But what would they do in the morning? They had no water, no food, no car, and they were supposed to be dead.
Her heavy eyes begged for sleep.
“Liz, stay awake.”
Blinking, she forced her eyelids to stay open.
“Here.” Javier took off his jacket and draped it over her.
“No, you’ll freeze.”
“I’ll be all right.” Wearing only a T-shirt, jeans, and his cap, he settled next to the fire. The flames reflected in his eyes, and when they looked over her, his jaw dropped.
The sound of a cocking gun came from behind her, followed by a gruff male voice. “What the hell do you think you’re doin’?”
Javier stood with his hands by his face, in a posture of surrender. “I’m sorry. We were in an accident. We’re just trying to stay warm.”
Was it an agent? Liz struggled to twist around and get a look at the man, but her stiff neck prevented it. She resigned to listening.
“What’s wrong with her?” the man asked.
“She’s cold. I think she’s hypothermic.”
“You related?”
If she weren’t freezing to death, she might have laughed. She and Javier looked nothing alike.
“She’s my aunt.”
“Well, you all better come back to the house. Can’t have you freezing on my property. Come on.”
She put her hands on the ground and lifted herself, but her elbows buckled. She fell back to the dirt.
“Sir, can you help her? I’m injured.”
“All right. Here.” The man passed his rifle over her to Javier.
He was quick to trust strangers. Maybe the hypothermia made them look anything but threatening. That, or he was tricking them into a more dangerous situation. Her lethargy overshadowed her ability to care.
The man wiggled his arms under her, and he grunted as he lifted her. As he walked away from the fire, her body pressed against his stocky form and his uneven gait jostled her with each step. He coughed, cleared his throat, and panted like he had trouble breathing when he exerted himself. His clothes smelled of a mix of smoke, dirt, and sweat.
Eventually, he reached a small house and carried her inside. A dim light came from somewhere behind her. It must have been warmer here, but she didn’t feel it.
“Hey kid, get that switch by the door, will ya?” the man asked.
Overhead lights came on, and he lowered Liz onto a couch. She rolled onto her side. A wood burning stove sat a few feet away. The man opened it and threw a log inside. Without another chair in the room, a shivering Javier sat on the floor and leaned against the couch near her head.
The man put a blanket over Javier’s shoulders and draped Liz with a comforter. “I’m Duane.”
Javier looked up. “I’m Hector. She’s Marie.”
Marie. She’d have to remember her new name. Though if this guy kept up with the news at all, fake names wouldn’t matter. The bounty was still on Javier’s head, and Duane would need a compelling reason not to collect it. Most people she knew had gone without too long.
A painful shiver raced through her body. She gasped while arching her back.
“Good, she’s recoverin,” Duane said. “I’m not sure she would’ve made it through the night.”
Javier slumped, wrapping the blanket tighter around himself.
“Your aunt, huh?” Duane looked from Javier to Liz, then back to Javier. “You don’t look alike.”
“I was adopted.” Javier’s eyes met Liz’s.
Don’t worry, I’ll remember.
The shivering increased, and she pulled the comforter to her chin, wishing she could lapse into unconsciousness.
****
A gurgling coffee pot woke Javier. Sitting up in the chair where he’d passed out, he curled his arm over his head and pulled until his neck cracked. Daylight spilled through the windows. How long had he been asleep?
He inhaled the coffee’s aroma, and his stomach rumbled.
Liz slept on the couch. Her color looked better than it had the night before.
His guilt made him restless. If Duane hadn’t found them, she wouldn’t have survived the night, and the only reason she was in that situation was he’d stumbled into the shelter’s courtyard. It would have been better for her if he’d died in the wreck or from the gunshot.
But then LifeFarm would continue killing people and denying culpability.
He had to move to relieve his anxiety. Upon lifting himself from the chair, his leg wound reminded him of its painful presence. Limping around loosened it enough to make it little more than a nuisance.
A final gurgle came from the coffee pot, but Duane wasn’t around. Javier peered down a short hallway before going in search of a mug.
The first cabinet was full of jars of canned food: peaches, beets, and apple butter, according to the labels. Other foods filled the remaining two shelves. The next cabinet held dried meat in vacuum-sealed plastic.
This guy was prepared to live on his own for some time.
Javier opened the next cabinet and found plates and bowls.
“Can I help you find something?” Duane asked from behind him. The front door slammed closed a moment later.
Javier turned. “Mugs?”
Duane set a large ax near the door and carried logs to a pile near the wood burning stove. In the kitchen, he opened a cabinet next to the fridge and handed Javier a faded Disneyland mug. He grabbed a second mug and filled it with coffee, then held the pot out to Javier.
With full cups, the men sat at Duane’s small kitchen table.
“Do you live here alone?” Javier asked. He hadn’t heard anyone else in the house, and Duane seemed remarkably unconcerned about his appearance. His jeans were stained, his flannel shirt torn, and his gray hair needed a trim. A few days’ worth of beard growth covered his rough face.
Duane nodded as he took a sip. “Yep. Live off the grid. I hunt or grow all my food. Power is solar, water comes from a well.”
“Why?” Javier sipped from his mug, suppressing a wince at the lack of sugar and cream.
Duane cleared his throat. “Now, I don’t go around asking others to explain how they live. I’d like the same courtesy. I could have asked you how you ended up in the forest with no supplies or means of survival.”
“I told you. We were in a wreck.”
“People in wrecks call for help.”
Javier stared at the table and took a sip. How could he keep Duane from figuring out the truth?
“It’s all right. Everyone’s got something to hide.” Duane stuck his foot out and lifted his pant leg, revealing an artificial limb that looked like a metal representation of the bones that had once been there. “Got this as a souvenir in the Iraq war after 9/11. Before your time. They wanted to pull me into Eurasia.”
Javier did the math. “Weren’t you a little . . . advanced for that one?”
“Yeah, but you remember how it was.” He paused. “Or maybe you don’t. You were probably a baby. Anyway, the government fired up the draft again. I was still serving in a desk job. But I could walk well enough, so they signed me up for combat and promoted me, as if that would help.” He laughed and took another sip. “I had a funny feeling about that operation. Didn’t want any part of it. So I took off.”
Javier surveyed the interior of the cabin. This man had lived here under the government’s radar for the past eighteen years, and he was spilling his guts about it to a stranger. “Aren’t you worried I’ll tell someone where you are?”
He shook his head. “Don’t think I need to be, Hector. Or should I call you Javier?”
Javier gasped. He glanced at the door, figuring he could wake Liz and run out in less than a minute. But how would they get past Duane? And where was the gun?
“Relax, boy. I heard on the radio this morning. Cops are looking for a kid who looks like you traveling with a lady who looks like her.” He gestured to the couch. “Thought I’d throw the name at you and see how you react. What I’ve se
en and what the report said don’t match. I know the media is full of shit. So I decided to trust you. Stay here as long as you need to.” He held his hand across the table. “I’ll keep your secret if you keep mine. Deal?”
Javier paused then reached out, shaking Duane’s hand. “Deal.”
“You hungry?” Duane stood and walked to the fridge. “Toast?” He held up a loaf of bread at the same moment something broke through the window over the sink.
He collapsed, blood streaming from the back of his head.
A second shot hit the freezer.
Oh, God. Javier fell to the floor and crawled to the front door.
Liz crawled up next to him. “What the hell happened?”
“They found us.” Javier stood up on his knees and gripped the ax in both hands, listening. The shooter would arrive any second. He swallowed despite his dry mouth. “Hide behind the couch.”
“Like hell.” Hunched over, she hustled down the short hall.
The front door burst open. A man with a chiseled face and butch haircut pointed a pistol at Javier’s head.
Before he could think, Javier thrust the ax onto the man’s foot. Butch screamed and lurched back, leaving half of his foot behind and spreading a blood trail across the porch.
A second man hurried to the door and trained his weapon on Javier.
Two shots fired. The gunman hollered and fell backwards. Blood ran from large holes in his chest.
Javier twisted around. Frozen, Liz pointed a rifle towards the open door.
Butch continued groaning. Sitting up, he wrapped his hands—one still holding a gun—around the remainder of his foot.
Javier rushed over and freed the gun from his grasp. Butch’s eyes widened, as if he’d forgotten the gun was there.
Liz raced to Javier, and they both pointed their weapons at Butch, who was now sweating.
“Are there any others?” Liz asked while surveying the woods. The gun shook slightly in her hands.
Butch stared at her, the crease between his brows deepening.
Focusing, she closed the distance between the rifle and Butch’s eyes.
He held his bloody hands near his face. “Okay! No, just us. Don’t shoot.”
She glanced at his foot. “You’re bleeding a lot. I don’t think you’re getting out of here.”
What is she thinking? Javier’s hands were sweating. Shooting this guy would be killing an unarmed man—one who’d killed Duane. Unless the other guy did that. The only thing Javier was sure of was these men hadn’t come to arrest them. They’d been searching for a more permanent solution.
The man’s hands shook. “Please, don’t. I was following orders.”
“You always murder because it brings a paycheck?” Liz took a step towards him.
Standing, Javier looked into her eyes and tried to keep his voice steady. “Liz.”
She didn’t lower the weapon.
“Liz!” He tilted his head.
When her eyes met his, realization appeared to hit her. She lowered the gun.
Sighing, Javier weighed his options. How could he and Liz get away without Butch seeing them do it? “Give me your phone and I’ll bandage your foot. You might live.”
His hand violently shaking, Butch reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a black phone.
“Okay, here’s what’s gonna happen.” Javier pocketed the phone. “We’re gonna tie you up and blindfold you, and after we’re far from here, I’ll call for help.” Leaving Liz to stand guard, he went inside to gather anything he could find to tie Butch up and bandage his wound, pausing to look at Duane’s body. The old man had been murdered just for helping them.
The guilt returned to his gut. Anyone associated with Javier was at risk. Maybe he should figure out a way to ditch Liz before they killed her too.
****
“Sylvia, what’s our status?” Charlie had the phone on speaker and put his face in both hands. Since learning Mendez and the woman weren’t in the car, he hadn’t stopped sweating and called every five minutes to find out if his guys had found them.
“Someone made an anonymous call to emergency services, directing an ambulance to a cabin.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Okay. So?”
“Our guys were there. One was shot dead. The other was tied up, blindfolded, and had half of his foot cut off.”
Charlie bolted to his feet. “He got away again?”
Sylvia didn’t answer for a few seconds. “We’re tracking him. We think he took the old man’s vehicle. There were fresh tire tracks.”
“What kind of vehicle?”
“We don’t know.”
“What about the phone?”
“Mendez ditched it.”
Charlie sat again and rubbed his forehead, trying to calm himself. “Okay, so let’s think this through. He has the bees. He knows about the virus. They went to northern Colorado. Why?”
“He’ll need to go somewhere to develop a vaccine. A lab.”
“Okay, so where?” Charlie tapped his finger on the desk. “The virus is in the Midwest. Mendez knows that. They were driving that way.”
“So he’d look for a lab in the Midwest. I’m on it.”
“Let me know when you figure it out. I’m going there myself this time. And lay off the news coverage. We want them to get comfortable. It’ll be easier to catch them if they stop running.”
****
Liz slammed the old passenger van into third gear, jerking the vehicle. She winced. “Sorry. Haven’t driven a stick in ages.” She tried to steady her hands on the wheel, but in the half hour since she found Duane’s keys and they left in his van, she’d had time to process what she’d done.
Her husband had trained her to use a gun. He’d insisted on it before his third deployment, saying she might need the skills someday. He’d even bought her a small handgun, which she kept in a box in her closet. She hadn’t wanted to consider the possibility of having to use it to protect herself.
But at Duane’s house, after the agents killed the man who’d saved her, she didn’t hesitate. She hadn’t seen Duane’s gun in the living room. His bedroom seemed the next most likely place for him to keep his rifle.
She’d raised the weapon, aimed, and fired. The man had looked at her in shock as she took his life, even as he fell back and blood drained from him.
If she hadn’t, she and Javier would both be dead.
That didn’t make the images any less vivid. Nausea took hold in her stomach.
“Are you okay?” Javier’s voice brought her mind back to the van.
“Oh. Yeah.” She moved her hands from eleven and one to nine and three.
“You did the right thing back there.”
She clicked on the radio, in case anyone was reporting on Javier. Country music played through the speakers. She scrunched her nose and turned the dial.
“You don’t have to stay with me if you don’t want to. I mean . . . you’ve already saved my life a few times. I don’t want to keep putting you in danger.”
“They tried to kill us—both of us—back at the shelter. I’m not a coward, and I’m not quitting.” She messed with the radio, glancing at the mostly empty road and stopping when she found a news broadcast. “Besides, now they’ll be after us for killing that agent. It’s a little late for me to back out.”
Javier stared out his window. “I never thought going into science would be so dangerous.”
“Science is seeking the truth, how the world works. You just stumbled onto the wrong truth.”
Chapter Six
Javier drove the van into Hayes after midnight. The main street had three traffic signals and about a dozen street lights. The side roads were dark, save for the occasional porch light and regularly spaced bug zappers.
Liz leaned forward, peering out the windshield. “This is it?”
“Yeah. I told you it was small.”
Finally arriving lifted the lingering fatigue he’d fought since they were halfway across Nebraska, when
he’d offered to take over driving. The combination of evading whoever was trying to kill him, last night’s rough sleep, and the boring drive did little to keep his head clear. He only felt awake when he saw black SUVs along the route, sending his adrenaline into overdrive.
But now that they were here, he wanted nothing more than to get settled and find someone to help with the vaccine. From his internet research, he knew what the lab looked like, but he wouldn’t be able to check it out in the middle of the night. There were no apparent places to stay. He pulled the van to the side of the road in front of a darkened grocery store. “Where should we go?”
Liz scanned the street. “The next town is bigger. Let’s head there. We’ll look for a shelter.”
“A shelter? Like . . . a homeless shelter?”
She nodded. “We’ll go in separately. I doubt anyone will pay us much mind. We can get a shower and a place to sleep.”
It wasn’t a bad idea. The bits of news they’d caught on the radio talked about them but didn’t say anything about the van or the dead agent. People this far away from the scene might not know their story.
Javier pulled the van onto the road and drove out of Hayes. He and Liz rode in silence until the city lights came into view, when Liz asked a question she must have had for a while.
“So . . . you’ve haven’t talked about your family at all. Don’t they wonder where you are? Will they try to track you—”
“No.”
She stared at him.
Javier tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “I don’t have one.”
“Don’t have one? Who put you through college at sixteen or whatever?”
“The school did. Scholarships. Letting me in was good publicity for them.” Javier took a long breath. “My parents adopted me when I was four. They weren’t able to have their own children, and they met me at an orphanage in Puerto Rico. They were older than most parents just starting a family. My dad died four years later, and my mom . . . she never recovered. She always talked about how smart I was and how my dad saw it right away. I don’t think she believed she could raise me on her own. Or maybe I reminded her of my dad somehow.” He cleared his throat, keeping his eyes on the road. “Anyway, the morning after I turned sixteen, I woke up and discovered she’d left.”
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