Cade POV
The sound of the truck peeling out of the compound driveway was a death knell. My blood turned to ice. Tessa. They were going to the diner. They would grab her in front of everyone, and no one would stop them. The sheriff was their friend. The witnesses would be too scared.
I was moving before my brain caught up. I scrambled from our hiding spot, my stitched leg screaming in protest. I didn't care. Riley was right behind me, grabbing my arm.
"Cade, stop! They just left! If we run out now, we run right into the rest of them!"
I shook her off, peering through the crack in the wall. The yard was still full of angry, armed men, but their attention was on Marcus, who was yelling about searching the county. The two trucks carrying Harlan and the others were gone.
"We have to go now," I hissed. "We can't let them get to her!"
"We need a vehicle," Riley said, her mind racing as fast as mine. "Ours is miles away. We'll never catch them on foot."
My eyes swept the dark barn. The ATVs. They were useless without gas. The two remaining trucks... we'd sabotaged them.
Then I saw it. In the far corner, under a tarp. A shape.
I limped over and yanked the tarp off. It was an old dirt bike. A Honda, covered in mud. A farm kid's toy.
"Will it start?" Riley whispered, already checking for keys. They were in the ignition.
"Only one way to find out." I pushed the bike toward the small side door we'd entered, away from the main barn door facing the house. Riley cracked the door open, checking the alley between the barn and the fence. Clear.
I swung my leg over the bike, wincing. Riley climbed on behind me, wrapping her arms around my waist. "Can you drive with your leg?"
"I'll manage." I turned the key and pressed the start button.
The engine coughed, sputtered, and died.
My heart slammed against my ribs. I tried again. Another cough. Behind us, in the main yard, a man shouted, "You hear that?"
"Flood it!" Riley urged.
I turned the key, held the start button, and gave it too much gas. The engine roared to life with a deafening growl in the quiet alley.
"Go! GO!"
I kicked it into gear. The bike lurched forward. We shot out of the alley, along the back of the barn, toward the hole in the fence.
"Hey! STOP!" A voice bellowed from the yard. A gunshot cracked. A bullet sparked off the barn wall beside us.
I didn't look back. I aimed the wobbling bike for the hole in the fence. We were too wide. The handlebars wouldn't fit.
"Lean!" Riley yelled.
We both leaned hard to the side. The handlebars scraped against the chain links with a metallic shriek, but we squeezed through, bursting out into the freedom of the dark woods.
But we weren't free. Headlights swung behind us. A truck was coming through the main gate, giving chase.
The dirt bike was fast and agile in the woods, but the truck had power on the fire roads. I couldn't take the direct route to the highway. I had to lose them first.
I swerved off the path, plunging into the thicker trees. Branches whipped at our faces. The bike bucked over roots and rocks. Riley held on tight, her head buried against my back. I drove by instinct, ducking under low limbs, weaving between trunks.
The truck couldn't follow us in here. Its headlights stopped at the tree line. But they'd know where we were headed. They'd radio ahead to Harlan.
We had to get to the diner first.
After five brutal minutes, I found another fire road and gunned the bike onto it, turning toward the interstate. The wind screamed in my ears. My leg was on fire, the bandage soaked through with fresh blood.
The truck stop diner came into view, its bright sign a beacon in the night. I killed the bike's engine and headlight a hundred yards away, coasting to a stop behind a stack of shipping containers in a nearby storage lot.
We dismounted. My leg almost gave out. Riley caught me.
"Look," she breathed, pointing.
The Colter truck was parked haphazardly near the diner entrance. No one was in it. Through the big windows, I could see the diner was in an uproar. People were standing, looking toward the back. I saw Harlan's red beard. He had his back to the window. He and his men were surrounding a booth.
Tessa's booth.
But I didn't see Tessa.
"Where is she?" I whispered, panic clawing my throat.
Then I saw the manager, the woman Riley had spoken to. She was pointing forcefully toward the hallway that led to the restrooms and the staff office. She was yelling at Harlan, blocking his way.
Susan. The code name. She'd hidden Tessa.
Harlan wasn't having it. He shoved the manager aside. She fell against a table. A trucker stood up, getting in Harlan's face. One of the other Colter brothers slammed the trucker in the stomach with the butt of a shotgun. The trucker went down. The diner erupted into chaos.
Harlan and Dale headed for the hallway, toward the office.
They were seconds away from finding her.
I started forward, but Riley pulled me back. "You can't go in there guns blazing! It's a room full of civilians!"
"I don't care! They're going to take her!"
"We create a diversion. Draw them out." Her eyes scanned the lot, landing on the Colter truck. "You take the truck. I'll get Tessa."
"How?"
"Trust me. Get ready to drive." Before I could argue, she was gone, melting into the shadows toward the diner's side door.
I had no choice. I limped to the Colter truck. The keys were in the ignition. I slid into the driver's seat, started it, and put my hand on the gear shift.
I watched the diner doors.
A moment later, the side door burst open. Riley stumbled out, yelling, "Help! They've got a gun! They're crazy!"
Harlan and Dale appeared in the doorway behind her, looking confused for a second. Then they saw her running across the parking lot toward the storage containers.
"Forget the girl, get her!" Harlan roared, pointing at Riley. He and Dale sprinted out after her, leaving the other three men inside.
This was my chance. I threw the truck into drive and slammed my foot on the gas. The truck roared forward, not toward Riley, but toward the front doors of the diner.
I didn't stop.
The truck crashed through the glass doors and partway into the diner itself. People screamed, diving out of the way. Plates and silverware crashed to the floor. The two Colter men inside spun around, raising their weapons.
I was already out of the truck, using the door as a shield. "Tessa! NOW!"
The office door flew open. Tessa and the manager ran out. The manager pointed to the shattered front exit. "Go!"
Tessa ran, darting around the counter. One of the Colter men turned to grab her. I picked up a heavy ceramic sugar shaker from a nearby booth and hurled it. It hit him square in the temple. He went down.
The other man fired his shotgun. The blast took out the front window of the truck. Pellets peppered the door I was hiding behind.
I returned fire with my pistol, two controlled shots. Pop. Pop. He cried out, dropping the shotgun, clutching his thigh.
"Tessa, to the truck!" I yelled.
She reached me. I shoved her into the passenger seat of the wrecked truck. "Get down!"
I looked for Riley. She was leading Harlan and Dale on a wild chase around the storage containers. I couldn't leave her.
I leaned on the horn, three long blasts.
Riley heard it. She changed direction, sprinting straight for the diner. Harlan and Dale were right behind her, firing. Bullets pinged off the shipping containers.
Riley dove through the shattered diner window, rolling across the hood of the truck. "Go! Go! Go!"
I threw the truck into reverse. The mangled metal of the door frame shrieked as I tore the truck back out onto the parking lot. I slammed it into drive just as Harlan and Dale reached the entrance.
Harlan raised his pistol, aiming at Tessa through the windshield.
Riley leaned out the passenger window and fired. Not at Harlan. At the giant neon "OPEN" sign above the diner door.
The sign exploded in a shower of glass and sparks. A rain of hot debris fell on Harlan and Dale, making them duck and cover.
It was all the time I needed. I stomped on the gas. The truck sped out of the lot and onto the on-ramp for the interstate.
We were away. Tessa was safe in the cab, sobbing with relief.
But we were in a shot-up, very recognizable truck, on a brightly lit highway, with at least five wounded and furious enemies behind us.
And my leg was bleeding so much I could feel my boot filling up with warm fluid. The world was starting to spin at the edges.
Riley looked at me, her face grim in the dashboard light. "You're going into shock. We need to get off this road. Now."
I nodded, fighting to keep my eyes open. "Where?"
She pointed to a sign rushing past us. It showed a tent and a tree.
"Campground," she said. "We ditch the truck, find an empty camper, and you rest. Or you're going to pass out and get us all killed."
The exit was coming up fast. I signaled and took it, the truck wobbling. The headlights illuminated a sign: 'Pine Lake Recreational Area.'
We turned onto a dark, wooded campground road. It was late. The place was silent, dotted with dark RVs and tents. We drove slowly to the very back loop, far from the host site.
There, we found an old, closed-up pop-up camper. It looked like it hadn't been used all season.
Riley helped me out. I could barely stand. Together, we broke the cheap lock on the camper door and stumbled inside. It was musty and cold, but it was shelter.
Tessa got me lying down on a dusty bunk. Riley ripped open my pant leg again. The stitches had torn. The wound was a mess.
"I need to re-sew it," she said, her voice tired. "This is going to be bad."
As she worked, the pain a distant throb in a foggy brain, I heard a new sound outside. Not an animal. Not the wind.
Engines. Several of them. Moving slowly through the campground, their headlights sweeping through the trees.
A voice, amplified by a bullhorn, echoed in the quiet night.
"County Sheriff. We are conducting a search. Everyone remain in your vehicles or campsites."
They weren't just chasing us anymore.
They were hunting us door-to-door.