If Bill lives in a sprawling suburb, we’re going to be dodging doorbell cameras. If he lives in the city, we’re entirely exposed.
Nothing about this is going as planned. My stomach feels sick to its core with the unknown waiting for us. For all I know, we’re going to come face to face with Bill, and he’s going to call the cops.
I’ll just have to do what I have to do then.
Suddenly, the pitch of the diesel engine changes, interrupting my thoughts.
The heavy, monotonous roar gears down. The RV sways violently as Bill takes a sharp turn. The smooth glide of the highway is instantly replaced by the jarring, teeth-rattling vibration of a washboard gravel road.
Rue jolts awake, her hands gripping my shirt. “Are we stopping?”
“I don’t know. We’re off the highway, though,” I whisper, bracing my good hand against the ceiling to keep from slamming into it. “I’m not sure how far we’ve gone.”
The RV crawls forward for another mile or so. Then, a loud, metallic clatter echoes directly beneath us as the heavy tires roll over… a bridge?
Or a cattle guard.
A farm. Maybe he lives on a farm.
The engine revs slightly as we climb an incline, and then, the heavy hiss of the air brakes releases. The vehicle rocks to a complete halt. Rue shakes against me, letting out a little whimper.
“Stay still with me,” I breathe against Rue’s ear.
Outside, a truck door clicks open and slams shut. Heavy boots crunch on gravel. Almost immediately, the frantic, deep barking of a large dog erupts in the distance.
“Down, Buster. Quiet,” Bill's gruff voice echoes through the cold air. The dog whines and the barking ceases. Footstepsshuffle across what sounds like a wooden porch, followed by the jingle of keys, the squeak of a screen door, and the solidthudof a house door closing.
Silence settles over the metal box.
“Okay, let’s go,” I grit out, my voice tight with pain.
I reach out, blindly fumbling for the internal release of the storage bay latch. My fingers find the metal lever, and I shove it upward.
The door pops open, letting in a rush of freezing, manure-scented air. The sky outside is still lit by only the moon, and I breathe out a sigh of relief.
I roll outward, practically falling onto the dirt driveway because my legs refuse to hold my weight.Oh fuck.Agony shoots up my spine, but I bite my tongue, forcing myself to stand.
I reach back in, grabbing Rue’s waist and hauling her out of the compartment, catching her as she stumbles. I reach back in one more time, dragging out the bags and scooping up Bullet before the beagle can jump and make a sound.
I quietly shut the compartment door, pushing it until it clicks flush against the fiberglass siding.
Turning around, I take in our surroundings.
We are standing in the middle of a massive, sprawling farm. A weathered two-story farmhouse sits about fifty yards away, a warm yellow porch light glowing in the midnight sky. Behind the RV, endless acres of flat, tilled fields stretch out toward the horizon, interrupted only by the skeletal silhouette of a windmill and two massive steel grain silos.
There’s no quick cover for us to take. No woods. Just open land and a long dirt driveway leading back to the two-lane road we came from.
“Which way?” Rue whispers, her eyes wide as she looks at the exposed landscape. She jumps as Bullet takes a piss on the tire of the RV.
I glance down at the dog and then back up at Rue. “Away from his big fucking dog,” I mutter, slinging the duffle bag over my shoulder and scooping Bullet back up and tight against my chest. “Let’s go to the barn.” I gesture to the large equipment shed about three hundred yards from us.
And hope for the best.
30
RUE
Three hundred yardshas never felt like such an impossible freaking distance.
