Article 5 (Article 5 #1)(28)

Clearly my abduction had not been on impulse; Chase had already packed a getaway car with supplies. I began to feel the urgency ripping through my veins. He had gone AWOL and forged documents to get me out of rehab. It wouldn’t be long before Brock and the MM figured out what he had done.

“What happened?” I asked.

I blocked his path back to the van. He shoved past.

“There’s no time to explain, trust me. We’ve got to move out.”

“Trust you?” I asked incredulously. “After you arrested me?”

“I followed orders.”

I was shocked at how cold he sounded. I had rationalized that maybe there was still some humanity left within him—he had promised my mother he’d get me out—but I realized now that his actions were in no way altruistic. They were full of resentment.

The shock burned into rage. Before I thought it through, I clenched my fist and punched him.

He reacted instantly, tilting back so that I missed his jaw and just barely grazed his ear. I lost my balance and pitched forward, but before I fell he grabbed my shoulder hard and jerked me back upright.

“You’ll have to be faster than—”

Furiously, I kicked him as hard as I could, stomping my heel into his thigh. The breath whistled out of his clenched teeth as he staggered back a step. One brow quirked, and I felt my heart kick up a notch.

“Better,” he commented. As if we were playing some kind of game.

I seethed, hating him in that moment, but when he released my arm I didn’t attack again. It didn’t seem to get the point across the way I had hoped.

“What is wrong with you?” I shouted.

A shadow flew across his features. “A lot. Now, if you’re all done, get in the truck.”

He slid in the driver’s seat and slammed the door in my face. Gritting my teeth, I rounded the front and propped open the passenger door. I wasn’t about to get inside without him telling me what was going on.

“Where is she?” I demanded.

“Get in and I’ll tell you.”

“How about you tell me and I’ll get in.” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“You’re a pain,” he said bitterly. A hand clawed through his neat soldier haircut. I was learning quickly that this meant he was angry with me.

I waited.

“A safe house in South Carolina,” he said. “She knew it was too dangerous to go home.”

“A safe house?”

“A place off the FBR’s radar. People go there to hide.”

My throat constricted. I’d known my mother and I would have to hide. But knowing it and doing it were two different things.

“So we’re going to meet her in South Carolina?”

“Sort of. The exact location is a secret. You’ve got to meet someone who’ll bring you in. There’s a man, a ‘carrier,’ at a checkpoint in Virginia who’ll get us there. We’ve got until noon tomorrow to meet him.”

“Why tomorrow?”

“He only transports on Thursdays.”

“Every week?” I asked, thinking of my mother. Maybe she had met him last week. If not, she might be there when we arrived. I might see her tonight!

“We don’t have another week!” Chase said, misinterpreting my question to hear that I wasn’t in a tremendous hurry. “After a soldier is AWOL forty-eight hours they put him on a list. Each unit gets a copy of it when their tour of duty starts. After noon tomorrow they’re coming after me.”

I shuddered. “And me.”

He nodded. “You’ve got a little longer before the overnight pass is invalid. But they’ll link you to me—”

“I get it,” I interrupted. “How did you find out about this?” If he’d heard about the safe house in the FBR, surely other soldiers had, too. My mother could be walking into a trap.

“Civilians sometimes talk about safe houses during arrests, but this one…” he sighed heavily. “My uncle. I ran into him on a training exercise in Chicago a few months after I was drafted. He was going to South Carolina. He told me about the carrier in Virginia. Good enough?”

“That was almost a year ago. How do you know it’s still there?” Chase’s uncle had ditched Chase during the War. I didn’t exactly trust him.

“The FBR never found out about it. My security clearance gave me access to operations. South Carolina hasn’t had any movement since they evacuated the coast.”

“And you’re sure my mother found this carrier?” I pressed.

“No,” he answered bluntly.

Which meant she could be anywhere. Still, if she’d been attempting to get to South Carolina, we had to as well. In less than twenty-seven hours, the MM would know we were fugitives. We needed to hop aboard this underground railroad as soon as possible.

For the first time, I truly felt like a criminal. I rolled my still sore shoulders back and, making my decision, scooted into the truck.

Chase jammed the screwdriver into the steering-wheel column, and it released with a soft pop. Then he fiddled around with something under the console until a few fast clicks sent the engine squealing to life. He sat up, revved the gas. There was no key in the ignition.

“Learn that in the MM?” I asked spitefully.

“No,” he said. “I learned that during the War.”