Chapter 29
NOAH
Fuck, this is bad. But also…
It’s better than being stuck trying to hide at a gas station swarmed with cops.
So maybe, we’re actually really lucky. Or maybe we’re just trading one metal coffin for another. I don’t know.
The vibration of the RV’s heavy-duty suspension rattles my teeth, the loud, rhythmic hum of the tires on the asphalt drowning out everything else. Pitch black doesn’t even begin to describe the darkness inside this storage bay. It’s an absolute, miserably small void.
And I fucking hate it. My chest feels tight with anxiety.
I shift slightly, trying to relieve the pressure on my left arm, but there’s nowhere to go.
My six-foot-three frame is folded like a cheap lawn chair.
My knees are practically pressed against my collarbone, and the metal latch of the door is digging a permanent bruise into my spine.
Every time the RV hits a seam in the highway, my head bumps against the low fiberglass ceiling, sending a fresh wave of exhaustion through my system.
“Noah,” Rue whispers, her voice trembling in the dark.
“I’m here with you,” I answer immediately, my hand blindly searching the space between us until my fingers brush against her knee.
She lets out a shaky breath and closes the remaining distance. In the cramped space, she has no choice but to practically crawl into my lap. I pull her flush against me with my good arm, tucking her head beneath my chin.
Bullet whines from somewhere near our feet, the dog shifting restlessly against the canvas camping chairs.
“It’s so dark,” Rue breathes into my shirt, her fingers clutching the fabric of my hoodie. I can feel her heart hammering against my ribs, frantic and irregular. The claustrophobia is getting to her.
Me, too. But I swallow it. For her sake.
“Close your eyes,” I tell her, my voice soft. “It tricks your brain. If your eyes are closed, you aren’t trapped in the dark… You’re just resting.”
She nods against my chest, but her grip on my shirt still tightens. “Do you think he’s going back east?”
“I don't know,” I admit, keeping my tone as level as possible. “We’re on a highway. That's all I can tell. But we aren’t getting out while we’re moving at sixty-five miles an hour, so it doesn’t matter right now.”
“What if he drives for hours?”
“Then we ride for hours.” I bury my nose in the top of her head, breathing in the scent of her vanilla shampoo mixed with the stale, dusty air of the compartment. “As soon as he stops and cuts the engine, we make a break for it… maybe.”
She sighs, nodding but not saying anything.
We sit in silence for a long time, the miles rolling away beneath us. The adrenaline from the near-miss with the Highway Patrol slowly bleeds out of my system, replaced by the acute, agonizing reality of our proximity.
I’m holding the woman I’ve spent the last ten years trying to reconcile the past with. She’s the woman who sent me to hell. But now…
I can’t let go of her for other reasons.
The heat of her body seeps through our clothes, warming the chill of the desert night.
Every time the RV sways, her hips press against mine, a brutal reminder of what we did in the stolen SUV just a few hours ago.
My body reacts instinctively, betraying the cold, detached act I’ve been trying to force on her.
“Noah?” she murmurs, her voice softer now, the panic giving way to sheer exhaustion.
“Hmm, baby?” The pet name slips out before I can stop it.
She shifts, tilting her head up in the dark. I can’t see her eyes, but I can feel the ghost of her breath against my jaw. “What do you think happens next?”
The question hangs in the cramped, dusty air.
The temptation to lie eats away at me. I want to tell her that there’s this beautiful place we’re going to live out our lives together—that maybe we’ll have a kid or something. Maybe we’ll make a whole ass new life.
But trapped in this metal box, speeding blindly into the night, the lies feel too heavy to carry.
“I don’t know what happens next,” I confess, my voice rough, stripping away the last of my defenses. “We have a very, very rough plan at this point. I don’t know where this truck is heading. We have no idea what search is happening for me. Or,” I pause, the realization hitting me, “For you.”
She goes completely still. And then, slowly, she reaches up. Her hand finds my face in the dark, her soft fingers tracing the line of my jaw, the roughness of my stubble.
“Please just don’t leave me behind,” she whispers, her thumb brushing against my lower lip. “Whatever this is... whatever happens... I want to be with you, Noah. You’re the only person who’s ever really known me.”
I let out a ragged breath, turning my face to press a kiss into the palm of her hand. The anger, the resentment, the desperate need to protect her by pushing her away—it all dissolves in the pitch-black underbelly of the RV.
I fucking need her.
But I don’t give her the promise that I’ll never leave her, because I don’t know if it’s one I can make. There’s still a plan, and if there’s still a safer future for her, then I’ll choose it. So, I just tighten my arm around her waist, pulling her as close as the compartment will allow.
The RV hums around us, carrying us toward an unknown destination.
I lose track of time, and Bullet lightly snores.
The temperature outside plummets, turning the metal floor of the storage bay to ice.
Rue shivers against me, her breathing eventually evening out as sheer exhaustion drags her into a fitful sleep.
But I don’t find the same solace.
My own body is fucking screaming. The circulation in my legs is completely gone, replaced by a painful, buzzing numbness. My left arm throbs relentlessly, a deep, sickening pulse that warns me the stitches might be tearing under the strain of this cramped position. I need to take those antibiotics.
But I don’t move. I just hold her, letting my mind race through the logistics of our nightmare.
We lost the Pathfinder in a crash that will eventually point to Rue.
We lost Christopher Banderra’s SUV to the Highway Patrol, which could lead to me being charged.
We have five hundred dollars in stolen cash, a half-empty duffel bag of clothes, some antibiotics, and a geriatric beagle.
Whenever this RV stops, we will be on foot.
If Bill lives in a sprawling suburb, we’re going to be dodging doorbell cameras. If he lives in the city, we’re entirely exposed.
Nothing about this is going as planned. My stomach feels sick to its core with the unknown waiting for us. For all I know, we’re going to come face to face with Bill, and he’s going to call the cops.
I’ll just have to do what I have to do then.
Suddenly, the pitch of the diesel engine changes, interrupting my thoughts.
The heavy, monotonous roar gears down. The RV sways violently as Bill takes a sharp turn. The smooth glide of the highway is instantly replaced by the jarring, teeth-rattling vibration of a washboard gravel road.
Rue jolts awake, her hands gripping my shirt. “Are we stopping?”
“I don’t know. We’re off the highway, though,” I whisper, bracing my good hand against the ceiling to keep from slamming into it. “I’m not sure how far we’ve gone.”
The RV crawls forward for another mile or so. Then, a loud, metallic clatter echoes directly beneath us as the heavy tires roll over… a bridge?
Or a cattle guard.
A farm. Maybe he lives on a farm.
The engine revs slightly as we climb an incline, and then, the heavy hiss of the air brakes releases. The vehicle rocks to a complete halt. Rue shakes against me, letting out a little whimper.
“Stay still with me,” I breathe against Rue’s ear.
Outside, a truck door clicks open and slams shut. Heavy boots crunch on gravel. Almost immediately, the frantic, deep barking of a large dog erupts in the distance.
“Down, Buster. Quiet,” Bill's gruff voice echoes through the cold air. The dog whines and the barking ceases. Footsteps shuffle across what sounds like a wooden porch, followed by the jingle of keys, the squeak of a screen door, and the solid thud of a house door closing.
Silence settles over the metal box.
“Okay, let’s go,” I grit out, my voice tight with pain.
I reach out, blindly fumbling for the internal release of the storage bay latch. My fingers find the metal lever, and I shove it upward.
The door pops open, letting in a rush of freezing, manure-scented air. The sky outside is still lit by only the moon, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.
I roll outward, practically falling onto the dirt driveway because my legs refuse to hold my weight. Oh fuck. Agony shoots up my spine, but I bite my tongue, forcing myself to stand.
I reach back in, grabbing Rue’s waist and hauling her out of the compartment, catching her as she stumbles. I reach back in one more time, dragging out the bags and scooping up Bullet before the beagle can jump and make a sound.
I quietly shut the compartment door, pushing it until it clicks flush against the fiberglass siding.
Turning around, I take in our surroundings.
We are standing in the middle of a massive, sprawling farm.
A weathered two-story farmhouse sits about fifty yards away, a warm yellow porch light glowing in the midnight sky.
Behind the RV, endless acres of flat, tilled fields stretch out toward the horizon, interrupted only by the skeletal silhouette of a windmill and two massive steel grain silos.
There’s no quick cover for us to take. No woods. Just open land and a long dirt driveway leading back to the two-lane road we came from.
“Which way?” Rue whispers, her eyes wide as she looks at the exposed landscape. She jumps as Bullet takes a piss on the tire of the RV.
I glance down at the dog and then back up at Rue. “Away from his big fucking dog,” I mutter, slinging the duffle bag over my shoulder and scooping Bullet back up and tight against my chest. “Let’s go to the barn.” I gesture to the large equipment shed about three hundred yards from us.
And hope for the best.