by Zoey Parker
There were exploded pieces of a man still flaming and dripping on the highway.
And I had taken a life.
But there was no time to think about that now.
I kneeled down next to the black rider and my stomach lurched as my eyes fell on the hole in his chest. The hole I put there. I had aimed and pulled the trigger and felt the recoil and...
No, I told myself. Stop that. Remember what Rafe said. You're tougher than you think. And when the bullets start flying, you dig inside you and do what needs to be done because there's nothing else to do but die.
Do you want to die? No? Good. Then search this asshole and let's get the hell out of here.
I ran my hands over the rider's overalls, feeling for anything in his pockets. In one, I felt something hard and round, and gingerly reached inside to confirm that it was another grenade. A little more searching and I felt something long, metal, and rectangular that turned out to be a spare clip of ammunition for the gun he'd been carrying. Next to that was a gold money clip with a driver's license and a few hundred dollars in it.
The sirens were getting closer.
I was about to give up and head back to the car when my fingers found a small piece of plastic, about the size of a thumb. I took it out of its zippered pocket and looked at it.
It was a memory stick for a computer.
As a cloud of dust started to appear in the distance and the wail of the sirens became deafening, I stowed the memory stick in the waistband of my leggings, hoping it was worth everything we'd been through for it. I lunged for the car, tucking Rafe's legs into the back and shutting the door before driving off. I prayed that by the time the cops pulled up, I'd be far enough away that they couldn't follow the cloud of smoke the car was trailing.
I knew the Saab was about to go to pieces, but I also knew that reversing and going the wrong way up our side of the highway would be suicidally stupid. At best, we'd be playing chicken with the cars coming the right way. At worst, we'd be easy to find and ride down.
I took a deep breath and pulled the steering wheel to one side, cutting over the grassy median. The car shivered around me, the machinery under the hood grinding and choking. For an insane moment, I was sure that the wheels and undercarriage would somehow keep going forward and leave me, Rafe, and the rest of the car's frame behind like some old cartoon.
I took the first exit I saw and immediately looked for a connecting road that would lead to the back roads we'd traveled before. I couldn't think of anyplace left to go where we could possibly be safe, except for one.
I kept zigging and zagging up the back roads as I looked for the farmhouse we'd stopped at before. The noises from the car kept getting worse, and I was certain it would conk out at any moment—or worse, that a local would drive past us and call it in, and then a police car would creep up behind us and that would be the end of it.
But focusing on keeping the car out of sight along the back roads was the only thing I could think of to distract myself from the fact that I'd killed someone. And when I lost that focus for a second, I drifted back to that sharp little recoil in my hands and that bleeding hole in his chest and the look on his face as he knew everything was about to end...
Mercifully, at that moment, I saw the familiar field with the farmhouse and barn looming over it. I drove the car up the dirt driveway and parked it behind the house where we'd painted it before. When I disconnected the wires under the ignition slot, the Saab died with a rasp and a gurgle, and I knew no one would ever be able to get it working again. I was convinced that it had somehow held itself together just long enough to save our lives, and for that, I would always be extremely grateful.
I opened the back door and shook Rafe hard. “Rafe, you need to wake up,” I said.
His head moved slightly, and he grunted. I could see his eyes fluttering and struggling to open.
“Rafe,” I said, repeating his name to try to bring him out of it, “you have a bullet hole in your arm and you probably have a concussion. We're safe now, but you need to try to stay awake, and you need to stand up so I can help you inside. I brought us to the farmhouse. Remember the farmhouse?”
Rafe groaned, and this time his eyes did open. He squinted up at me, and when he tried to speak, the words came painfully slowly. “Farm...house? How...?”
“I drove us here,” I said. “I know you're tired, but you need to help me move you, okay? You're a big guy and I don't think I can carry you on my own.”
“Oh...kay...” he drawled. Slowly, he put his arms under him and pushed himself out of the back seat into a sitting position with his feet on the ground. “Fuck, my head is goddamn killing me. Just give me a second an' I'll get up.”
“Sure,” I said. “Whatever you need. We'll get you inside, and I'll see what I can do about your arm, okay? We'll get you rested up, and hopefully, if it’s a concussion, it'll pass.”
“Uh-huh,” Rafe agreed, nodding. He looked very dazed, but it seemed like he was already starting to come back to himself. “Did you...find it? Did you get it?”
“I think I may have,” I said, “but I'm not really sure.” I dug the memory stick out of my leggings and held it up for him. “Do you have any idea what might be on this?”
He frowned at it, as though reminding himself what it was and what it was used for. Finally, he shook his head. “No idea,” he slurred. “Don't suppose they have an old computer in the barn we can hook up so we can take a look?”
I chuckled. “I doubt it,” I said, “but I promise, we'll think of something. We've come too far not to, right?”
Even through the agony, Rafe managed a smile. “Damn right,” he said. “Now come on. Let's put one foot in front of the other an' get ourselves inside.”
Chapter 28
Rafe
I didn't remember anything after passing out in the back of the Saab on I-94. Later, Jewel told me that I'd regained consciousness for a few minutes once we reached the farmhouse, and that I'd even talked to her before she brought me in.
But the concussion must have banged my brain around pretty badly, because the next thing I knew I was waking up on the floor of the house's living room. I was naked from the waist up, with strips of thick cloth carefully wrapped around my bleeding arm. I groaned and Jewel hurried in from the next room, crouching down next to me.
“Good, you're awake,” she said. “Don't try to move. I did my best to keep you from passing out, but once you did, there wasn't much I could do to wake you up again. I was keeping my fingers crossed that you'd, y'know, shake it off somehow and wake up on your own. I'm not, uh, very good at first aid...”
The words were tumbling out of her mouth quickly and breathlessly, and I realized how scared she must have been. “Don't worry,” I croaked. “You did great. Better than I would've, probably.”
“We need to see how bad the concussion is,” she said. “How many fingers am I holding up?” She held up three.
“Jesus, Jewel, I'm just a biker,” I moaned. “You really think I can count that high?”
She rolled her eyes and sighed, lowering her hand. “At least the smartass portion of your brain seems undamaged.”
My head felt weirdly cold, and there was a steady drip trickling down the back of my neck. I reached up but Jewel took my hands in hers and lowered them. I didn't resist.
“Leave it,” she said gently. “I've been soaking strips of cloth in cold water from the pump outside and wrapping your head with them. I think I read somewhere that that's good for a head injury, to keep the swelling down and let things heal. I cleaned and wrapped the hole in your arm, too. It looks like the bullet went straight through, which is, um, probably good, even though the hole it made on the way out looks pretty scary.”
I looked down at the arm. She'd done a very good job with the bandage—tight enough to keep the wound covered, but not so tight that it'd cut off circulation. I was impressed.
“Where'd you get the cloth for the bandages?” I asked.
“I ha
d to rip up your sweatshirt,” Jewel answered.
“Aw, man!” I said, forcing my lips into a smile. “And that was my favorite outfit, too. What a bummer.”
I hoped the joke would help her relax a little. Instead, she burst into tears.
“Hey, what's wrong?” I asked. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make fun of the sweatshirt...”
“I had no idea what I was doing!” Jewel sniffled. “I just...I killed him, I pointed the gun at him and I...”
“You didn't have a choice,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “He was gonna kill both of us. You did what you had to do. That's nothing to feel bad about.”
“Of course there's something to feel bad about! I took a life! I killed someone and there's nothing I can ever do to take that back. And then I had to search his body and I didn't even know what I was looking for so I probably took the wrong thing and it's all been for nothing. And then the cops came and I had to drive the Saab the whole way here without being seen, and I was so scared that it would fall apart before it got us here or the cops would pull us over and arrest me for murder. And then I had to keep you awake so the concussion wouldn't get worse and I couldn't even do that because I can't do any of this! It's all too much, and I just can't!” Jewel collapsed into loud, heaving sobs.
When Jewel had freaked out in the motel room the first night, I'd been too busy trying to stay ahead of Jester to do anything but try to get her to shut up fast and answer my questions. But now that we'd been through so much, I genuinely felt bad for her and found myself wanting to comfort her.
None of this had been her fault. She'd shown a lot of trust in me so far. She’d done so much for me when she could have just run away and left me bleeding on the road to be picked up by the cops, and I felt like I owed her in return.
But comforting crying women wasn't exactly high on my list of skills. I had no idea what I was supposed to say or do to get her to calm down, and I couldn't bear to watch her hurting so much.
I sat up slowly, feeling the ache in my head and arm. I carefully scooted myself over to her and put a hand on her shoulder.
“You can,” I assured her. “You know how I know? 'Cause you did. Most people in your position would have given up and gone over the edge two days ago, but not you. You're smart, you're brave, and when the shit goes bad and the fucking bullets start flying, you're one of the quickest, most resourceful people I've ever known. And I hang with bikers, okay? So I know what I'm talking about, here.”
Jewel wiped her tears away, looking at me with wet eyes. “You really mean that?”
“Of course I do,” I said, rubbing her neck and shoulder one-handed. It made the arm throb, but I needed my good arm to keep me propped up, especially since my vision still felt a bit dizzy around the edges.
“I don't feel brave at all,” Jewel sniffed. “I almost peed myself when those men were shooting at us.”
“Everyone gets shaken up in a firefight,” I said. “It's what's supposed to happen when your life's in danger. I've known hardened dudes who've filled their pants with shit in those kinds of scrapes. You'd have to be some kind of psycho or mannequin to stay totally calm in situations like that. But the difference is, most people would freeze up, or lose control and do something stupid. Not only did you do what you had to do to save yourself, you saved me, too. If you could do that, I know you can handle anything else that comes our way.”
Tears were still running down Jewel's cheeks, but her breathing was starting to return to normal. “You've saved me a lot more than I've saved you over the past few days.”
“Well, it's not a contest,” I chuckled.
“And I'm still counting on you to get us out of this,” she added.
I asked about what she'd found on Black's corpse, and she told me about the memory stick again. I nodded. I couldn't guarantee that it was what we were looking for, but it sounded promising.
“Can you bring me my phone?” I asked. “If we're gonna figure out what's on the stick and use it to take down Jester, we're gonna need some stuff, which means I need to make a quick call.”
Jewel went to the kitchen and came back with my burner. Then she took a bucket outside to get more water from the pump.
With my brain burning and my vision swimming, it took me a couple of tries to dial the number correctly. Finally, I got it and put the phone to my ear. Each ring felt like a nail being driven into my head.
Fuck, I thought. If I can't pull myself together soon, I'm gonna need her to do my shooting for me too, because right now I doubt I could hit a goddamn elephant if it was two feet in front of me.
Boomer picked up. “Devil's Nest. No, we don't have light beer.”
“Boomer, it's me,” I said thickly.
“Rafe?” he asked. “Is that you? You sound weird as fuck. Are you okay?”
“I'm quite a few miles away from okay, actually,” I said. It felt like just getting the phone to work had taken a lot out of me.
“Well, if you're calling about the info on those Thorn guys, I don't have any for you yet. Hey, were you involved in that thing up on I-94?” Boomer asked. “Because Jesus, from what I saw on the news, that looked like something out of fuckin' Call of Duty.”
“Yeah, that was us,” I answered. “Didn't leave us in such great shape, though. I'm a little shot up and our car crapped out on us. Is there any way you could bring us some new wheels and a first aid kit? And maybe a laptop or something that can read a memory stick?”
There was a pause on the line. When Boomer spoke again, he sounded very uneasy. “Look, Rafe, you know how much I want to see you finish this thing. And I've done everything I could for you so far, even though Bard was really clear about the rest of us staying clear of you while you're doing this. But I already had to make an excuse to Bard when I came up to get Rosie for you, and now you're asking me to bring you a car, which is a pretty tall order, y'know? I mean, what am I supposed to do, just grab one of the Reapers' spare rides from the garage? What am I supposed to tell the other guys?”
Boomer was right, and I knew it. He'd already gone above and beyond, and asking him for more wasn't fair. But after seven years in Potawatomi, all the friends I had left were Reapers, and Boomer was the only one who'd been willing to stick his neck out for me. What's more, I knew that in spite of his corny jokes and shit-kicking redneck attitude, Boomer was one of the smartest, toughest, and most capable members of the Reapers.
He was a good man, and I hated pushing him. But if I was going to do what I needed to, I knew I'd need to.
“Boomer, I am so close,” I said. I wasn't used to pleading with anyone, but goddamn it, this was bigger than my pride and I had no other choice. “You're right. You’ve already done way more for me than I deserve, and I owe you more than I'll ever be able to pay back. And if I had anyone else I could call, man, anyone at all on earth, I'd ask them for help instead and leave you out of it. But I promise, there's no one else. You're the only one who can help me see this thing through the way I have to.”
“Rafe...” Boomer started.
“No, just listen, okay?” I continued. “Please. I just want to say one more thing. If you tell me to go fuck myself and hang up the phone and never take another call from me again, I'll understand completely and there won't be any hard feelings. But I am begging you, man. I have never begged for anything from anyone in my fucking life, and right now I am begging you to please just do this one more thing for me. Please, Boomer. Just the car, a first aid kit, and something to see what's on this memory stick so I can use it against Jester. Please.”
There was another pause, followed by a sigh. “That memory stick had better have more on it than someone's fuckin' porn collection, dude.”
“Thank you,” I said. “Boomer, when this is all over...”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you'll give me two dozen roses an' a rimjob, sure,” Boomer replied. “Just tell me where you are right now an' I'll see what I can do, okay? I can't promise anything, but I'll try.”
I to
ld him about the farmhouse and how to get there, and he hung up. I knew he'd find a way to bring us what we needed.
But I didn't know what else he'd be bringing with him.
Chapter 29
Jewel
As I carried the bucket of cold water into the house, I heard the last part of Rafe's conversation with the man he called Boomer.
When Rafe said that he didn't have anyone else he could call for help, I felt a twinge of sadness mixed with understanding. I had never been big on socializing, and when it came down to it, I realized that I didn't really have any friends who were close enough for me to ask them for help when I was in serious trouble, either. It was strange to think that we had that in common. I had my parents, sure, but they were quiet and well-mannered Midwesterners and I knew they'd be at a loss if confronted with anything dangerous.