trucker lane. Suspects bailed. We’re setting up a perimeter and sweeping the lot. They’re still working to get the camera footage, but the victim said there was a man in a black hoodie. Maybe had a dog with him.”
My stomach plummets. I press my forehead against the cold floor, squeezing my eyes shut. They’re standing right outside our thin fiberglass door. If Bullet makes a single sound, we are dead.
“Well, I hardly ever hear of anything like that around here,” Bill says. “I didn’t see anyone run past the diner. You think they’re still in the lot?”
“Probably hiding between the big rigs. You just getting back from the lake?”
“Yeah, headed home to wash the sheets and repack,” Bill chuckles warmly. “Taking the scouts up to Palo Duro Canyon next weekend. Figured I’d grab a bite here before I made the final push home.”
“Well, you need to be careful,” Jimmy warns him. “These carjackers could be desperate. Are your doors all locked up?”
The silence that follows lasts for maybe two seconds, but it feels like an eternity. In the dark, Noah shifts slightly. I feel his good hand brush against my hip as he reaches toward the latch of our compartment, his muscles coiling tight. If Bill says no, if Bill reaches for the handle to check…
What are we going to do?
“Nah, I keep ‘em locked up tight,” Bill says confidently. “Nobody is getting into my rig without a crowbar. I made sure of it before I walked inside.”
Not good enough, Bill.
“Good,” Jimmy sighs. “I'd ask to pop it open just to be thorough, but if you’re locked up, I don’t want to hold you up. Just get in your truck and get on the road. It’s not safe for you to be hanging around the lot right now. We don’t know what kind of fella this is.”
“You don’t have to tell me twice,” Bill chuckles. “You boys stay safe out here.”
“Will do. See you around, Bill.”
The crunch of the cop’s boots finally recedes, fading into the distant, chaotic wash of the police sirens still wailing near the front of the truck stop.
Right outside our door, Bill’s heavy boots shuffle toward the front of the massive RV. A truck door opens, and a heavy set of keys jingles.
Clunk. The heavy door slams shut.
A few seconds later, the deafening roar of a heavy-duty diesel engine violently shakes the metal walls of our compartment.
“Noah,” I whisper, the panic rising in my throat as the vibrations travel straight into my bones.
“Hold on,” he answers, his hand finding my shoulder in the dark.
The RV lurches forward. My head knocks against the canvas chairs as the suspension dips and sways. The tires crunch over the gravel in the parking lot, picking up speed as Bill navigates away from the swarming police presence and back toward the highway.
I guess this is one way to get out of here.
And we are entirely at the mercy of wherever this stranger named Bill is taking us.