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Both will end with me dying.
I can’t foresee any other outcome to that scenario. So for now, my plan is to try to get somewhere public. I wish I had thought of that before leaving Spokane…but I was in panic mode and not thinking clearly. I’ve calmed down since I realized that he’s just following and not actually making an attempt to force me out of my truck.
Coeur d’Alene isn't too far of a drive, and since I'm already headed in that general direction, I will go there. I’m betting that whoever is pursuing me won't follow if I pull into a police station, and for now, that’s what I intend to do.
So that’s it, my entire plan in a nutshell. I’m going to do the one thing that I have avoided since the day I took off. I’m going to blow my own cover and tell the authorities who I am, and pray that they can protect me.
There isn't much traffic on this stretch of road, just forest and occasional homes. It’s nice. The kind of place I’d maybe like to live someday. I haven't ever been out this way before, but I do have an old GPS unit plugged into my cigarette lighter and I can see I'm going in the right direction. I just hope I have enough gas to make it. The gauge is broken, so I never know exactly how much I have left. It’s been several days since I put any gas in the old beast, so the chance that I could run out is there.
It’s just my luck that no sooner do I think about the possibility of running out of gas than I hear the engine stutter and start to stall. If it wasn’t for bad luck, I wouldn’t have any at all. Murphy’s luck, my dad called it.
“Fuck!” I scream, my alarm returning, pounding my fist against the steering wheel, and I drift toward the edge of the road, stopping in some deep grass. There isn't even a house in sight that I can make a run toward. I’m going to have to face whatever is coming alone.
It’s not as if I didn’t know that this wasn’t going to catch up to me someday. I am surprised that I'm not ready for it, as I always thought that I would be. I refuse to make taking me or killing me easy. That’s the difference between the girl I was then and who I am now. If they had caught up to me four years ago I would have died like my mom, sobbing on my knees.
Today I’m not going down without a fight.
Grabbing my bat and pepper spray, I slide out the passenger door to the ground and belly crawl into the grass under my pickup. It’s deep enough that I know I’m concealed from the road, and I won’t be seen unless he gets out and comes to this side of the truck.
I'm hoping he won't. Best case is he thinks I ran up the road looking for a house and goes that way. Maybe for once things will work out for me and I will be able to hide in the woods until dark. If it’s the guy from the diner, I know I will only get one chance to take him out before he either grabs me or kills me. I’d rather hide. A man like that doesn’t carry a gun under his jacket for the fun of it, but bei
ng caught or killed out here just doesn’t work for me. I need enough time to hide or find an opportunity to steal his car. Leaving him out here in the middle of nowhere is my best chance of escape. For the time being, anyway.
The hum of tires on the pavement alerts me that a vehicle is approaching from behind. I hear the crunch of gravel as it comes to a stop behind me. My heart is racing, and my palms are slick with sweat. A door opens then closes. I hold my breath and listen.
His boots rustle in the grass as he makes his way to the driver’s door of my truck. I can't breathe. I'm frozen, but I know that if I don't strike first I’m most likely dead.
“Faye?”
It's the same deep, raspy voice as the man from the diner. He did know who I was last night when he questioned my name. Shit! There’s a big difference between thinking you know something and actually knowing it. I close my eyes for a moment and take a steadying breath, and adjust my grip on the old aluminum bat.
It’s now or never.
I roll out from under my truck fast and come up beside him swinging. The bat connects with a sickening thud and he falls to the ground, screaming at me. I can’t listen, can't stop to think about what I just did.
I have never harmed anyone in my whole life and I'm pretty sure I just broke this guy’s knee. I know he deserves it, but I feel like I might be sick.
In spite of the pain he must be feeling he makes a move to get up and reaches for me. Not knowing what else to do, I pull the mace from my pocket and follow up the hit with a quick spray in his general direction as I scramble to my feet and back away. My blood is pounding in my ears, making it hard to hear as he curses and starts coughing. Once again, I’m struck with a wave of regret at hurting someone. Even if he wants to hurt me.
Even though he could have last night, a small voice inside my head whispers, but I have to ignore that. I don’t have a choice but to assume the worst, otherwise I may not see another day.
I jog to the passenger side of my truck and pull my backpack through the open window and run for his SUV. Thank goodness he left the keys in the ignition. Finally something is going my way! I jump in and take off, tires squealing on the pavement. As I pass him I can see his pain. He leans against the tire of my truck, holding his leg. He shouts my name again, followed by another string of swearing that fade away as I hurtle away from him and toward Coeur d’Alene. I’m just glad that he didn’t shoot at me.
Wait a second. Why didn’t he shoot at me?
After an hour of driving I am still shaking and a little nauseated from how close I came to being caught. The crash that came when my adrenaline wore off hasn’t helped either. I drove around for a while before I ditched the SUV in a strip mall parking lot and caught a bus to downtown Coeur d’Alene. Being around people seems like a good idea while I try to figure out what to do next.
I need to eat something too. I'm trying not to think about how it felt when my bat connected with that man's leg. The sound it made. The way I felt the impact ripple through my hands and up my arms. Every time my mind goes there I’m hit with a fresh wave of queasiness.
All I wanted was to be left alone. I never wanted to hurt anyone. I even left my bat in the SUV. It's different, thinking about it as a form of self defense and actually using it. I will take my chances with mace from now on, because I will never, ever use an actual weapon against someone again.
Travis
I'm hauling ass down some back road that Blake says will eventually take me to Coeur d’Alene when I see a battered old pickup on the side of the road. It matches the description of the one he said Faye drives, so I slow down and take a good long look.
Blake is there, sitting on the ground, leaning against the back tire. He doesn't look good. Swearing, I slam on the brakes, skidding to a stop in the loose rock behind the pickup. My training kicks in, distracting me momentarily from thoughts of getting to Faye. I jump out and run to him and fall to my knees beside him, searching for injuries.
“It’s my fucking knee,” he grinds out between gritted teeth before I can say a word. I look down and see the denim of his worn jeans stretched tight around his swollen knee. His eyes are red and running with tears, and he swipes at them.
