Chapter 7
I woke as the sky was just beginning to lighten. My minimal camp took no time at all to pack and put away. I sipped water but ignored my empty stomach. Time enough for that soon.
The road was empty, the light still dim, as I pedaled to the intersection of my back road and the main road to Stapleton. From that intersection to the little town was eleven kilometers.
Twenty-five minutes later, I made it to Stapleton, pulling into the McDonald’s and taking a moment to circle the building.
It was open, the lights on, and I could see a few people inside working and one man in worn work clothes and a stained ball cap sipping coffee.
I also spotted an outdoor power outlet, and that was where I parked my bike.
Leaning it against the wall, it neatly covered up the fact that the charger was plugged into the restaurant’s outlet.
I locked the wheel to the frame so the bike couldn’t roll and went inside.
Early morning is the best time to avoid most thieves and drug dealers. My bike and panniers would most likely be safe while I cleaned up and ate something, plus I would gain valuable charge time.
I went into the bathroom, finding it the cleanest it would likely be all day.
I washed with wipes that I carry, applied deodorant, and changed clothes, going for a whole new look.
Faded jeans with fashionable rips, white running shoes on my feet, and a red sweatshirt, large-framed glasses with zero magnification, and a blue ball cap on my still blonde head.
Only then did I purchase an egg sandwich and black coffee.
I ate outside, near my bike by the back of the building, eyes and ears on the slowly awakening town.
After my sandwich was gone, I powered up my phone with the second to last SIM card and checked the internet.
The headlines all covered an FBI bust in Washington that had captured four of the five attackers from New York as well as confiscated an immense arsenal of weapons, explosives, communications gear, police uniforms, and body armor.
The president was scheduled to hold a press conference, but the White House was singing praises for the FBI and its counterterrorism efforts.
The article that followed the headline froze the blood in my veins—or at least one small phrase near the beginning did.
Acting on an anonymous tip opened the very first sentence in the article.
I glanced at the whole thing, then lifted my head to watch my surroundings as I processed the writing.
There shouldn’t have been any mention of me at all.
There was no mention of Brian Steele, but there was an Assistant Director of the FBI quoted several times, a Ripley Shire, who seemed to be taking the credit.
She was quoted as saying that the one attacker who got away was being sought by special agents, as were additional sources of information.
Additional sources… me. I had offered insight and analysis, and they in turn were now seeking me. Hunting me. This was very no bueno.
I checked the bike’s gauge and found the charge was just over half. I decided to eat a second sandwich and let the bike keep charging, as we would both need all the energy we could get today.
Back at the counter, I ordered another egg-wich and some hash browns, paying from the cash in my crossbody bag. As I paid, the worker handling the drive-through suddenly whistled. “Whoa, that’s a lot of cop cars.”
My checkout clerk and I both looked over and saw what he meant. A line of Pennsylvania State Police cars was visible in the drive-thru lane. I turned and glanced out the front windows. More police cars were driving by.
The first patrol car got to the window, and the young worker couldn’t contain his curiosity.
“There a robbery or convention or something?” he asked the officer.
“Manhunt for the Washington attacker that escaped. He stole a car, and it was found ten miles from here. He’s six-two, two hundred pounds, blonde hair and blue eyes with a prominent Ranger tattoo on his left forearm.
Call 911 if you see him. You too, miss,” the cop said, seeing me across the short inside distance.
“Yes sir,” I said with a nod, dipping my head so the brim of my cap covered my face.
The clerk waiting on me came along then with my small bag of food and I took it and turned away.
The heavy presence of police was both a blessing and a curse, because they would make it hard for the ex-Ranger to hunt me, but also hard for me to keep my travels on any kind of schedule.
Stepping out the back, I spotted three more cop cars heading into the drive-thru lane. Keeping my head down, I unplugged my bike, stowed the bag of food in a pannier, and took off south.
A half mile out of town, the police were rapidly setting up a roadblock. I powered up the electric motor on my bike and zoomed right up to it.
The cop in the drive-thru had spoken to me, warned me, so I doubted a description of me had been given.
If Sheriff Steele or her brother were behind the other sources alert, then the cops would have snagged me.
I smiled, nodded, and wove my bike through the staties as they stopped every car and checked trunks and back seats.
Once past, I accelerated and rode south toward Pittsburgh.
One young trooper watched me for longer than the others, but thanks to my time with Amber, I recognized that look and it had nothing to do with being a fugitive and everything to do with being female.
I gave him a shy smile and a little wave, then pedaled off south.
Five hours later, I was exhausted but approaching the outskirts of Pittsburgh, having made great time.
The section I came to first was a bit seedy and run-down.
Perfect. I found a couple of small stores and purchased some new SIM cards and an additional unlocked burner phone.
I also shopped a couple of consignment shops for some different clothes, hit an army-navy store, and then picked up some food to go.
Purchases complete, I then pedaled to a small and very decrepit motel I had found online.
This was a tricky part because even shitty motels and hotels usually want ID and often a credit card.
Before heading into the office, I tucked as much hair as I could under my ball cap and pulled a driver’s license from my body bag.
I had gotten too hot to wear the bright red sweatshirt hours ago and now wore a black t-shirt.
As high school was coming to an end, my…
friend… ally, Amber, had organized a set of fake ID cards for her crew.
I got one too, but mine didn’t come with an unbelievable birthdate.
Instead, it had one that was just a month and a day off of my real b-day.
It had a fake name (that used Amber’s first name) and the address for the town next to Rifle Springs.
Amber was good. Her false ID guy produced quality work, and my fake Michigan driver’s license looked like the real one still in my bag.
The guy behind the counter was thin to the point of emaciation, and very goth.
Black clothes, black combat boots, a few steel chains here and there, and eyeliner.
He was also not much older than me and based on an instant appraisal of his movements, body language and voice, very gay.
Also perfect, as he was less likely to pay attention to a random girl.
“You’re a bit young to be on this side of town,” he noted with an arched brow.
“I’m eighteen,” I said with as much self-righteous indignation as I could muster. I put down my license and two fifty-dollar bills. “I want a room for the night, please.”
He looked at the license and then me. Finally, he shrugged and pulled the two bills his way while putting a simple form in front of me. “Name, address, phone number, and license plate of your car.”
I didn’t correct his assumption that I had a car. Filling it in with the Amber Shay identity, address, and a fake phone number using a Michigan area code, I added a random plate number. He never even looked at it. I was young, female, and so not in his range of interest. Perfect.
He handed me a key and eighteen dollars and fifty cents change and turned away, already done with me.
I let myself into room 9 and rolled my bike inside, immediately plugging it into the wall.
Then I went to work. First, I powered up the new phone and used the meager motel wi-fi to read the news and check a number of sites.
I also turned on the television to a national news channel while I went through my stuff.
I hand-washed my dirty clothes and hung them around the room to dry, then took my first real hot shower in several days.
After my shower, I busted out my new purchases and laid them on one of the twin beds for consideration.
That done, I had a bite to eat and then dove into the messiest project: redyeing my hair. Miss Clairol to the rescue.
My new hair was jet black, which had the unfortunate side effect of making my normally nondescript hazel eyes pop. Sunglasses would be the answer to that question, and I had picked up a pair of Oakley wannabes at the army store.
Amber had taught me a lot of things, even as I taught her and her team any school subject that gave them pause.
Next to Amber, I disappear completely. Her natural looks and cultivated fashion and makeup draw every eye.
She’s a quintessential Native American beauty with black hair, black eyes, and tawny skin.
Oddly, she had been mildly interested in the fact that with a little work, my girl-next-door looks could achieve a level of actual cuteness.
She said I could go from invisible to hot and back again with disturbing ease.
And she was absolutely shocked to see what could be done to display my physique. I’m lean and muscled, what she called lithe, with actual definition if I choose to show it. Not quite the swimsuit model curves of her and her troop of cheer girls, but I still draw the male eye if I wear athleisure.
None of which I wanted for this trip. My newly acquired clothes could hopefully help me pass as sixteen or twenty-two, depending on how I combined them.
I had picked up dark jeans, a charcoal gray hoodie, a couple of t-shirts, an off-white sweater, cut-off jean shorts, and a beige dress.
I also found an orange and yellow reflector vest like security or construction crews wear and a broad channel hand-held CB radio.
Now, though, I had too many clothes to carry in my pack, so I needed to pare things down.
After filling my shopping bags with things to discard, I ate most of the food and watched the news, pausing now and again to check information on my phone. When I finally lay down to sleep, I only cried a little.