I cover my mouth to keep from screaming.
The man is tall and muscular, with short dark hair, and he’s wearing a flannel shirt and jeans. In one hand, he holds the rifle he struck Aiden with.
“Drop the rifle, or I’ll shoot!” I yell as I point my gun at him.
His body tenses, and he raises his arms above his head but doesn’t drop the rifle. He stares at me, hard and angry, like a killer.
I fire a warning shot. “I said drop it!”
He finally drops the rifle. “You’re making a big mistake,” he says in a deep, gravelly voice.
“Put your hands behind your head and start walking slowly. Count out five hundred paces and don’t turn around.”
“You’re dead boy. We’re gonna hunt you down and kill you.”
I fire another shot, closer this time. “Start walking! I mean it!”
He puts his hands behind his head and finally starts moving. Once he’s a short distance away, I run over to Aiden. I relax when his chest moves. He’s still breathing.
I slap his face. “Aiden, wake up!”
But he doesn’t respond.
I run over to an abandoned grocery cart and pull it over. Using strength aided by adrenaline, I hoist Aiden up and place him in the cart. I also gather all the rifles on the ground, and stash them in the cart beside Aiden’s limp body.
The man is probably a hundred paces away. He looks back, then starts running away from me. But that’s okay. I don’t plan to be anywhere near here when he returns with reinforcements.
I push the cart as fast as it will go, and it clatters hard against the uneven surface of the road. I take a side street next to the Safeway, then zigzag left and right at each intersection to throw off any potential pursuers. The pain from my left ankle radiates up my leg. I need to find a place to rest and also let Aiden recover.
A cheap single-story motel appears in front of me, with peeling paint and overgrown hedges. Grass sprouts up through every crack in the pavement, and half the windows are smashed. A fenced pool is thick with green algae.
I try the door of one of the guest rooms. It’s locked, but the knob is flimsy. I channel all the strength inside me. Screaming, I kick with every ounce of energy I have left. Splinters shoot from the frame, and the door swings open, banging hard against the wall.
I push the cart in and slam the door behind me. The air is horribly musty, but I’m way beyond caring. I roll the cart next to a bed, gently tip it over, and shimmy Aiden onto it. His breathing is slow and steady. Then, I bar the door with the cart, wedging it under the doorknob. I’m unsure what else to do, so I simply crawl into bed next to Aiden and fall into a tortured sleep.
All my dreams are of Aiden, and he’s always leaving me. It’s either by choice or by force, but he keeps leaving. My empty bed in the bank. His missing tent by the dam. The abandoned backpack in the grocery store. Each time, Aiden is in the distance, just out of reach. I run to him, but he floats away faster than I can catch him. I scream at him, but he doesn’t hear. He keeps floating farther away.
I wake up to my own screaming. I try to open my eyes, only to realize they are already open. The room is pitch black. Night has descended. My throat is dry and sticky with mucus, and my stomach grumbles. But I’m too exhausted to care. Beside me, Aiden’s rhythmic breathing continues. It’s best to let him rest. I drop my head on the musty bedspread and drift back to sleep.
When I wake again, sunlight streams in, casting the entire room in a sickly yellow hue, but next to me, the bed is empty. I dart my eyes around the room, and I’m relieved to see Aiden standing and peeking out the motel window.
“Aiden! You’re okay!”
“Shhhhh.” He puts his index finger to his mouth, but then he shoots me a smile and gestures me over. When I’m next to him, he kisses me. “Thanks for saving me,” he says in a hushed voice. “I assume that’s what happened, but I don’t remember much.”
“No problem.” I beam.
“I want to hear all about it, but first check this out.” He points out the window. On the road in front of the motel dozens of armed people march in unison.
Following behind the gunmen, a group of people trudge down the middle of the street, their expressions neutral and their shoulders slumped, hands hanging downward and swaying as they move.
More people fill the street, all shuffling their feet, moving from right to left, all with the same blank stares. There must be at least a hundred of them. It’s by far the most people I’ve seen in one place out in the open.
“What the hell?” I say.
“Must be one of the slave camps I’ve heard about. They used that girl to lure me out of the store.”
At the rear of the ghastly procession, ten people wear steel collars around their necks, each guided by a captor holding on to an attached chain.
