For a moment, neither of us said a word.
“So I just . . . wait for help?”
Jude tipped his head, wordlessly urging me to follow him. In the corner of the cellar, there was a wooden door. Beside itwas a backpack and flashlight. “You lock yourself in, grab that backpack and flashlight, and go through that door.”
“Where does it lead to?”
“It’s a tunnel that lets out about half a mile down the mountain. Comes out by a river. Walk in the direction of the current, and it’ll take you into town. It’s a long walk. Couple hours if we’re driving. All day if you’re walking. But if you have to go through that tunnel, you should berunning.”
I laughed. I laughedhard, and I didn’t have a damn clue as to why. Maybe I was sleep-deprived. Maybe it was some kind of survival instinct kicking in. Laughing was preferable to crying, right?
“You do know that you’re teaching me exactly how to escape you, right?”
Jude shook his head. “I’m teaching you how to stay alive.”
I couldn’t help but laugh again. “This is . . . This is ridiculous! Who on earth needs a safe house to begin with? And you have a safe house with an escape tunnel.” I put my hands out in a show of surrender. “Look, I know John Valentine is like New Jersey’s modern-day Al Capone, but I think we’re far enough away that we can cut the crap. Call the cops and tell them my brother’s in danger and let me go home.”
His expression instantly became colder than the underground cellar. “We’re not running from John Valentine, Amelia. We’re running fromeveryone.”
17
JUDAH
Friday, May 23 | 11:38 a.m.
“Grab that bag,” I said to Amelia as I turned away from the tunnel door. “It’s got sheets and pillows for the bed.”
I set my shit on the ground, unbarred the door, and shoved it open.
She didn’t move.
I withheld a growl—because of course she’d chooseright nowto be stubborn.
“What do you mean we’re on the run fromeveryone?” she pressed.
I didn’t even try to be coy about it. “Let’s just say that, in an attempt to get you away from the bad guys, I may have broken a few laws that the good guys would have an issue with. And since we need to keep you alive long enough to get your brother out of his mess, we need to stay off the good guys’ radar too.”
She was quiet for a moment, then cocked her head. “Did you just admit to kidnapping me instead of ‘proactively relocating’ me?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. “If I say yes, will you grab the sheets and pillows?”
“Try your luck.”
“Fine. Yes. I kidnapped you.” I glanced over my shoulder as I started up the ladder. “Happy?”
Amelia tugged on the string, cut the light, and followed me up, carrying the linens.
The daylight was a necessary evil. I wanted to rest. Ineededto rest. But I craved the darkness of the cellar. I wanted to bar that door, pull Amelia into my arms, and hold her until she stopped coping with humor and let herself be scared. Then I’d cradle her until she wasn’t afraid anymore.
I didn’t want to admit thatIwas what she was afraid of.
I was the boogeyman. I was the shadow that made people jump. I was the whistle of the wind that made you look over your shoulder. I was the prickle of awareness that crept up your spine when you realized you weren’t alone.
So instead of bothering her more, I left her to put the sheets and quilts on the bed and get some sleep while I headed out to the truck.
I popped open the toolbox, grabbed a screwdriver, and made quick work of removing the front and back New Jersey plates, then fastened the single West Virginia plate to the rear. Sure, if a cop ran my plate number, they’d realize the registration sticker was bullshit, but if luck was on my side, the new plates and up-to-date sticker would blend in enough for me to move about unseen.
I tossed the screwdriver back into the toolbox with a clank and grabbed a few sheets of sandpaper. In a perfect world, I’d change the color of the truck entirely. But a shitty, DIY paintjob was more noticeable than driving the same color truck that would pop up in BOLOs. Then again, in a perfect world, I wouldn’t be doing this.
