I grab her hand, intertwining my fingers with hers. “Come on.”
We run. My boots feel like they’re filled with lead, but I pull her along, staying in the deep shadows of the heavy machinery.We make it to a gravel lot near one of the supervisor's offices. The morning shift is just starting.
A dozen dirty, white fleet trucks—standard Ford F-150s with a magnetic mining logo slapped on the doors—are parked in a crooked line.
Perfect.
I start jerking the doors of them, making my way down the row. Finally, I try the fourth. The handle gives with a click.
“Get in,” I tell Rue, gently pushing her toward the passenger side.
I slide behind the wheel. The keys aren’t in the ignition, but this is an active job site. Nobody takes the keys home.
I pop the center console.Nothing.
I drop the sun visor.
A set of silver keys falls into my lap.
I jam them into the ignition and turn. The V8 engine hums to life, quiet and smooth. I throw it into drive and pull out of the lot, merging seamlessly into a line of four other white fleet trucks heading toward the southern exit gate.
“Keep your head down,” I bark at Rue.
She slides down in the seat, pulling her knees to her chest.
We reach the access road. A quarter mile ahead, two Highway Patrol cruisers come screaming toward us, lights flashing, sirens tearing through the morning air.
My heart hammers against my ribs, but I force my foot to keep a steady, agonizingly slow pressure on the gas pedal. I keep my eyes forward, mimicking the bored, tired posture of the miners in the trucks ahead of me.
The cruisers blow past us in the opposite lane, a gust of wind shaking the truck. They don’t even tap their brakes. They’re looking for a guy on a loud motorcycle, not a dirty work truck blending into the morning commute.
We pass through the exit gate and hit the two-lane blacktop heading south.
As the mine shrinks in the rearview mirror, the adrenaline finally breaks, and I let out a heavy sigh.
“Holy fucking shit,” I mutter, turning to Rue. “Holy shit.”
A wave of exhaustion so heavy it blurs my vision crashes over me. My grip on the steering wheel goes slack, and I have to shake my head just to keep the road in focus. Every muscle in my body feels like it’s been put through a meat grinder.
Rue sits up slowly, looking at me, her eyes widening. “We made it.”
“Yeah, we did.” I nod, but my jaw feels tight.
We’re still not safe, and my head spinning might very well be the reason for that. The truck drifts toward the center, and I jerk it back between the lanes.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
“Noah,” Rue says, her voice laced with panic. “Pull over. You’re going to fucking crash us!”
I glance down. Dark, wet blood is soaking through my shirt, staining the gray fabric of the seatbelt.
Oh shit. How much blood have I lost?
I look up at the road ahead. We’re passing through a desolate, forgotten stretch of highway on the edge of a dying town. A flickering, buzzing red neon sign cuts through the early morning gloom.
Motel. Vacancy.
It looks like a place where people go to disappear.
