"I've had worse days," he replies, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.
"Somehow I believe that."
He's slowing down. The adrenaline that carried us through our escape is fading, and reality—blood loss, trauma, exhaustion—is taking its toll. Two miles suddenly seems impossible.
"We need to rest," I say, my nurse instincts overriding everything else. "Just for a few minutes."
"No time," James shakes his head. "They're still looking."
As if to confirm his words, we hear shouts in the distance behind us. They're faint but unmistakable. The search is organized and spreading.
"Then we need to move faster," I decide, slipping under his arm to support some of his weight. "Lean on me."
He hesitates, pride warring with necessity. "I'm too heavy for you."
"I'm stronger than I look. And you're too stubborn to die, so we're doing this."
After a moment, he relents, allowing me to take some of his weight. He's right. He is heavy, solid muscle and bone pressed against my side. But determination makes up for what I lack in size. I adjust my grip around his waist, careful to avoid his wound, and we continue down the road at a slightly better pace.
The late afternoon sun filters through the trees, casting long shadows across our path. In other circumstances, it would be peaceful, beautiful even. Now, every shifting shadow makes me flinch, imagining pursuers gaining ground.
"Tell me about your brother," I say, partly to distract James from the pain, partly to fill the silence that makes each snapping twig sound like a gunshot.
"Dice?" A genuine smile crosses his face. "He's my little brother. Only family I've got."
"Dice is an unusual name."
"Nickname. His real name's Daniel. But he's always been a risk-taker, even as a kid. The name stuck."
"And he's in a motorcycle club?"
James nods. "Outlaw Order MC. Dice is just a prospect, but they're his family now." He pauses. "Good guys, mostly. Despite the name."
"Mostly?" I raise an eyebrow.
"They operate in gray areas sometimes. But they have a code. They protect their own."
I absorb this information, wondering what I've gotten myself into. A motorcycle club that "operates in gray areas" doesn't sound like the kind of people I normally associate with. Then again, normal went out the window the moment I decided to flee with James.
"Will they help us?" I ask, the question that matters most right now.
"Without question," he says with absolute certainty. "Dice will move heaven and earth once he knows I'm in trouble."
His confidence is reassuring. We keep moving, each step an effort for James, but he doesn't complain. The only signs of his struggle are his increasingly labored breathing and the growing dampness where his blood seeps through his shirt onto mine.
"Almost halfway," I encourage, though I have no way of knowing exactly how far we've traveled. The road seems endless, winding through trees that all look the same.
"Rebecca," James says suddenly, his voice lower than before. "If we get separated, I need you to remember something. OutlawOrder Clubhouse. That's where you'll find Dice. Tell him his brother sent you."
"We're not getting separated," I insist, tightening my grip on him. "And you can tell him yourself."
But his words plant a seed of dread. He's preparing for the worst, that he might not make it all the way. We crest a small hill, and I feel a surge of relief. Through the trees ahead, I can make out what looks like the roof of a building. The gas station.
"Look," I point. "We're closer than I thought."
James straightens slightly, renewed determination in his stance. "Let's hurry."
As we approach, the full gas station comes into view. It's small and dated. The kind of place that still has actual gas pumps instead of digital ones, with a little convenience store attached. A faded sign reads "Earl's Gas & Grocery." One pickup truck sits parked at the pumps, but otherwise, the place looks deserted.
