by Tarah Benner
“It’s a simple question,” said Axel. “Do you or don’ you wanna see Micah again?”
Lark’s chest was tight with worry, but it was nothing compared to the tension radiating from the back seat.
“Of course I do,” mumbled Soren, running a hand through his short dark hair.
“All right,” said Axel in a reasonable voice. “Well, we cain’t get to Texas on a quarter tank of gas with no supplies. An’ if that girl was tellin’ the truth, then the San Judas rent-a-cops are gonna be the least of our pro’lems.”
Soren didn’t say anything, so Axel continued.
“If she was tellin’ the truth — and I ain’t sayin’ she was — then there’s gotta be some reason she’s sittin’ pretty while the rest of the country’s shittin’ bricks. This girl ain’t no island. She’s got people. Where there’s people, there’s supplies.” He raised two bushy eyebrows. “An’ she’s gon’ lead us right to ’em.”
“You want to ambush this girl and her friends?” Lark breathed.
“You got a better idea?”
As the full weight of Axel’s plan hit her, they came to a halt at the first major junction they’d seen.
In the distance, Lark could just make out the purple truck disappearing down the road. They’d intentionally avoided 285 on their way to Loving, but Axel turned onto the road without hesitation, following the girl at a careful distance.
“We can’t do this,” said Soren.
“I’m open to suggestions.”
Simjay made a noise that was somewhere between a whimper and a groan.
“You come up with a better plan, and I’ll turn this bitch around,” said Axel.
Lark caught Soren’s eye in the side mirror, and she could tell they were thinking the same thing: Axel was a loose cannon. Lark had sensed that about him from the start, but it seemed that even she had underestimated just how bat-shit crazy he was.
As she racked her brain for the best way to stage a hostile takeover of the vehicle and get them safely back on the road to Texas, they passed a sign for Carlsbad.
Lark’s breath hitched. Every minute that passed was a minute that carried them farther away from their goal. The San Judas security people were still after them. They were wasting fuel and time. Axel was determined to confront the girl from the diner, and every second it seemed less and less likely that he was going to abandon his plan.
Up ahead, Lark spotted a narrow road splitting off from the highway. The girl turned right, so Axel followed suit, and the pavement soon gave way to dirt and gravel.
They passed a sign that said East Fiesta Drive, but Lark didn’t think she’d ever seen a road that seemed less likely to lead to a fiesta. They were hemmed in on all sides by barren, dusty fields, and the only structures in sight were a few shabby-looking mobile homes baking in the sun.
“Turn back,” said Lark. This was all becoming too real, and she was about ready to dive into Axel’s lap and hijack the vehicle.
“No,” said Axel with a laugh, veering left to follow the cloud of dust receding up ahead. He whipped the truck expertly around each bend, sliding over washboard skids with the ease of someone who’d been driving on back country roads his whole life.
The landscape became visibly greener as they crossed the Pecos River, and for several minutes it was silent except for the muted pop of gravel hitting the bottom of the truck. They passed a junkyard with several rusted-out cars that seemed to have sprouted tentacles of weeds, and the road narrowed as though they had just reached a private drive.
In that instant, Lark made a decision. The revolver was warm in her hand. Taking a deep breath, she turned and pointed the gun at Axel’s head.
“Stop,” she said in a raspy voice. “We’re not doing this.”
Axel’s exuberance seemed to fade, and he looked over at Lark with a mixture of annoyance and incredulity. “Girl, what the hell’re you doin’?”
Lark didn’t answer.
“You gonna shoot me?”
Lark raised an eyebrow, her finger thrumming beside the trigger.
He let out a low harrumph of laughter. “You ain’t gonna shoot me, Bird Girl.”
Lark swallowed. They both knew he’d called her bluff. Part of her was still surprised to find herself pointing the gun at his head to begin with.
“Put that thing down,” said Axel. “I don’ want you shootin’ me on accident if we hit a dead possum and your sweaty lady-hands slip.”
“Turn around,” Lark repeated, swallowing to wet her parched throat.
Axel rolled his eyes. “You ain’t gonna shoot me, darlin’.”
“Maybe not,” said Soren. “But I will.”
Lark’s heart thumped harder. In her peripheral vision, she saw the stolen Glock appear between the seats.
Axel gave a dismissive cluck. “You ain’t gonna shoot me, neither,” he said. “We’re like brothers, you an’ me. You know how many times my brothers waved a gun at me growin’ up?” He chuckled. “Shit.”
Lark was starting to sweat. The revolver was growing hot in her hand, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull the trigger.
“Will you two lighten up?” said Axel, sounding suddenly annoyed. “We’re just —”
But what they were “just” doing, Lark never found out. The truck jolted hard to the right, as if one of their back tires had been slashed. They fishtailed dangerously on the mostly dirt road, and a hard bump caused Lark’s finger to slip.
The gun went off in her hand, and the driver’s side window shattered.
“Jesus Christ!” Axel yelled, ducking instinctively and causing the truck to swerve even harder. They veered off the road, and Lark’s head hit the ceiling as they bumped over a large sharp rock.
She dropped the offending pistol on the floorboard, her hand throbbing as if it had been burned.
Lark had never shot a gun in her life. Her ears were ringing. Her pulse was racing. It felt as though her heart was stuck in her throat, and she desperately needed to throw up.
In that moment, everything slowed to half speed. She caught a glimpse of Simjay’s panic-stricken face and Axel’s wide eyes as they cruised to a halt. Denali barked from what seemed like very far away, and slowly Axel’s torrent of obscenities reached her ears.
“Holy shit — crazy — motherfuckin’ — blew my head off!”
“What the hell happened?” asked Soren, sounding strangely calm. He’d lowered the Glock and was staring out the window as if the shot hadn’t come from Lark’s gun at all.
Lark caught Axel’s look of disgust as he leaned over the center console to fish the revolver off the floorboard. She half expected him to turn the gun on her, but instead he tucked it into his waistband and got out of the truck, muttering something about crazy chicks and PMS.
Soren got out, too, and Lark watched them cross to the back of the truck. Feeling anxious, she yanked on the door handle. They were parked at an odd sideways incline, so it took everything she had to wedge the door open and stumble outside.
By the time she joined them around the back of the truck, Axel and Soren were both bent at the waist, examining the rear tires. Lark stumbled across the road, surrendering to the bitter burn that was working its way up her throat.
She stopped beside the opposite ditch and heaved. Her stomach was empty, so all that came up was a hot stream of bile. She was covered in beads of cold sweat, and her hands were shaking so badly that she had to grip her thighs to steady them.
When the gagging stopped, she let out a ragged sigh and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. She felt weak and clammy all over, as if she had been the one who’d almost gotten shot.
Finally, she felt steady enough to approach the truck. Axel was lying in the dirt examining a twisted piece of metal that seemed to be lodged in the back tire. Her eyes drifted back the way they’d come, and she registered the glint of several identical pieces of metal lying in the road.
Wordlessly, she staggered over to the nearest one and bent to pick it up
. It looked like a piece of origami crafted from metal, with several nicks and scrapes from whatever piece of machinery had been used to shape it into a weapon.
As she studied the offending object, the realization hit her like a runaway train. She straightened up so fast that she gave herself whiplash. She opened her mouth to call out a warning, but not before a gunshot shattered the stillness.
three
Soren
Everything slowed down as bullets started to fly. Soren’s ears were ringing. His breathing sped up. There was a vise clamped around his heart and electricity in his veins, but his limbs felt slow and uncoordinated as he fought to get himself out of the line of fire.
Soren threw himself into the dirt and rolled behind the wheels of the truck, looking around desperately for the source of the shots.
Dirt. Grass. More dirt. Fields.
They were surrounded on all sides by farmland. There wasn’t a building or another vehicle in sight. There was nowhere for the shooter to hide except for the junkyard. The shots had to be coming from there.
Soren heard the sound of breaking glass, and his mind went to Simjay holed up inside the truck. Bullets were pinging off the heavy steel bumper, but Lark was in the worst position of all.
She was lying belly down in the dirt with her hands over her head. She was completely exposed, but she seemed reluctant to move. Maybe she was afraid to raise her head, or maybe she’d just frozen.
Either way, she was in danger. The four of them hadn’t ended up there by accident. Someone had sabotaged their vehicle with the intention of ambushing them on the road.
Soren began to crawl toward Lark on his forearms, digging his elbows into the dirt and dragging his lower half behind him.
Axel said something in his harsh, grating voice, but Soren didn’t stop to answer. He just pulled the Glock out of his waistband, slid it across the ground toward Axel, and slinked between the tires. He could still hear bullets pinging off the truck, but he kept his head down and continued to army crawl in her direction.
“Come on!” he called.
Lark had definitely frozen. She was lying flat on the ground with her arms clenched in a protective cage around her head. A bullet struck the ground less than a foot from her hip, and Soren saw all the remaining color drain from her face.
Axel had a gun in each hand and was shooting furiously at the junkyard, but Soren knew his chances of hitting anything from that far away were slim.
“We have to move,” Soren yelled over the blasts of gunfire.
At the sound of his voice, Lark lifted her head and looked around. Her eyes were wide with terror, but she gave him a shaky nod and started to pull herself across the road, inching back toward the truck on her forearms. Soren crawled along beside her, his muscles stiffening with every gunshot.
By the time they took cover behind the front tires, Axel’s face was red with fury. The revolver was out of ammunition, but Axel continued to shoot the Glock.
“It’s no use!” Soren yelled. “You’ll never hit ’em.”
“You don’ slash a man’s tires and ’spect to walk away,” Axel growled.
“We’re outgunned!”
As if on cue, Soren heard a quiet click as the Glock ejected the last round from its clip. Axel swore and fumbled in his pockets for the spare magazine, but Soren knew they were already living on borrowed time.
At that moment, there was a break in the gunfire, and Soren saw their window of opportunity.
“Let’s go,” he yelled, bracing himself to drag Axel along if he had to.
“I ain’t gonna run!” Axel snarled in disgust. “I ain’t gonna surrender to this asshole.”
Another shot pinged off the side of the truck, and Axel shoved the spare mag into the Glock.
“Listen to me,” said Soren, grabbing him roughly by the arm. “We may not have a choice.”
“I ain’t no coward,” said Axel, rising up and firing off four more rounds.
“No,” said Soren. “You’re a dead man.”
Lark was breathing heavily behind the truck, searching the landscape wildly for any place they could run for cover. Soren had already performed the same desperate search five or six times. If he squinted down the road, he could just make out some sort of structure about a mile away, but they’d never make it that far.
“Shit,” breathed Axel as the Glock kicked out its last round. “I’m out.”
Soren shot him a dirty look and took a deep breath. They were going to have to try something new.
“Hey!” he yelled over the gunfire. “Hey!”
The shooting stopped.
Soren listened intently, but he couldn’t hear anything except the persistent ringing in his ears.
“We don’t want any trouble!” he shouted.
Nothing.
Axel scoffed and rolled his eyes.
“I’m going to come out,” Soren yelled.
“No!” Lark hissed, grabbing him by the arm and shaking her head.
“Do you have any other ideas?” he whispered.
Lark met his gaze with those fierce amber eyes, and Soren knew that he’d never let her walk out there if the roles were reversed. She thought he was being an idiot, and maybe she was right. But they didn’t have any other choice, and the longer they waited, the more time their attacker had to formulate a plan.
“Don’t shoot!” he shouted. “We just want to talk.”
“Don’t,” Lark choked, staring at him with such intensity that Soren wondered if she was trying to hold him in place through sheer force of will.
But Soren clenched his jaw and gave her shoulder a quick squeeze. Before he had a chance to second-guess himself, he stood up and stepped out from behind the truck, steeling himself for the burn of a bullet rupturing his insides.
He raised his hands in the air and took a step forward, his eyes locked on the junkyard five hundred yards down the road.
“Don’t shoot!” he called again, taking a tentative step toward the cluster of old engines and tractor parts.
“Stop right there!” yelled a cold female voice.
Soren froze, his heart hammering against his ribcage.
“You take one more step, and I’ll blow you away.”
“We don’t want any trouble,” Soren called.
“All of you!” yelled the woman. “Drop your weapons! Put your hands on your head, and come out so I can see you.”
A surge of dread spilled into Soren’s gut. He didn’t want the others exposing themselves. The stakes were too high.
“Now!” she yelled.
Soren cringed. “Do what she says,” he called without looking around. “Axel . . . don’t do anything stupid.”
For several seconds, nobody moved. Soren felt as though someone had a hold of his heart and was trying to yank it out of his chest.
Then, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lark rise into a standing position and walk slowly to his side. The truck door creaked, and Simjay stumbled out, slamming the door on Denali’s barks.
Nearly a minute passed in excruciating silence, but Axel didn’t move a muscle.
“I can see you hiding, fat boy!” yelled the woman. “Come out or I’ll shoot your friends!”
“Axel,” Soren hissed.
“Show yourself!” barked the woman.
They all held their breath as they waited for Axel. Finally, Soren heard a rumble of disgust and the sound of Axel’s boatlike feet dragging across the road.
“Drop your weapons!” yelled the woman, more urgent than before.
“Axel!” Soren yelled.
He could practically feel the waves of contempt rolling off him. Axel never backed down, and Soren knew that surrendering to a woman only added insult to injury.
Axel let out a heavy breath of hatred before tossing the useless Glock onto the ground.
“Hands where I can see them!”
Soren whipped his head around to look at Axel and saw his upper lip curl in defiance. Then he made a big show of raisin
g his hands and placing them on top of his head.
“Nice goin’,” Axel muttered.
“You’re the one who thought it was a good idea to follow diner girl,” Soren growled.
“Whatever.”
They all waited with bated breath for the attacker to show herself. At one point, Soren wondered if she’d simply been looking to create a safe window to escape, but then he heard the crunch of boots and saw a dark silhouette shimmering in the sunlight.
He squinted. The sun was so bright that it took his eyes several seconds to bring her into focus. The light was bouncing off her smooth golden waves, and she was dressed in earth tones that perfectly mimicked the landscape.
The woman was in her early thirties. She was tall with an attractive build that was more athletic than voluptuous. She was dressed in a pair of tight-fitting olive pants, a beige thermal, and a brown Carhartt vest.
At first glance, her severe expression seemed to clash with her soft, feminine waves, but as she drew closer, Soren saw what looked like a police radio clipped to her vest and the strap of a rifle hanging off her shoulder.
Soren’s stomach dropped. With her sensible boots, Smith & Wesson handgun, and the practiced, confident manner in which she moved, he knew instantly that she had to be a member of law enforcement.
A clipped, garbled voice erupted from her radio, and the woman removed one hand from her gun to reply. “Yeah, I got ’em.”
Soren heard Axel release a low “fuuuuck.” They didn’t know how this woman was involved with San Judas, but it seemed that she had been tailing them for a while. Clearly she wasn’t working alone, but something didn’t quite fit.
Just then, Soren heard a rumble of tires on gravel and turned to look over his shoulder.
“Eyes on me!” snapped the blonde.
Soren whipped his head back around, but not before he’d caught sight of the purple Ford F-150 blazing down the road.
A strange blend of relief, confusion, and dread erupted in his stomach, mixing and building in equal measure until bewilderment won out.
If the blonde was involved with the woman from the diner, it seemed unlikely that she worked for the sheriff’s department or the FBI. The woman at the diner had struck Soren as the sort of person who could take care of herself, but he couldn’t help feeling that she would have made a very poor undercover agent.