Article 5 (Article 5 #1)(44)

“Hurry!” I motioned to him. My knees were knocking hard, the stench and the sound of buzzing flies still fresh in my memory.

“Alice!” the woman wailed. “I’m sorry about Luke! Alice!”

There was a moment where I was torn between fear, pity, revulsion, and the guilt that my mere presence had upset her fragile mental balance. Then the woman screamed, a bloodcurdling sound that ended in a gargling sob, and I ran blindly into the cornfield.

*



CHASE led the way, moving fast. It didn’t take long for me to realize he’d marked his path by cornstalks bent at right angles. Clever, I thought fleetingly.

After several minutes he slammed to a halt, grabbed me hard around the shoulders, and gave me a firm shake.

“Don’t do that again!” he reprimanded. “I told you to stay close!”

Then he turned just as unexpectedly and plowed onward. I could hear him tossing indecipherable comments over his shoulder, but he didn’t glance back.

I did. I searched our path, panicked, convinced the woman was ready to do whatever it took to retrieve me. I jogged to catch up.

“Crazy lady probably hasn’t been off her property in months,” he was saying. “Why’d she call you Alice, anyway? And who’s Luke?”

It was as if he’d pulled the trigger on a loaded gun. I pitched forward onto my hands and knees and heaved. Black spots appeared before my vision as the spasms raked my body. I could still smell the dead, rotting animal. I could taste it in my mouth.

Chase stopped. The anger he had been directing my way replaced itself with alarm, and he knelt beside me.

“She thought I was her daughter, Alice,” I gasped, spitting. “Luke was the dog. She butchered him.”

“That explains the smell,” he said.

“Come on! She’s following us!” I groaned. We were a good distance away from the trailer, but I could feel her presence on me, her arms winding around my body. When I tried to stand, I stumbled again. The rain seemed to bore me straight into the ground.

“No she’s not. She’s gone,” he said in a hushed tone. A gentle hand was placed on my back—a test, I knew, after I’d shied away from him earlier. I didn’t shake him off; his touch was oddly reassuring. His dark eyes probed mine, searching for the details of what had transpired in his absence.

“Help me up.” I didn’t care if he saw me crying, if he could even tell through the rain. I just wanted to get out of there.

Without a word, he slid an arm behind my knees and lifted me, cradling me against his chest like a child. I watched the rain pool on my jacket at the bend of my waist and gave myself, for the moment, to lightness.

“At least this way you won’t get lost,” he said dryly.

But I was lost. The lines between danger and safety were blurring.

*



A FEW minutes later, the truck appeared through the cornfield. It was a bitter reminder of my failure to escape, but I still felt a flood of relief at the sight of it.

“Put me down,” I said, wriggling out of his arms. Though my strength hadn’t fully returned, I needed the distance. His presence had too quickly become a comforting shield; one I wasn’t sure which side to be on.

He paused, as if he were reluctant to let me go, but then he set me down abruptly. The second I was out of his arms he shoved his hands into his coat pockets. When we were close enough to the car, he reached around me and opened the door. As if I would just get in. As if we could pretend that nothing had happened.

“Are you all right?” he asked, registering the fury that flew across my face.

I had vomit coating my mouth and my hands. I had mud and wet hair plastered to my face. Every inch of me was streaming with cold water. I’d just been accosted by an insane woman while trying to escape a guy who’d nearly killed an armed robber. And that was just since this morning. No, I was definitely not “all right.”

I slammed the door shut. His brows rose in surprise.

“I was leaving, you idiot!” I shouted over the rattle of the rain hitting the truck’s metal hood. “I didn’t get lost—not on purpose. I ran away!”





CHAPTER


8



THE seconds passed. I still felt the urgency to fly, but my feet were stuck in the mud. The weight of my words hung between us, and though part of me feared his reaction, I did not regret them. I knew what he was capable of; he needed to know the same about me.

After what seemed like a long time, he shrugged.

“Hope you’ve got good shoes. It’s a long walk to the checkpoint.” He lifted his arm toward the road. His eyes mocked me, but there was a hint of something else in them, too. Almost like fear, but that couldn’t be. He wasn’t afraid of anything.

“I … I can catch a bus,” I stammered, glancing into the corn for Alice’s mother. She’d had a car behind her house. What if she drove to town to look for me? It didn’t seem so ludicrous based on the strength of her delusion.

“A bus? To a transport station? Great idea. Watch out for the soldiers that search the vehicles, though. And the Missing Persons boards. And the cashier who’ll need your U-eleven form. And…” His tone became increasingly sharper.

“I’ll give a fake name, and I have … money,” I shot back.