The Escape (19 page)

“He forced Clarissa to go along with him, poisoned her mind against us. Made her kill the very people who have kept her safe and alive all this time. They murdered four of our soldiers. Shot them dead. These are the people you are making friends with.”

Don’t listen to him. Just breathe and don’t listen.

“Who was that man with you?” Lanche asked softly. “The man who died? Was he your daddy?”

“You mean the man your soldiers killed,” Evan muttered. “He didn’t just die, you killed him.”

“Did I kill your daddy, Evan?” Lanche’s tone was sickeningly sweet. Cloying.

“No.”

“Well, that’s good. Then maybe we can be friends. Wouldn’t you rather be my friend, than my enemy?”

Evan’s mouth was so dry, his throat hurt. He needed something to drink. The blow to his head had made him dizzy—if he weren’t already on the dirty floor, he’d have fallen by now.

“I need a drink.” Evan looked up at the Colonel, trying to keep his face blank.

“Oh now, that’s not how we ask. What’s the magic word?”

Fucking motherfuckers. Treating him like a toddler, trying to get him to start talking. He could see right through their tricks.

But damn it, he was thirsty.

“May I please have some water,” he muttered.

“You have to address me properly.”

Fuck. FUCK FUCK FUCK.

“Sir. May I please have some water?” Evan wanted to crawl into a hole and die rather than suck up to that son of a bitch, but the insistent demand of his dry mouth left him without a choice.

The Colonel smiled. “I think you should call
me
Daddy. I never had a son, maybe I could adopt you. You’re just so . . . cute.”

Scar laughed.

Evan wished he could spit on the floor at Lanche’s feet, but he didn’t have any saliva. He closed his eyes.

“Come on,” Lanche laughed. “I’ll be your Daddy, and get you your waa-waa.”

“I have a father already, asshole,” Evan said finally.

Lanche shook his head, and Scar hit him again, punching him in the gut this time. Evan cried out and curled up on the floor, his stomach cramping in pain.

Everything hurt. And he was still so thirsty. When was the last time he’d had even a sip of water? Was it sometime before Barker had taught him to shoot? It seemed like ages ago. Before the truck came. Before the shoot-out. Before Roy died. Before he’d endured a long, tortuous tractor ride all the way back to Grand Central.

Lanche walked away, his footsteps loud on the cement floor. Evan could hear the sound of water, precious water, being poured.

The Colonel came back over to him, standing over him on the floor, and took a deep sip of the water from a metal cup, smacking his lips.

“Would you like some?”

Evan nodded, even though he knew what was coming. They were trying to break him down, to humiliate him. Psychological torture. It was working. He’d give anything to have that cup in his hands right now.

“Ask me nicely.”

His insides rolled, but Evan lifted his head up off the floor, staring at the cup.

Fuck.
Just say it. It’s not real, it’s not giving him any information. So just fucking say it.

Evan took a shaky breath. “May I please have some water . . . Daddy?”

Lanche grinned and handed him the cup.

“Good boy.”

Emily and Mason’s cabin, upstate New York

Emily ate an
entire tomato raw, carefully pulling the seeds out and setting them aside as she munched. When she was done, she gathered the seeds and went back to their garden, found an empty spot of dirt near the other tomato plants, and buried the seeds, watering them with an old tin can filled with lake water.

When she thought now about all the food she used to throw out, she cringed. She used to go to a restaurant and eat only a small portion of what she was served, then bring home the leftovers and accidentally let them rot in the back of her fridge.

Everything was precious now. Nothing could be wasted, and everything was either recycled, like the seeds, or reused, like the can.

Mason was out back chopping firewood. Now was a good time to test the bow and arrows she’d made him.

The long, strong but flexible branch she’d found while out gathering the other day was perfect for the bow. Without any extra string around, she’d made one from some of the deer’s sinew. It was strong but pliable, and should hold up well.

The biggest problem was finding arrowheads to use on her wooden arrows. They had plenty of rocks, but shaping them and figuring out how to attach them to the arrows wasn’t easy. Finally, she’d settled on carving them out of bone from the deer carcass. That deer had saved their lives in so many ways.

Now, to test it!

Emily went out into the woods with the bow and the arrows slung together in her bag, looking for a good place for some target practice. Any tree would do, she supposed, as long as it was far enough away that Mason wouldn’t see what she was up to before she was ready to surprise him.

The forest around her was alive with the sounds of birds and crickets. Every now and then, a frog joined in the chorus.

She pulled an arrow from her bag, set the notched end against the string of the bow, and pulled back, pausing to aim before letting it fly.

It missed the tree completely, but damn, it went far. So that was good. The bow worked, she just needed to practice. Something scuttled away as she went searching for the arrow.

This is probably why arrows have feathers on them,
she realized. Not just as decoration, like she’d assumed, but so they could be found again. She’d have to add something with color to her arrows before she continued, or she’d risk losing all of them in the woods.

At the lake there were dozens of white goose feathers lying around, so she added those to the arrows.

This time, when she shot the arrow, it actually flew straight.

Okay, maybe that’s why the feathers are there.
Even better! After about an hour, her arm and shoulder were killing her, but she’d managed to hit the tree more times than not.

It was ready to give to Mason. He was going to be so thrilled. Emily loved that she could give him something he wanted so badly. And yeah, she felt like a badass for figuring out how to make it herself.

“Don’t shoot,” a man’s voice said softly from behind her.

She whirled around, trying to find the source of the voice.

“Who’s there?” she asked. “Show yourself.”

A man stepped out from behind a tree. His tan face was covered with a beard. Soot streaked his skin and covered his clothes.

“Hands on your head,” she said, her voice calm, despite the panic rising in her throat.

He complied.

“I’m not going to hurt you. I’ve been camping over there,” the man said, gesturing with his head to someplace farther out.

“Who are you?”

“Samuel,” he said. “I’m not here to hurt you, or to take your stuff, or anything like that. I’m just camping.”

“For how long? This is our place,” she said.

Would Mason hear her if she shouted? Should she risk running back to the cabin, when the man might follow her, and see the setup they had—and possibly try to take it for himself?

“Few weeks. Been traveling, trying to get to my summer place. But when I got there it was already taken over by squatters, and I didn’t want a fight. Can’t fight,” he amended. “So I left, and when I found a creek out there, I stuck by it.”

“This is our land,” she said. But it wasn’t quite true, now was it? They’d found the deserted hunter’s cabin and made it, and the surrounding woods, their home. Did that make it theirs?

Yes. She wouldn’t give it up, not for this man.

“Look,” he said. “All I want is a place to sleep at night and access to that creek for water. I’ve been a good neighbor, haven’t I? You didn’t even know I was here until today.”

“I suppose so. But I have to talk to my husband about this. He’s very concerned with . . . with our land being overhunted.”

“One deer a season, that’s all I need, and I can get it myself. There’re hundreds of acres out here, surely you can let me camp out on just a small part of it. You’ll never even see me.”

“I’m seeing you now,” Emily said. But it didn’t feel right to deny this man the very thing that she and Mason had fought so hard for as well—a chance at freedom. To live off the land.

“Will your husband kill me?” he asked.

“No.”

“Then maybe I can wait here, and you can bring your husband to meet me, and we can all talk this through. Maybe I can even be of some help to you guys.”

“Stay there,” Emily said. “I’ll be back.”

She turned and ran, but not straight back to the cabin. Instead, she ran in the opposite direction until she was out of his sight, and then turned and went back home the most roundabout way she could, carrying the bow over her shoulder.

“Mason,” she called when she got back to the cabin, panting from her exertion.

“Hey honey,” he said, setting down the old axe and turning to her. “Whoa, is that what I think it is?”

She’d almost forgotten she had the bow with her.

“Fuck. I wanted to make this into a big deal. I made you a bow and arrows, and they work, which is awesome—but right now you need to come with me.”

“That’s amazing,” he said, taking the bow from her.

“Mason. Listen. There’s a man camping in the woods. I found him while I was practicing with the arrows. He seems . . . normal, I guess. He says he’ll be a good neighbor, and I didn’t get a bad vibe or anything, but—”

Mason stormed into the cabin and came out with his gun. “Where is he? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said hurriedly, running to catch up with him. He was already on his way into the woods. “This might not be a bad thing, to have a neighbor. If he stays out of our way, having another person around might be good, even.”

“How? How is that good?”

“He said he could help us if we needed it. What if I get pregnant and you need someone to help you lift something, or, I don’t know . . . there are plenty of things you could use another guy to help you do, don’t you think?”

“No.”

She put her hand on his arm. “I won’t lead you to him unless you promise to not hurt him, and to be reasonable. We’ve made this place our home, but we can’t say that we rightfully own all this land. There’re hundreds of acres of forest out here. He just wants to camp on a small part of it, that’s what he said.”

“And what happens when he comes knocking on our door?”

“You may have forgotten what’s it like to have neighbors who can help you, but I haven’t.” Her mind immediately flew to Jenna, to her roommate on the Tracks. Would she even have survived if it hadn’t been for her?

Mason took a deep breath. “Okay. We’ll go talk to him.”

A rest stop off I-95

JENNA, BARKER, AND CLARISSA

Night had settled
in, and Jenna turned to Barker, cuddling up next to him under the sleeping blanket in the back office of the abandoned rest stop.

“Today was a really bad day,” she said, pressing her hand against his chest so she could feel the comforting beat of his heart.

“I know,” Barker said. “But we’ll make it right again. Together, we’ll fix all of this.”

Together.

The idea of together both comforted her and terrified her. There had never been a time in her life when she’d felt as connected to a man as she was to Barker. He understood her. And he thought he knew everything about her, about who she truly was, and he still wanted to be with her.

And yet she wasn’t sure she deserved that. Because if Barker realized how hard it was for her to commit to anything—anyone—would he still feel the same way?

No, he wouldn’t. He knew she’d slept around, that she’d been a whore on the Tracks and enjoyed it, actually found real pleasure every night doing what other women, women like Clarissa, found so despicable.

But that first night together, he’d told her that she was no longer a whore. Having him see her as a person, as a woman and not a thing, a toy . . . It was amazing. Barker was the first man to see through the layer of protection she’d laid around herself to who she was inside, and still want to be with her.

And yet she felt certain she would sabotage it all. She could feel herself testing the waters, every time words like
we
or
together
or any mention of them as a couple came up.

“Are you sure our truck is hidden from the road?” she asked.

“Definitely. No one will be able to see it, not pulled around back like that. It blends in with the other trucks.”

In another room, where they had made a small fire in a garbage can to boil their water, Clarissa was sleeping alone. But from the sounds of her intermittent sobbing, she wasn’t sleeping very well.

“She’s really torn up over Roy,” Barker whispered.

“I know.”

“I can’t even imagine what she’s going through,” he said. “I don’t . . . I don’t even want to imagine, don’t want to think about it.” He kissed her fiercely. “The thought of losing you, after everything we’ve been through together . . .”

Together. The word burned through her brain.

Don’t do it, Jenna. Don’t ruin the only good thing you’ve got.

“Do you mind if I go sleep with her tonight, keep her company?” Jenna asked.

“You don’t think she wants privacy?”

“No. That’s what guys want when they cry. Women would rather have someone to cry with.” Jenna smiled sadly and got up to see her friend.

In the empty hall, with the fire burning down to almost nothing, Clarissa stared at the dying embers with tear-streaked eyes.

“Hi,” Jenna said, sitting next to her. She put her arm around her, and Clarissa turned her face into Jenna’s chest and sobbed.

“I still can’t believe he’s actually dead,” Clarissa whispered. “I keep replaying it in my mind, wondering if I could have done anything differently.”

“There’s nothing you could have done. It could have happened to any of us.”

“I’m never going to be able to do what I did with him, with anyone else. I know it, I feel it.”