OnStar has the same signal as my father’s phone. So long as they didn’t separate…
Zooming in, I notice something unusual. The vehicle is moving in the direction it had been but is now taking side streets. Far more stops. A bob and weave. It’s avoiding the main street. If we buy five minutes of catchup time on this, I’ll give Boz a two-for-one.
So long as we don’t have to do the same.
61
five minutes
Lorien
“Are you fucking kidding me? Go around.”
Sirens cut through the men arguing as I use the break from the silence to readjust. It’s fractional but so needed since my body is stiff from being folded up on myself, and keeping every muscle as immobile as possible for as long as I have flat out hurts.
“As if it’s my fault.”
“We don’t need any eyes on us.”
Is this my time? Is this where I hit the button on the lift gate and run? Could that even work?
If the sirens were closer, maybe I’d have a chance.
From the reflection in the back window, I can tell we’re at a stoplight. I have no clue where I am, but a signal usually signifies enough traffic to warrant additional safety and typically means population. But I’d need a lot of people, and they’d have to believe me, and I can’t get outrun. It’s the last I’m most concerned about—will my legs even have the strength, or would I just collapse on the pavement?
The man who took me is tall, lean, and dark, and I don’t mean his complexion. It’s the coldness in his eyes that worries me. He doesn’t seem, from my conversation with him or his with the other man in the car, to care at all about anything but himself or his own wants. And if he wants me—and doesn’t care if that’s alive or dead—he wouldn’t hesitate to chase if Iran, or to recapture me, even with witnesses. Heck, I know the security at the Barone’s. If it didn’t intimidate him, nothing will.
Getting away is the key. Getting away and staying away.
And I can’t trust my legs.
The light turns green, and we pull away, stopping again before we begin a pattern of stops in quick succession.
“This is ridiculous. Go back to the main road.”
Relief. So weird to feel that with this situation, but at least my gut was good. Wasting my shot wasn’t worth it, even if I’m going… Where are we going?
We’re back to cruising at highway speed, and while the rocking is a relief to my body, the more we move, the further I am away from safety, from anything I’ve known—anyone I’ve known—and from any chance at being rescued. There’s no way someone could be tailing us with the turns we’ve made. Hell, we could’ve driven in circles for hours and I would have no idea.
I pray.
I scheme.
I hope.
And I know… it’s up to me.
Frozen in fear and from lack of movement. Stuck in an unwinnable situation. And only able to rely on myself.
Only then, when the realization is crystal clear, do I decide. When the trunk door opens, I’ll play drugged. Neither of them knows how much I received or what a therapeutic or lethal dose looks like.
Springing out might take them off guard, but not enough, and timing the lift gate could work against me. And no matter the television I watch, I’m not a badass. I’m a lab-coat-wearing baker, not a kickboxer.
Way faster than I would expect, the SUV comes a halt. Gravel crunches under the tires informing me we’ve left the paved road, and with it, the populated areas.
Perhaps I should’ve run when I had the chance. At the light forever ago. Yes, it was a risk, but this? This is certain death.
The two men are arguing. Again… Or still.
