I nodded and started walking toward the row of cars parked in the back.
Even if they weren’t, we couldn’t risk it. I didn’t know who’d come in the middle of the night carrying shotguns, but I was positive they were looking for us. We barely had five minutes inside the building. We hadn’t even had the proper time to look for a phone and call for help. Now we were on the run again.
I snuck around each of the cars, lifting the handles, trying to find one unlocked. After the first three, my spirits sank. If they figured out we were back here, there’d be nowhere for us to escape. With each handled I tried, we also took our chances I’d set off a car alarm. Not only would it leave sitting ducks but broadcast our location.
CHAPTER 5
IMOGEN
Cyrus yanked at another door handle. I opened my mouth to speak but closed it. He oozed determination. I didn’t want to ruin his quest, but our lives were on the line, and he was trying the wrong door handle. I had to step in.
I learned the old trick from my mechanic grandfather. Leave the passenger side unlocked when they’re in the lot for easy access when you need it. That way, you didn’t need to search for keys in the shop. As Cyrus jiggled the driver’s door handle of an old Toyota, I swept up to the passenger side of a black Jeep Commander.
Fingers crossed these mechanics trusted their tall fence to use the same time-saving tricks.
The door opened immediately, just as I expected, and I jumped into the vehicle, leaning across the way and unlocking the driver’s side door in time for Cyrus to reach it.
He did not waste another second and slid into the driver’s seat. “You found one unlocked.”
“Yeah,” I said, my panic heightening again. With our new position, we couldn’t tell how close the two men had gotten to us. Were they already inside the building searching?
“Check under the mat,” I said, hoping the owner of this service station was as trusting as my grandfather.
Cyrus looked at me as his hands dug at the underparts of the steering wheel as if he planned to rip the casing off and hot-wire the vehicle, but it probably wouldn’t be that hard.
“No, it can’t be so simple,” he said as he dropped his hand and ran it over the bottom mat under his feet.
My shirt had mostly dried on our long walk. The little water I had left seeped into the fabric of the vehicle, leaving sand everywhere. “My grandfather used to run a place similar to this. They figure the cars are safe because of the fence.”
Right at the end of my sentence, Cyrus’s hand shot up, dangling one key from a black ring. He smiled brightly even in our dire circumstance and jabbed the key into the ignition, starting the vehicle. With a quick turn to the right, he darted out past the other row of cars and then hit the gas, headed straight for the gates in the middle of the fence.
I closed my eyes and held on to the safety handle as he hit the structure, going at least thirty miles an hour. The car didn’t even slow as metal clanged. Thankfully, we ended up in a monster of a vehicle. The chain-link gates flew open, swinging from their hinges as we barreled through. Cyrus clutched the wheel, and we skidded onto the road, the back tire falling off the edge into the side gravel before he righted it and we went on our way.
A shotgun blast rang out through the night air and I screamed, clutching the “oh shit” handle until my knuckles were white, but none of the spray of bullets hit our vehicle.
Cyrus’s driving eventually evened out, and I turned around, checking behind us to make sure we weren’t being followed. Twenty minutes later, I gave up and faced the front of the vehicle after his third warning to buckle my seat belt. Our road was deserted, and we didn’t know which direction we were headed, but he sounded confident in his ability to get us somewhere.
At least out of the state of Florida if the road signs with the penis shaped state were an indicator of where we ended up.
The last time I visited Florida, it was spring break during my senior year of high school when a carload of us drove down together. I didn’t pay attention to the roadways. Not that I’d remember, anyway.
The night stretched out before us and Cyrus stared straight ahead, driving like an old man going the speed limit. Occasionally, his gaze fluttered to the rearview mirror and sent me into a panic, but we didn’t see anyone. No men in cars with shotguns.
Signs for different towns zoomed ahead of us as we drove. Keystone Heights, the next one, coming up quickly. I tried to stay awake, but the adrenaline I used to keep me going faded fast.
I hadn’t had enough water or any food, and my body was shutting down. “What’s your plan?” I asked once Cyrus’s posture relaxed slightly while he drove us toward freedom.
He glanced at me and I almost warned him to keep his eyes on the road. “As soon as we reach the Florida line, I’ll feel better and we can call my brother.”
It sounded like a perfectly reasonable plan.
If we were a couple on vacation.
But we just escaped a boat, stole a car, and narrowly avoided being shot. Surely we had better options available to us. “What about the police?”
Cyrus returned to white knuckling the steering wheel. “Didn’t you trust me when I said I didn’t want to call the police?”
Wow, it was pitch black outside, but red flags raised on flagpoles everywhere inside my brain. They covered the roadways. Sirens rang out around me and lights flashed in the car. If someone could see inside my head they’d think I was suffering from a neurological event.
