Chapter 3
I sat behind the dumpster, frozen, holding my bike close to the metal back, backpack and crossbody strapped on, and waited.
I heard the sheriff swear and then seconds later, her truck careened out of the parking lot.
I waited two more minutes, then rolled my bike out, walking it behind the buildings until I was behind town hall, where a very loud public meeting was underway.
Looking carefully around the corner of the town building, I caught a glimmer of the sheriff’s pickup truck taillights as it turned the corner onto the road that headed out east toward Philly.
Me, I went back the way I had come in. The map in my head told me there was a side road that connected to three others that would lead me around the town and onto the road that headed south.
The sheriff was correct that I had been headed east, but that wasn’t an option at the moment, not with my monumental fuckup.
I cringed mentally as I saw the disappointment on my father’s face in my mind’s eye.
There was no reason to get involved in the diner, none, other than my boredom after three days on the road.
My route had been very intentionally east toward Philly, creating a false trail, but my real destination was south—far south.
The damage was done, and I just had to live with it.
This new path would just have to be a bit more direct.
The rain had stopped, and I left my raincoat strapped onto my backpack so I could pedal hard without overheating.
The e-bike was great, but had I used up three-quarters of the battery getting to town and I wanted to conserve what was left for the morning.
It was time to accelerate my trip, so instead of taking a winding side trip to Philly before heading to the deep south, I would travel to Pittsburgh, which was south of Perin by a solid one hundred and thirty klicks.
With the power low on my bike and no chance of a recharge tonight, it could take two more days.
So, I wanted to get as far as I could before pulling off into the forest and bivouacking for the night, while also not pushing my luck with Sheriff Steele’s search.
The woods were wet, and I couldn’t risk a fire, so a cold camp it would be.
After a solid twenty minutes, I judged it time to get off the road.
Sheriff Steele would likely have turned around by now and begun backtracking the other roads out of Perin.
My hope was that she wouldn’t check my back route until last. The distance I had just travelled put me almost all the way through my back detour and maybe a klick from the southbound road to Singleton, a little town on the route to Pittsburgh.
I stopped by a speed limit sign and looked carefully at the springtime growth lining the edge of the road.
Twenty feet farther up the road, I spotted a deer path through the vegetation and into the woods.
Being careful to stay on the asphalt, I walked the bike up to the path and lifted it over the border of winter road sand on the road’s edge before setting it on the grass.
Then I stepped lightly over the sand myself.
Down the bank of the road and into the thick woods, I carried the bike to prevent tire marks.
Then I moved deeper into the woods till I found a rise with an outcropping of granite.
Moving to the southeast side of the little rock ridge, I stopped to look back at the road.
A copse of white pine saplings blocked the line of sight to the road and more importantly from the road, and when I moved halfway down the little ridge, the rocky upthrusts fully blocked any view.
Working quickly, I set up a cold camp, pulling an olive drab metallized space blanket from the left pannier on my bike and laying it on a patch of moss and leaf-covered ground.
Then from my pack, I pulled out a matching green bivy sack made from lighter space blanket material.
I changed out my still damp jeans into yoga pants, pulled on a fleece shirt, and, despite the early evening hour, crawled in.
I reached over and pulled the big tarp over my bivy sack, creating what Dad had always called a Ranger taco.
Lying with my head on my pack, I reviewed my day’s screwups, going over everything in painful detail.
A thought occurred to me, and I was suddenly worried.
Reaching into my pack, I pulled out the black RFID and EMF-proof pouch that held my burner phone.
I powered it up and put a new, unused SIM chip in the unlocked Samsung and activated it.
Then I dialed the sheriff’s department for Perin.
“Sheriff’s office. How may I direct your call?”
“Sheriff Steele please. I’m the girl she’s out looking for,” I said to speed things along.
“Hold please.”
I watched the call counter ticking by, but the sheriff picked up in less than ten seconds.
“Anna? Where are you?”
“I’m safe, Sheriff, but I’m worried that your town isn’t. I’m such an idiot. Did you query NCIC or was it your brother? The answer is important.”
“Brian did. Why, Cassandra?” Sheriff Steele said, her tone and my first name deliberate.
“Oh, good. It’s important because law enforcement in my hometown is compromised and they will be watching for queries.
Had you done it, a snatch-and-grab team would be already dispatched to Perin, and these people don’t play games or pull punches.
In fact, you should warn your brother that his task force may come under hacking attempts and potential political pressure. He, and you, should forget I exist.”
“I think you know I can’t do that, Cassandra. You are obviously in some kind of trouble. I can help.”
“You seem like you’re good at protecting your people, Sheriff, and I’m sure you mean that, but you don’t have the resources to stop these people. Your brother doesn’t have the resources necessary. Please warn him. Thank you.”
“Cassandra…” she started to say, but I broke the connection, pulled the SIM, turned off the phone, returned it to the RFID blocker ,and crushed the SIM with the pliers on my Leatherman tool.
Then I put my head down and closed my eyes, mentally reviewing my steps for the next day. Then I thought about my dad, and I cried. Cried until I finally fell asleep.