"Wait," James pulls me to a stop at the edge of the trees. "We need to think this through."
He's right. We're a mess—him in blood-soaked prison clothes, me in a nurse's uniform spattered with blood, both of us dirty from the woods. We'll attract attention immediately.
"I need to clean up before I go in," I say, assessing our options. "There must be a restroom I can use."
"And I need to stay out of sight," James adds. "Prison breaks make the news fast."
We observe the station for several minutes. Earl sits behind the counter inside, reading a newspaper. No other employees visible. The bathroom appears to be around the side, with an entrance from the exterior.
"Here's the plan," I say finally. "I'll clean up as best I can, then go in and use the pay phone. I'll also buy some supplies. Food, water, maybe some clothes if they have any. You stay hidden in the trees."
James shakes his head. "Too risky. What if Walsh's men show up while you're inside?"
"They're searching the woods, not checking gas stations yet. Besides, we need help, and this is our best option."
He studies my face, clearly not liking the plan but seeing no alternatives. Finally, he nods.
"Be quick," he says. "And Rebecca? Don't give your real name to anyone."
The warning sends a chill through me. Of course. I'm aiding a prison escape now. I'm a criminal too.
"I won't," I promise.
We make our way to the edge of the property, staying within the tree line. The side of the building with the bathroom is out of view from both the road and the front counter, offering some privacy.
"Wait here," I tell James, helping him sit against a tree just within the woods. "I'll be as fast as I can."
His hand catches mine before I can move away. "Be careful."
The simple touch, the concern in his voice, they affect me more than they should. I squeeze his hand once, then slip away toward the bathroom.
It's unlocked, thankfully. Inside, I'm confronted with my reflection in a grimy mirror, and what I see shocks me. Wild curls escape from what used to be a neat ponytail. Blood—James's blood—stains my light blue scrubs in dark patches. Dirtsmudges my face. My eyes look wider, wilder than I've ever seen them.
I hardly recognize myself.
Working quickly, I scrub the blood from my hands and arms, then dampen paper towels to clean my face. I can't do much about the scrubs except zip up my jacket to cover the worst of the stains. I fix my ponytail as best I can, tucking escaping curls back into place.
The result is still far from normal, but at least I don't look like I just escaped a massacre. Taking a deep breath, I leave the bathroom and walk around to the store entrance, trying to appear casual.
A bell jingles as I enter. Earl looks up from his newspaper, eyeing me with mild curiosity.
"Afternoon," he says, his voice gravelly with age.
"Hi," I respond, aiming for friendly but not memorable. "Do you have a pay phone I could use? My cell died."
He nods toward the back corner. "Right over there. Still works, believe it or not. Most folks forgot what a pay phone looks like these days."
I smile politely and head for the phone, relieved to see it's the old-fashioned kind that takes quarters. I dig in my pocket and find a few, then lift the receiver.
Now comes the hard part. I don't know Dice's number.
I hesitate, then dial the operator. When she answers, I ask for the number for Outlaw Order Clubhouse. After a moment, she provides it, and I hang up to dial directly.
Each ring heightens my anxiety. What if no one answers? What if they can't—or won't—help us?
"Outlaw Clubhouse," a gruff male voice finally answers.
"I need to speak with Dice," I say, keeping my voice low. "It's about his brother."
