Exiled Omnibus (30 page)

***

For the first few miles, Brooke had no idea where to go. She drove blindly and without purpose. Eric kept his hand clutched over the hole from his hastily removed IV, and Emily wouldn’t stop crying. All Brooke could think about was moving forward, getting out, staying alive.

Before she realized it, she was coming up to a major highway. She hit the brakes, thinking about the condition of her car, and the cruiser skidded to a stop.

“Everyone all right?” Brooke asked.

Emily still had her ears covered from the gunshots and was curled up next to John, who stroked her hair. Brooke reached back and held onto her daughter’s leg. “It’s going to be all right, Em.”

“I can’t believe he put a bug on us,” Eric said.

“I know,” Brooke replied. “How’s the shoulder?”

“It’s better. Still sore. Although I’m going to need another round of antibiotics soon to keep fighting off the infection.”

“Right.”

There. Something to focus on. Hospitals were still out of the question, so their next stop would have to be North Carolina. They were still about a full day’s drive away, and that was if she kept to the main roads, which she knew she couldn’t.

“You think he’ll be all right?” Brooke asked, thinking of Dave.

“Yeah. He’s one tough bastard. I doubt he’ll let some mercenary get the best of him.”

Brooke thought about phoning in an anonymous tip to the police, but the police meant questions for both Dave and the man following them, and the authorities wouldn’t stop until they had answers, one way or the other.

She pulled the cruiser deeper into a wooded area for cover and decided to take a quick inventory. She knew they were running low on water. She had been hoping they could stock up with some of Dave’s supplies, but that opportunity had come and gone.

They were down to their last gallon of water. It was only enough to last the four of them the next couple of hours. They still had a few MREs left, enough for one more day, but they didn’t have any spare fuel. The tankful they’d managed to get in Dallas was almost gone.

Water and food would be easy enough to get with the cash they had on hand, but pulling into the gas station with the condition the cruiser was in was bound to raise suspicions. Brooke needed to find a remote location that wouldn’t think twice about allowing a bullet-riddled car the chance to fuel up with no questions asked.

Brooke sprawled the map out on her car seat and tried looking for any small towns in the area where she could fuel up. She could squeeze another forty miles out of what she had, but after that, they’d be hoofing it.

There were a few back roads north of Mobile if she kept along the outskirts. It was within her range and probably her best bet to remain unseen by local authorities. She did another quick scan of the cruiser’s undercarriage in case the bounty hunter had managed to sneak two tracking beacons on but came up empty. She couldn’t afford another mistake.

***

Terry zip-tied Dave’s hands behind his back and did the same to his feet. He then wrapped a few layers of duct tape around his torso and chair to make sure he wouldn’t be able to go anywhere if he woke up. Once Dave was securely immobilized, Terry checked the rest of the house.

He picked up one of the beer bottles on the counter. The dishes were thrown hastily in the sink, other bottles were knocked over, and the water was still running from the faucet.

Terry pulled the laptop out of his bag and entered the tracking device’s code in the software. The beacon showed his current location. He slammed the laptop shut, cursing under his breath. He looked back over to Dave, who had a welt forming on the back of his head.

***

The throbbing pain in Dave’s head was what woke him. Then, between the pulses of ache, he slowly became aware of the restraints on his legs and hands. His eyes adjusted to the brightness of the room. He could hear scraping, the drip of water, and the thump of boots. Then, before he could see it coming, he felt the rush of icy water wash over him.

Dave’s heart rate accelerated. He could feel the wetness covering his shirt. The water rolled off his face. He blinked repeatedly, trying to focus on the figure appearing in front of him. All he could see was a blur at first, but then an outline formed. The first thing he noticed was the wide brim of a cowboy hat.

“Time to wake up,” the cowboy said.

The frigid water made it feel like his skin was being poked with thousands of tiny needles. He could feel his body shivering, convulsing from the drastic change in temperature. Dave squinted his eyes shut hard, trying to push the pain aside.

“Smart with the trip wires. I didn’t see them,” Terry added.

Then the sting of a blow across Dave’s right cheek sent another stab of sharp ache rippling through him. He heard himself let out a cry, and a warming sensation started to replace the coldness in the cheek that was struck. When Dave opened his eyes, he could see the blood on the cowboy’s hand and the stain left on the ring he wore.

“Pain in my ass. You know how far I’ve traveled to get those two? Farther than I’ve ever had to go before. Fucking pricks,” Terry said.

Dave started to take in his surroundings. The shelves lining the walls, the speckled concrete floor, the light above, the empty ten-gallon bucket next to Terry’s legs. He was held captive in his own garage.

The cowboy grabbed the tuft of hair on Dave’s head and pulled hard, exposing Dave’s jugular. The steel of the blade pressed against his throat felt as cold as the ice water.

“Where’d they go?” the cowboy asked.

Dave swallowed hard. His Adam’s apple rose from the base of the blade’s edge, then sank back down. His eyes roamed the ceiling, trying to avoid the incandescent lighting from the bulbs above. The brightness only brought more pain.

“I don’t know,” Dave answered.

The cowboy let go of Dave’s hair and removed the blade from his neck. But the swift action was followed by a blow to the side of Dave’s head, knocking both him and the chair over. A loud crack of bone greeted him when he hit the floor.

“AAGH!”

Dave’s body trembled. The snap had felt like it was his collarbone. The pain was slowly replaced by numbness. He started to feel tired until the cowboy lifted him back up, causing the broken bone to shift underneath his skin.

The cowboy placed his finger on Dave’s broken bone and pushed. Pop and cracks sounded from the pressure as the break in Dave’s bone worsened.

“Think hard,” the cowboy said.

Dave’s answer was a shot of spit on the cowboy’s forehead. The pressure against Dave’s shoulder stopped. The cowboy wiped the saliva off his face. Dave gasped for breath. Even with the pressure gone, the pain remained.

The cowboy punched Dave in the nose. Another crunch accompanied by a spray of blood. His head flew backward. Another blow hit him. Then another. Each thump of pain caused the room to blur and spin until everything finally went black.

***

The gas station Brooke found was deep in the Alabama back country. She hadn’t seen a single soul for almost fifteen miles, and the tank was running dangerously low. She didn’t want to risk pushing it much farther.

Both John and Emily had passed out from the rush of excitement from earlier. She wrapped her shemagh around her head, barely exposing her face. The gas attendant inside gave her an odd look but didn’t hesitate in taking the cash for her to fill up.

Brooke unscrewed the gas cap and shoved the nozzle inside and squeezed the trigger. The chug of the gas pump filled the air, and Brooke leaned back against the car’s side. She looked through the side window into the back seat and watched the steady rise and fall of her children’s chests.

A smile crept onto her face through the shemagh, but her attention was soon turned to a pair of headlights coming down the road. She eyed the fuel gauge, which was only half full. As the car moved closer, she noticed the red-and-blue lights on the top and the familiar black-and-white paint of a police vehicle.

Brooke immediately turned her back to the cop car. She closed her eyes. “Just pass by. Just pass by. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

The police car’s engine grew louder. Brooke’s hand started aching, and when she looked down, she realized the pressure she was applying might crush the pump with her bare hand. She loosened her grip.

The crunch of the police car’s wheels on the fuel station’s gravel caused her heart to skip a beat. The squeak of the brakes brought the policeman to a stop. The gas tank was three quarters full now. She turned her head to see the police officer step out of the vehicle.

The officer eyed the car, taking in the bullet holes and broken rear window. The fuel pump continued to chug. The officer pulled his radio to his mouth.

“Can I get a check on a blue Toyota Land Cruiser? License plate number Echo, Foxtrot, Charlie, Niner, X-ray, Seven.”

The pump clicked off, signaling that the tank was full. Brooke quickly set the pump back on its holder and jumped back into the driver’s seat. She looked over to see Eric with the revolver in his hand. Brooke shook her head at him, and he set it down.

Brooke looked into the rearview mirror and checked for the officer, who made eye contact with her as she peeled out of the gas station. She kept the cruiser at a normal speed until the curve of the road caused the station to disappear. Then she floored it.

“You think he’ll follow us?” Eric asked.

“He radioed the plate. Once it comes back that it was stolen, he’ll be on us fast. Stay on the lookout for any paths we can jump off on,” Brooke answered.

The cruiser fishtailed a bit as Brooke increased the speed. She kept checking the rearview mirror for the police cruiser. Maybe he would let her go. Maybe he was off duty. But the flash of red-and-blue lights that appeared a few hundred yards behind them dashed those hopes just as quickly as they had arisen. The police officer’s sirens wailed as the car gained on them.

“I need a path, Eric!” Brooke yelled.

John and Emily awoke in the back seat. Both of them had the groggy-eyed look of panic. “Mom?” Emily asked.

“It’s all right, honey,” Brooke answered.

“There!” Eric yelled.

A narrow dirt road opened up thirty yards ahead on the right. Brooke veered to the left for the turn, and just before they came up to the road access, she turned right sharply. The tires kicked up a spray of gravel behind them.

The road was in bad shape. The cruiser bounced over the terrain, its shocks absorbing the violent dips and mounds along the way.

The police car made the same sharp turn onto the road, but it wasn’t designed to handle the harsh terrain like Brooke’s cruiser was. After the first major bump it came across, the front bumper bent upward and crumpled the hood. Once that happened, the officer ceased his pursuit, but Brooke didn’t let up on the gas.

“Where’s this thing take us?” Brooke asked.

Eric was scanning the map frantically, running his fingers up and down, trying to find out where they were.

“Eric!” Brooke repeated.

“I’m trying!” Eric’s finger landed harshly on the portion of the map. “It turns into some farmland about a mile from here. After that it’s nothing but fields.”

“Are there any other major roads that lead into that area?”

“No.”

“They’ll have to call the choppers out if they want to catch us, then.”

Brooke wasn’t sure if the police would waste the resources of putting a bird in the air to find them. She was leaning toward no, but then again, catching an illegal who had made it as far as she had would make someone’s career look very good and help establish the precedent that the authorities had a hold on the border. That would be some positive press she knew Congress could use.

Eric was right about the path. One mile later, they were in farm country. Nothing but open fields and barns. The last time she had been in Alabama, she was just a little girl. A tractor plowed one of the fields in the distance, but Brooke didn’t think any of the farmers around here would be trouble. As long as she didn’t mess with any of their crops, they would most likely be able to pass through untouched.

Once they were past the farms, the terrain before them just opened up into grass fields. Brooke waited in the cover of the trees for a minute while they could still use it. She listened for the hum of any helicopters or planes overhead that the police might have sent out, but the only sound she heard was the tractor at the farm behind them.

Brooke pulled the cruiser into the open fields, and the grass flattened under the tires. They’d continue until it was dark and then camp for the night. She knew they’d still have to stop for gas at least one more time, but until then they’d be staying off the roads. The police might not have wanted to pursue her enough to put a plane in the air, but there was no doubt the officer who had called them in had alerted the authorities in the neighboring states. Brooke’s picture was now in front of every police officer in a two-hundred-mile radius.