Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Not In Kansas Anymore

ZACH

We sit by the fire until the logs have turned to embers. Aiden’s eyes look heavy, and his shoulders slump.

His story weighs on me, but I’m glad to help him. Glad to let him get his trauma out in the open. Wounds can only heal if they have room to breathe. A lot of things make more sense now. The fear I saw in his eyes at the campfire last night when we got close. The names he calls in his dreams. The way he’s always pulling away. All these terrible things he’s been through mixed up together, along with Marcus’s death. And Aiden’s been holding it all in.

“I think I need to go to bed,” Aiden says quietly.

“Yeah. Some rest will do you good.”

It’s early yet, but the evening was so emotionally draining. The extra sleep will be good for both of us.

It’s a warm night, and the stars are too spectacular to ignore, so we sleep outside our tents. I convince Aiden to put our bedrolls next to each other for safety’s sake. In reality, I want to keep an eye on him to be sure he’s okay. He doesn’t object.

We’re in our own sleeping bags, but as I lie there, I wish we were together in one. I want to comfort him and hold him close. But Aiden has opened up to me, and I don’t want to take advantage of him in a vulnerable state.

Sleep doesn’t come easy with everything on my mind. Aiden’s soft, rhythmic breathing breaks the quiet of the evening. As I stare up into the vastness of space, my mind travels far, pondering life and existence. Aiden stirs in his sleep, rolls his body toward mine, and hooks his arm around me. A tingle goes through me as the entire length of his body presses against mine.

“Oh, hi,” I say under my breath with a barely audible laugh. His breathing is deep and consistent, and he’s still sound asleep. Without disturbing him, I turn on my side with my back to his front and nuzzle in. I want this moment to last forever.

We wake up together when the sun comes streaming over the foothills. Aiden yanks his arm away and looks a little startled.

“Sorry.” His face turns various shades of crimson. It’s adorable.

“It’s okay. I don’t mind.” I send him a warm smile.

His expression softens with the hint of a smile. He’s okay with the affection. That little gesture sends warmth through my body.

It doesn’t take us long to get packed and head out. We don’t say much, but Aiden’s mood seems lighter. It’s barely perceptible but undeniable.

We’ve left the vast open plains of central Montana and into densely forested mountains. The farther we get away from Missoula, the fewer cars show up along the side of the road. It’s been a while since we’ve found much gasoline, so we stop at almost every car to siphon. We find a few gallons, but we’re using gas faster than we find it. We’ve already gone through most of the backup gas cans. What this Camaro gains from sheer coolness is lost in lousy mileage.

After a couple of hours of driving, we pass a sign.

Idaho Panhandle National Forest.

“Guess we’re not in Kansas anymore, Toto,” I say.

Aiden gives a sidelong glance at me and lets out a little chuckle. “Let’s hope we don’t run into any flying monkeys.”

“Or wicked witches.”

For miles, we’ve been driving along a river valley with hills on both sides of us. But then the hills to the left drop away, and we’re on the bank of a vast lake. Beyond the lake, snowcapped mountains rise far off in the distance.

The cars on the side of the road have gone from sparse to nonexistent. For the first part of our journey, we couldn’t go a mile without running into old burned-out vehicles or a pileup we had to steer around. But it’s been at least an hour since we’ve seen anything.

“Hey, Aiden. Where do you think all the cars went?”

“I’ve been wondering that myself. It’s like somebody’s cleared them all away.”

We keep driving along the lake’s perimeter until a sign for Sandpoint, Idaho, goes speeding by.

Aiden sighs. “Going through towns sucks. But our gas situation is getting critical. We’re going to have to risk it.”

I lean over and check the gauge. It’s well below a quarter tank, and we used our last backup tank about an hour ago. “Yeah. I’d guess we can only make it another forty-ish miles before running out, and I’d hate to get stuck in the middle of northern Idaho.”

When we get to Sandpoint, we drive down one of the major arterial roads. There’s not a single car to be seen.

“Okay, now this is just plain strange.” Aiden’s brow wrinkles. “Somebody has deliberately removed every car. What on earth for?”

“No idea. But this whole town is giving me the creeps.” The hair on my neck stands up.

Out the side window, the streets are empty, with nothing for blocks in all directions. An old Victorian house comes into view. It’s a classic painted lady in hues of lavender, blue, and green. And in the driveway, an old Oldsmobile sits up on cinder blocks.

“Check that out.” I point ahead to the car. “Guess they couldn’t tow that one away. Think it might have some gas?”

“Hmm, it’s worth a try.”

Aiden parks the car, and we hop out. He works on the siphon while I keep watch, looking up and down the street. The house probably dates to the early 1900s. The lawn is overgrown, the paint is peeling, and pieces of its filigree are falling off.

My stomach twists as a curtain moves on the second floor. An old woman with long gray hair and a scowl on her face peers out at me. I make eye contact, and she immediately shuts the blinds.

“There was a woman up there.” I point to the window.

Aiden’s forehead creases as he looks back and forth down the street. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this. Let’s get going.”

“Yeah, I’m with ya.”

We hop back in the car and head to the highway as fast as possible.

“Do you think that car was a trap?” I ask.

“If I were going to set up a trap, that’s exactly how I’d do it.”

We get back on the highway and speed out of town. There’s no sign of any pursuit, but I keep my attention focused just in case. The road is empty, and after about five miles, my nerves settle down.

We’ve made it another twenty miles, and still no cars. The gas gauge is a hair away from empty when I spot an old gas station by the side of the road. The pumps look straight from the 1950s, all red with an analog readout. A glass globe on top reads Gasoline in flowing script.

“Hey, Aiden, pull in here.”

“Got an idea?” Aiden slows the car down.

“Yeah, maybe I can jury-rig one of these old pumps. They’re strictly mechanical, so I might be able to bypass the fuel pump.”

“We’re running out of options. Only a few miles left in this tank. Let’s give it a shot.”

Aiden pulls the car in and parks it at the side of the gas station, where it’s not as easy to spot from the road. I reach into the back seat and grab my trusty toolkit out of my backpack.

Aiden opens the driver’s side door and hops out. “I’m gonna scout around a bit. Let me know if you need any help.”

“Will do.”

With the toolkit in hand, I head over to the pump. It doesn’t take long to get the faceplate off. Just a few screws are holding it in. The face is a little rusty, but I pry it off with the flat end of a screwdriver. Once it’s open, the whole mechanism looks straightforward. The gas line from the underground tank flows into a fuel pump. Shouldn’t be hard to override. I’m getting the gas line detached when Aiden shouts.

“Get down! Someone’s coming!” He frantically gestures for me to duck as he heads for cover behind our car.

Looking around, there’s nowhere to go, and I’m pretty exposed. So I ball myself up and scrunch behind the gas pump.

The throaty sound of an engine comes from down the road. I crook my head around the pump to get a peek. It’s a large pickup truck with extra-large tires and that damn FLA flag we’ve seen before.

Crap. CRAP.

But they don’t slow down. They go past the gas station. Maybe we’ll be okay.

The truck is almost out of sight when it stops suddenly, tires shrieking and smoke rising from them. The truck does a three-point turn and heads back. I have a tiny sliver of hope they didn’t see us and will continue down the road. But that hope evaporates when they stop right in front of our car.

My anxiety builds. I have only seconds to get control of it before I’m useless. With my eyes shut tight, I breathe deep and clear my mind. But in my mind, I’m surprised to see Aiden there. His calming touch. His gentle voice. How he helped me the last time. My panic has ebbed, and I open my eyes to face my fears.

Four tough-looking people pile out of the truck, each with a rifle. A guy in a camouflage vest and an orange hat yells. “Hot damn, this is the car all right. Just like that old hag said.”

I’m sickened as he shoots out the two front tires with a handgun.

A woman with short-cropped blond hair, wearing all-black military fatigues, yells at the gunman, “Jesus, Wayne, put that damn thing away. Remember, we need ’em alive.”

“Why can’t we just kill ’em, Tyra?”

“The boss said so, that’s why. Also, keep your eye out for a small silver box.”

I’m entirely exposed in my current spot. If one of them so much as turns their head to the left, they’ll see me. Aiden is hiding behind the car. It will only take a moment for them to find him. Our backpacks, propped in the back seats, poke up for all to see.

Aiden makes eye contact with me, his gaze a mixture of sadness and resolve. The box he carries is important to him. Maybe as important as his own life. My chest tightens as I imagine what he might do.

So I know what I must do. I make a couple of quick hand signals to him. First, I point at myself, then show my fingers running. Then, I point to him and mime his hands on a backpack. Aiden’s eyes turn wide, and his mouth gapes open. He shakes his head vigorously and mouths no.

I nod yes to him with a solemn expression. This is what I have to do. The thugs are moments away from discovering Aiden, and the moment they see him, they’ll kill him. This is my last chance.

I jump up from my hiding spot and start running toward the forest, away from the men and our car where Aiden is hiding, yelling and making as much noise as I can.