“Right,” I scoff, “Just a murderer. Got it.” I fight the urge to roll my eyes but manage to keep them in place. I’m too fucking tired to deal with her reaction right now.
We fall into silence again, the sound of the soul-sucking sand and Bullet’s pants intermittently filling the quiet between the rushes of wind and the occasional semi. We finish the final stretch, and as soon as we reach the travel center parking lot, we’re met with a row of four eighteen-wheelers, one beat-up white utility truck, and one silver minivan.
There are options… We could take the van.
I toy with the thought and stay off to the side, watching the van, as Rue reads off the hours for the travel center on a distant sign. I keep scanning the area around us. There’s nowhere to fucking hide.
Nowhere.
I tug my hoodie further over my head, my gut sinking.
“I think I need to use the bathroom,” Rue mumbles, and then points to the restroom, which is situated just on the other side of the security camera sign.
I take Bullet’s leash from her. “Go. Be fast. We can’t fucking camp out here. I have a bad feeling.”
She nods and then heads for the bathroom, leaving me at a sad patch of trees and sand. I watch her disappear, the door closing behind her. I keep my head down, trying to conjure up how the hell this will work out.
She’s going to be tracked here. With me. They’re going to know.
I rock back onto my heels, just as another vehicle pulls into the parking lot. An SUV with New Mexico plates parks, and a man, probably around my age, slides out and makes a beeline for the bathroom.
The car is still running.
Fuck.My heart jumps in my chest.
It’s so reckless. It’s abadidea. But it’s the only idea I have right now.
And I can leave Rue here. At the Travel Center. She can get help.
I adjust the backpack, sling the duffle bag up further, and scoop the elderly dog up in my arms to drop off by the bathroom.
But just as I start forward, Rue reappears, her eyes jumping from me to the SUV I’m sprinting for. Her eyes narrow.
“No,” she snaps at me, but it’s too fucking late.
I try the driver’s side door, and it pops open. “I’m leaving.” I look over the top of the silver door to meet her eyes. “Either get the fuck in the car or stay the fuck here. Your choice.”
She glances back at the building and then back at me.
And dashes for the passenger door.
22
RUE
The passenger door slams shut,and I can’t fucking believe what’s happening.
I don’t even have my seatbelt buckled before Noah throws the SUV into reverse. The tires scream against the cracked asphalt of the Glenrio Travel Center, the heavy vehicle bucking backward. My head slams against the headrest, a fresh wave of nausea rolling through me as the world violently tilts and blurs.
“Noah, wait?—”
“Shut up, Rue,” he snaps, cutting me off.
He shifts into drive. The engine roars, and we launch forward. He doesn’t bother navigating the parking lot; he bypasses the entrance ramp entirely, cutting across the dirt and gravel shoulder to merge onto the pitch-black stretch of I-40. The suspension dips and sways, throwing me against the door panel before the tires finally catch the smooth pavement of the interstate.
Oh my God. Oh. My. God.
I twist in my seat, my hands frantically grabbing for the seatbelt and clicking it into place as I glance my eyes to the sidemirror. My heart is a frantic, trapped, freaking bird battering against my ribs.
