Chapter 49
NOAH
Something’s wrong with her. But I can’t take my mind off navigating this goddamn road.
I’m on the verge of losing my grip. Not just on the handlebars, but on the timeline, too. Everything aches. My once-healed bullet wound is opening back up, and my body is starting to feel… numb.
Still, I narrow my eyes at the asphalt ahead.
The road out of Truth or Consequences is a black throat, swallowing the weak yellow beam of the headlight. I can feel Rue pressed against my back, her small hands tucked into my pockets.
She’s been way too fucking still this go round. I want to convince myself it’s just the long ride, but I’ve spent ten years in a cage surrounded by predators. I know when someone feels… caught. And that’s how she’s acting.
Maybe it’s just paranoia. Or maybe she saw something in that gas station.
I shift my weight, trying to ease the pressure on my hip, but the bike wobbles, the heavy front end fighting me.
My left arm is a lead weight, stiff and burning with a dry, pulsing heat.
I don’t need a mirror to know the bandage is a mess of blackish red.
If a fever takes me before we hit the border, we’re both dead.
I push that thought away. It’ll be fine.
The road begins to climb, twisting into the Gila. The desert flats die away, replaced by the oppressive, hulking shadows of the Black Range. The air up here is thin and sharp, biting at the exposed skin between my helmet and collar.
The bike sputters. A low, guttural cough that makes my heart kick against my ribs.
Not now. Not here. You have to be fucking kidding me.
I’ve been pushing the old thing too hard. She wasn’t built for a two-up flight across states through the mountains. I throttle down, trying to nurse the engine, but the grade is too steep. We’re losing momentum.
Fuck, fuck, fuck!
To my right, a gravel turnout appears, marked by a weather-beaten wooden sign.
Black Jack Campground.
I don’t think. I just lean into the turn.
The tires scream as they hit the loose volcanic rock, the bike fishtailing for a terrifying second before I wrestle it straight. I kill the engine before we even reach a campsite, letting the silence of the forest crash over us like a tidal wave.
I can’t fucking move. I just lean my forehead against the cold chrome of the handlebars, waiting for the world to stop spinning. My breath comes in ragged, shallow hitches.
“Noah?” Rue’s voice is small, filtered through the wind. “We have plenty of gas… What’s wrong?”
“Just... let the engine cool,” I rasp. My voice sounds like I’ve been swallowing glass. And my throat fucking feels like it, too.
I just want to sleep. For hours.
I swing my leg over, and for a second, my knees give out. I have to catch myself on the seat, my teeth gritting so hard that it sends a sharp pain through my jaw. I look back at the road we just left. It’s a void. No headlights. No sirens chasing us. No one is coming for us.
Well… Not yet.
But I can feel them. The Marshals, the State Troopers, the ghosts of everyone we left behind in Texas. They’re back there, sniffing the wind, closing the gaps.
We’re just a fucking bleeding hare.
I stumble toward a concrete picnic table, the surface glittering with frost. I collapse onto the bench, my head dropping into my hands. The darkness behind my eyelids is full of Bill’s face, the smell of that farmhouse, and the look on Rue’s face when she realized what she’d done.
I’ve ruined everything she could’ve had. I don’t care what the hell she did to Matthew anymore. I don’t care that she framed me for it.
I still took a girl with a life and turned her into a ghost on a motorcycle.
I feel a hand on my shoulder—the good one. Rue stands there, her face a pale moon in the dark. She hands me a bottle of water. Her fingers are trembling so badly that she almost drops it.
“We’re close, right?” she asks, rocking back on her heels. “We have to be.”
“Yeah… Just over the ridge,” I lie. My throat is so dry the words hurt. “Highway 78. Then we shoot straight for Maricopa. It should be… okay.” It takes everything I have to get the word out.
Because nothing feels like it’s going to be okay.
She looks at me, and for a second, I see it—a flash of something that isn’t fear. It’s subtle scrutiny. She’s looking at me like I’m a problem to be solved. Or a threat to be evaluated.
“Are you sure you’re okay?” she says, her hand moving to my forehead.
“I'm fine.” I pull away, more sharply than I intended. If she thinks I’m failing, she’ll panic. And if she panics, she’ll make a mistake. I’ll make a fucking mistake.
I gotta hold us together. I gotta lead us all the way to… Somewhere.
She doesn’t argue. She just sits beside me, leaning against my shoulder.
I reach back, checking the straps on the duffel bag. I pull out the map and fold it to the place we are. And my heart dips.
We’re heading into a bottleneck.
I look at Rue. She’s staring off into the trees, her hand resting near the opening of the bag. “Noah…”
“Yeah?”
“If it comes down to it...” She swallows hard, her eyes never leaving the dark. “If they catch us… Don’t let them take me.”
“What do you mean?” My chest tightens.
“You know what I mean.” She turns to me, meeting my eyes with a wild, dark, and dangerous gleam in her eye. “I’m not going to prison. They will not take me.”
I pull her closer, my good arm locking around her. “Nobody’s taking you anywhere. I promise.” I close my eyes, listening to the wind howl through the pines.
It sounds like a funeral dirge.
“I won’t let them take you either.” The confidence in her voice is terrifyingly eerie.
My eyes fall back to the map.
In the morning, the road narrows down to a single point at the Morenci mine. If law enforcement has any inkling of where we are…
I know how they’ll do it. They’ll wait for the geography to do the work for them. They’ll wait for the squeeze.
I just hope I have enough left in my tank to blast through it.