Page 36 of North

“Probably disabling the truck,” James said, easing the window open. Wind and rain whipped the curtains.

“What are we going to⁠—”

“Stop him.” He glanced at her, although this time—no darkness, just a resigned expression. “I promise, I won’t hurt him.”

He held out his hand.

She stared at it. “Maybe…um…”

“Right now, you have two choices. Stay here with a crazy man with a gun…or trust me.”

It did seem like they’d stepped into a movie set of some dystopian thriller. If it were a zombie movie, they’d be bait. Or prey.

Clearly she’d watched too many episodes of The Last of Us over the past month of trying to clear her head.

Maybe her trauma counselor was right…Whatever is true, noble, right, pure, lovely, admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.

Not an original thought—she knew it came from the Bible. But it was suddenly painfully practical. James had done nothing but help her.

Still, she looked at his outstretched hand, and took it.

He brought her to the window, then crouched. “Step on my knee, then put your legs through first. I’ll help you slide down to the ground.”

“I’m not breakable. I can do this.”

He raised an eyebrow and held out his hands, as in Suit yourself.

Okay, it was a little harder than she’d thought, and in the end, he did have to brace her as she slid out of the window, then turned and dropped to the ground.

He followed a second later as rain drenched her through.

They came around the side of the house just in time to see Hendrickson head back up the steps. She put a hand on James’s arm, felt it tense. “Just…leave him.”

James grunted but waited until Hendrickson went back inside. Then he grabbed her hand. “C’mon.”

They raced across the yard to the truck, and he slid into the driver’s seat. The keys still dangled from the ignition, but when he tried to turn it over, nothing.

“He’s either taken out the battery or disconnected the starter or⁠—”

“He sees us.”

She pointed to the porch, where Hendrickson stood, his shotgun up. He shouted something.

“Forget it. We’re taking that four-wheeler. Go.” He pointed to a dirty two-person ATV sitting in the garage, and it felt like a crazy idea, but she took off.

More shouting from Hendrickson, and she scooted into the garage and peeked out. A second later, James came running behind her.

He hopped on the machine—that’s when she noticed her backpack flung over his shoulders. Good call. He bent over the ignition.

Hendrickson had come off the porch, running, yelling.

The four-wheeler roared to life. She glanced at James, who patted the seat behind him. She ran to him. “Did you hot-wire this?”

“It’s an older model. Let’s go.”

She hopped on the back, gripped the sides of the bench seat.

“Hold on,” he said, and gunned it.