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"I can't have blood on my hands because of Thomas and his madness," the man continued, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you have to run. Don't give them another chance. Thomas... he won't hesitate to kill."
Harry weighed his options. Trust was such a moving target. So fickle. It wasn’t something you could implicitly assign to one person and know it would always be there. Right now this guy seemed genuine. But he also just had a rope around his neck squeezing the life out of him. Wouldn’t people say anything in a moment like that?
"Don’t say a word once I step out of here. You draw attention my way and I’ll make sure that rope finds you again."
The man nodded, his hand instinctively going around his neck and rubbing the area that was nearly the end of him. "You need to leave town," he urged. "Thomas will burn it to the ground looking for you. He'll hurt innocent people. If you don't care about yourself, think about them."
The warning struck a chord in Harry. He had seen too much suffering, been a part of too many battles where the innocent paid the price.
"It sounds like that’s going to happen whether I stay or not. At least I can slow him down.”
With a final nod, the man stepped back, allowing him to stand. Harry eyed the door, the path to freedom momentarily clear.
"Go, now," the man whispered, urgency lacing his words.
Harry moved through the door, his steps silent. As he crossed the threshold, he turned back to look at the man who had granted him this chance.
"You did the right thing," he said, a simple acknowledgment of the risk the man had taken. “I’ve been where you are. I chose the same. I don’t regret it.”
Then he was gone, slipping into the shadows with his fists clenched. He had a message to deliver, lives to save, and a town to protect. It wasn’t even an option in his opinion to turn tail and run. Not now, not ever.
The problem was they’d taken his phone. He had no way to get in touch with Kenan. No GPS. And no way to find Vera Lago to get the message to Kenan. It had been planned that way. The hidden sanctuary was intentionally elusive. Harry wasn’t meant to return to it. To know where it was. It was safer that way. He couldn’t lead anyone back there. Even under threat of torture of death. His best shot was to get back to town. Find Gio. Get some help if he could.
With the threat of Thomas chasing after him, Harry stumbled through the darkness, the night air thick and unyielding, as if the very shadows of the woods sought to hinder his escape. It was amazing what your mind could make you see when your life was hanging in the balance. The underbrush clawed at his legs, branches whipped against his face, each lash a stark reminder of his vulnerability. The realization that he might have lost an entire day to his captors' mercy—or lack thereof—gnawed at him. A whole day and night swallowed by unconsciousness and confinement.
But maybe that was a good thing. Maybe that punishment he endured was exactly what he set out to do. Every minute they spent holding him captive, threatening his life, was a minutethey weren’t getting closer to Verde Lago. He was meant to stall them. Distract them. He’d done that now.
Knowing he needed a plan, his hands patted his pockets out of habit, but the emptiness confirmed what he already knew: his phone, his lifeline to the outside world, was gone. Stripped of his belongings, his sense of direction, he was truly alone, adrift in a sea of foliage and uncertainty.
Harry's breath came in ragged gasps as he pushed through the dense vegetation, no clear destination in mind, only the primal urge to put as much distance as possible between him and the place of his captivity. He paused, the silence of the night enveloping him, a suffocating blanket of stillness. No pursuers made their presence known, yet the absence of any sign of civilization only deepened his sense of isolation. No distant hum of traffic, no faint glow on the horizon to guide his way—nothing but the unending woods.
Exhaustion tugged at his limbs, a siren call to surrender, to lie down and accept whatever fate might befall him in this forgotten corner of the world. Despair crept into his thoughts. Would anyone notice his absence, mourn his passing? The people who might have once cared, who might have grieved for him, had already lived through his supposed death. Rose, with her strength and resilience, had likely moved past the memory of him, her life unfurling in new directions far from the specter of Harry's existence. Who cares if he’d died of gunshot wounds in that dank apartment building hallway or out in these woods?
A sudden snap, the breaking of a twig underfoot, shattered the seductive lure of despair. The sound, likely the innocent passage of some animal out there, nonetheless pierced the fog of Harry's resignation. He straightened, his body protesting with a chorus of aches and pains. Part of him wanted to turn back and give Thomas back a bit of the same as he’d doled out. It’s easy kicking around a guy who’s got his hands tied behind his back.
And then, like a beacon through the darkness, his mother's voice echoed in his mind, a memory surfacing with the clarity of a bell in the still night.
"Moving forward is always better than standing still. Even if it’s just an inch. Even if it takes all day."
Harry couldn't help but smile wryly at the irony. His mother had done more sliding backward than moving forward in her life. She’d hardly lived by this on a daily basis. It was aspirational advice at best. But he had to believe the words came into his mind now for a reason. Those who can’t, teach. Just because she couldn’t bring herself to claw forward in the hard times didn’t mean he shouldn’t.
His mother, for all her flaws and failings, had imparted a kernel of wisdom that now fueled his resolve. He couldn't allow himself to be paralyzed by uncertainty or wallow in self-pity. He had to keep moving, to find his way back to Kenan, to relay the crucial information about Topeka.
The pain in his ribs, the throb in his head, became mere background noise to the determination that propelled him. He might be heading into more uncertainty, more nothingness, but he was no longer standing still. In that moment, guided by the memory of his mother's words, Harry chose to believe that somewhere ahead, beyond the darkness and the unknown, lay the path back to the light. Tonight and maybe for his future too.
CHAPTER 15
The journey felt endless, a continuous blur of changing landscapes and the steady hum of the car engine. She was honestly sick of it. Or sick to her stomach. Maybe all the candy they’d eaten on the plane. Or motion sickness from the journey. She wanted to close her eyes and wake up in a bed. Any bed at this point.
Rose had lost track of time, the rhythm of the road lulling her into a state of quiet resignation. Nathaniel, curled up in her lap, had succumbed to sleep hours ago, his presence a warm, comforting weight against the uncertainty that gnawed at her. She traced the angles of his sleeping face. Completely relaxed. Unbothered. He was in the safety of her arms. That was her dream for years. And it had come true. She could endure the journey. She would not be ungrateful for the work it took to get to this moment. Even if she had to keep reminding herself.
The transition from paved roads to a narrow gravel path marked by the encroachment of overgrown trees signaled another shift in their seemingly aimless journey. Rose's patience, worn thin by the silence and the secrecy, finally broke.
"Mick," she began, her voice steady and more relaxed than she truly felt. "Where are we?”
Mick's eyes remained fixed on the road, but a small smile played at the corners of his mouth. "You’ll like it.” The smile faded quickly though. Whatever extra information he had about this situation was heavy, pulling the smile downward.
Rose wanted to press further, to demand more answers, but the peaceful expression on Nathaniel's sleeping face held her back. There was a tranquility in his innocence, a reminder of the small joys amidst the chaos of their lives.
