The alien tugging sensation in my chest mixes with the adrenaline coursing through my veins and makes me feel sick. I choke back bile as I jog across the parking lot to my car, checking over my shoulder as I run. This could be it for me.
Itmeaning the day I’ve dreaded—when the self-preservation instincts that have kept me just one step ahead finally run out. My exhausting life on the run will be over if I’m caught. For a second, the idea fills me with relief. Running to live and living to run takes a toll. At twenty-four years old, I already feel tired down to my bones.
I slap myself again. Fuck that defeatist attitude.
I'm Sheena May. I don't dwell, and I certainly don't give up. There just isn’t time, plus it violates my rules.
No pity. Trust no one. Keep it moving.
With one last glance behind me, I hop into my battered Toyota Corolla and tear out of the bar parking lot. Two miles down the road, I pull up alongside the ragged RV I've called home for the last few months. I throw the car in park, leave it running, and sprint inside. I drop to my knees next to the bed to retrieve the faded go-bag from underneath. It’s already packed with a few hundred bucks in cash, a first aid kit yellowed with age, some nondescript cheap clothes, and a box of name-brand tampons.
The essentials I need to start over... again.
I’ve run this drill many times. I should be out of here in less than ninety seconds if everything goes according to plan.
Turning to the small cabinet on my left, I toss cans of soup, protein bars, and unopened packs of beef jerky into the duffle. It's not much, but I've certainly had less.
Time to go.
I study the interior of the rusty RV one last time, feeling a brief pang at having to leave it behind. Satisfied there's nothing lying around that might trace back to me, I hoist the bag over my shoulder and hightail it out of there. I don't bother locking the door. Every second matters, and I won't be back.
Securing my seatbelt, I stomp on the gas. I’m five miles down the highway before I allow myself to draw a deep breath and think about what just happened.
Those men. Something about them was both familiar and off. I’m positive I’ve never seen them before, but the way the big guy looked at me, that instant connection—well, something about it wasn't normal.
Maybe someone with less baggage would find it exhilarating, but I’ve had more than enough excitement to last me a lifetime. After my introduction to the supernatural as a kid, I learned to never slow down or ask questions. Nothing—and I mean absolutely nothing—is worth putting my freedom in jeopardy.
No, my rules are in place for a reason, and I won't be breaking them today. Rubbing my chest, I ignore the aching pull and glance down at the weathered old atlas I keep stuffed in the glove box.
Colorado might be nice this time of year.
CHAPTER
TWO
SHEENA
Steam curls up from the engine in wispy spirals, an ominous sign I’m going nowhere fast.
This car has made it 200,643 miles, but it’s choosing now as the perfect time to give up?
Just my luck.
I squint at the setting sun as a chill settles low in my gut. Though I crossed into Colorado a while ago, I’m still a few miles outside of the town I’m heading for according to the map. I won't make it there before dark with this complication. That means I’ve got to roll the dice on two shitty options and cross my fingers that nothing goes wrong.
Who am I kidding? Something always goes wrong.
Now I’ve got to decide which choice is least likely to get me killed: sleeping out here in the open or walking into a strange place after dark with no set destination.
Looking again at the horizon, I’m a little disappointed when the town doesn’t magically materialize. A twist of my neck shows there are no promising options in the direction I came fromeither—only a whole lot of nothing. No cars have passed by since I’ve been stuck on the side of the road. Not that I would flag someone down for help anyway, but the lack of traffic is a good indicator that this place is incredibly remote.
The electric current snaps in my chest, refusing to be ignored.
It’s not painful, but it is distracting. At first, I thought it was the product of my fear and adrenaline, but it hasn’t stopped sizzling beneath the surface of my skin since I encountered those guys.
Did they do something to me?
Suspicion flares up, joining the frothy cocktail of feelings bubbling inside me. The combination turns my stomach. It reminds me of the one time I tried jungle juice at a house party in high school.
