Page 40 of Kyle

I wished I knew where he was and what he was doing.

* * *

Five and a half hours was a long time to ride on a bumpy road that winded down a mountain then zigzagged over more foothills. My stomach was queasy and my ass hurt. It felt like I was sitting on a piece of plywood covered in upholstery. And considering the car I was in had been manufactured sometime in the 1980s, I probably was.

For the last half hour, the driver kept stealing glances at me through the rearview mirror, making my unease grow. The man looked to be in his thirties but he had a scraggly beard and unkept hair which made it difficult to accurately pinpoint his age. He could’ve been in his teens for all I knew. While I couldn’t guess his age, I could tell something was off. He was acting strange.

“Everything okay? Is someone following us?” I turned to look out the back window but there were no other cars in sight.

“No, Miss,” he said in heavily accented English.

The hair on the back of my neck tingled. Something wasn’t right. The driver started to slow and I pulled my phone out of my backpack.

“Okay.” I smiled broadly trying not to alert the man that I was now freaking the hell out.

I scrolled to the only number I could think of for help and sent a text: Weird feeling. Could be nothing. I’m thirtyish minutes west of Dili. My driver is acting funny. We passed two power plants a minute ago. No street signs.

I sent the message and looked around. Come on, what else could I tell Kyle? Think, Anaya.

I went back to my phone and tapped out another message: I can see the ocean. There’s a big church with a red roof and a sign to Maritimia.

My phone vibrated with an incoming message: When the car stops run. I’m on my way.

He was on his way?

Me: It might be nothing. Wait. I just have a weird feeling.

Kyle: Never ignore what your intuition is telling you. We’re coming. Run, Anaya. Promise me you’ll run.

If I’d been freaked-out before, I was seriously freaking out now. I knew something was wrong, just like I had the day the rebels had stormed the village. There’d been something telling me to hide even before I’d heard the first gunshot. The same voice was whispering now. The same feeling of panic was starting to well in my stomach.

Me: I’ll run.

My hands were shaking as I smiled and took in my surroundings.

“Why are we stopping?” I asked when the driver turned off the main road.

“Petrol,” he lied.

There were no gas stations around but I smiled again and nodded.

I went back to my phone and sent Kyle an update: He pulled off the road. North toward the water. There’s a big marina. I don’t see anything else.

My heart was pounding in my chest and perspiration dotted my forehead.

Kyle: As soon as he slows jump out and run. I’ll find you.

The car started to slow and dread hit me like a tsunami.

Me: 5 men. We’re stopping. I’ll try to run. Please find me.

Kyle: I WILL find you. Run, sweetheart. RUN.

I shoved my phone in my pack, secured the strap over my shoulders, and didn’t wait another second. I pushed open the door—which was much harder than it looked in the movies while a car was in motion—and jumped out.

I hit the ground with a thud and all the oxygen was knocked from my lungs. That, too, looked much easier in the movies. My shoulder and hip hurt from the impact and I was still trying to catch my breath when I rolled to my side to get my feet under me, but it never happened.

A booted foot made contact with my ribs and I screamed out in pain. A second kick landed and I would swear I heard a bone snap. A hand grabbed my bicep, the other my ponytail, and pulled me to my feet and roughly shoved me forward. My head tilted back, trying to alleviate some of the pain from my hair being yanked, but nothing could stop the fear that had taken over.