Run With Me (14 page)

My eyelids suddenly feel like
they're being pulled together by some sort of magnetic force. I see
Kitty glance over and attempt to open my eyes up fully, but all she
says is “get some rest.” But I don't want to rest. All I can
think about right now is Michael Carmine. The man who sent me on this
chase, who has been shadowing me the entire time. Does he do this
with everyone? Does he have such little trust in his life, and so
much paranoia clouding his judgment, that he feels the need to double
up on everything?

My eyes are closed now, but I
shake my head to myself. Whatever it is, it doesn't matter. He's
coming after me now, he's coming after both of us. And it's going to
turn out to be his last mistake.

Kitty

The morning sunshine is so
bright it's blinding. I open up the compartment in front of me on the
dashboard and find a pair of sunglasses. They're too big for me, but
I'm not trying to make a fashion statement. They'll do the job for
now.

Colt's face is slightly pale,
and I find myself reaching across to feel his forehead. It's burning
hot. I reach in front of him and open the small compartment at his
knees. I'm not overly surprised to find that it's a mini
refrigerator. This car really is fully stocked. Inside I can see a
folded flannel, with several water bottles lined up next to each
other on the little shelf above. I shift my eyes to the road every so
often as I pull out the flannel, soak it in water, and place it over
his head.

He's been sleeping for hours
now, and I have no idea how far we've gone or where exactly we are. I
tried for a while to figure out how to use the satnav, but to no
avail, and ended up just following signs towards Oregon in the north.
That's all he said though – head north – so I guess we're on the
right track.

There were a couple of shady
moments during the night. I got a particular fright when I heard a
police siren blaring behind me and felt sure it was about to pull me
over. Half my mind said 'wake Colt up', and the other half said 'try
to outrun them'. In the end they were on me so quickly that I did
nothing but continue driving as I was. When they passed straight by I
can honestly say I've never felt so relieved in my life.

The terrain outside the car is
different now. We've moved beyond the wide open fields and are
surrounded by low hills and winding roads. We cross over bridges with
little streams and rivers flowing beneath them, and pass by small,
rustic towns and settlements that look like nothing that I'm used to
seeing. There's a freshness, a more natural quality to the landscape
now. It's peaceful as I drive, and to tell the truth I'm enjoying
sticking on these side roads, rather than enduring the endlessness of
the superhighways.

I find my eyes drifting to Colt
often. Before he fell asleep his eyes had grown intense and he was
clearly deep in thought. I can't help but feel guilty about it too,
because it's clearly to do with me. Carmine tried to kill him, so he
knows he's helping me. Does that mean he's going to go into hiding as
well? Is he going to take his own advice and start afresh, just like
he told me to do?

I guess I didn't ask for his
help. But if he hadn't I'd be dead for sure. The last few days have
proven that. It's all so damn confusing and part of me just wishes
he'd let me be, so I could get taken down and no one else would have
to suffer. Now he's under threat because of me too. How many people
are going to get sucked into this? I'll probably turn on the TV the
next chance I get and find that Derrick and Marge have been murdered
just for finding me on their farm track. I've probably got friends
dropping like flies all over the map just because they went to high
school with me. I'm like a disease, spreading death wherever I go. I
wish it would just end.

“
They suit you.” Colt's
voice breaks me from my own self rebuke. I turn my head to see him
sliding the wet towel from his forehead.

“
Thanks. I thought they were a
bit big.”

“
Girls always wear big
sunglasses. I see it in celeb magazines all the time.”

“
You
read celebrity
magazines?!” I say, half laughing.

He smiles. “We all need to
have our hobbies,” he jokes.

He grunts a little as he shifts
his position, sitting up straighter in his seat. “Where are we?”
he asks, peering at the wilderness around us.

“
Not completely certain,” I
respond, qualifying with an extra “I think we're near the state
border.”

He nods, as if suddenly
recognizing the surroundings. “Good. I must have been out for a
while.”

“
About 5 hours,” I say. “How
are you feeling.”

“
Refreshed,” he says.
“Thanks for the wet flannel.” He holds his hand to his head and
feels the heat. “I guess I must be running a fever,” he says
casually.

“
Yeah, that's what I thought.”

“
It'll pass. It won't slow me
down.”

I catch him wiggling his
shoulder and trying to fully raise his arm. He looks to be slightly
better than he was immediately after my impromptu surgery, but
there's no guarantee he'll ever get full mobility back in that arm.
It's just a good thing he's so muscular, otherwise any shot in the
shoulder would have almost certainly hit the bone.

“
So, what's the plan?” I
ask. For the moment I've accepted my fate. That I'm going to have to
keep on moving and keep on running. In some ways, I'm the right sort
of person to do so. I mean, it's not like I've got an overly full
life or anything. No mother, no brothers or sisters, a father in
jail. I've got a dead-end job, no real prospects, and sure, I've got
friends, but you can always make new ones, right? I'm not one of
those people to pine over someone when I haven't seen them for a
while. No, ever since my dad was taken from me I've learned to be
completely self reliant. Being able to emotionally shut myself off is
something I picked up a long time ago.

Colt doesn't answer my question
immediately, which suggests to me that the original plan has now been
thrown out the window. We were set to go north – he never told me
where – and he'd help me get set up with a new identity. From
there, I guess he'd leave and get on with his life, and I'd have to
try to rebuild mine. Something tells me, however, that the events of
last night have changed things. Michael Carmine is now well aware of
Colt's participation in helping me, and I doubt that's going to go
down well with him. He's probably already lining up a team of hunters
to come and take us down.

“
The plan is to move north,”
Colt says eventually. “We'll get you safe first and then...” he
trails off.

“
Then?” I ask after a
moment's silence.

“
Then I'm going to take care
of this,” he says, his eyes set forward on the road. I know what
that means. It means he's going to kill Michael Carmine before he
gets killed himself. He doesn't seem like the type of guy to go
running and hiding when under threat. More the type to stand his
ground and do battle. If that means dying, it's better that than
looking over your shoulder your whole life.

A hope grows inside me now. If
Colt does take Carmine down, surely that puts me in the clear? If
he's out of the picture then nothing's going to stop me going home
and getting on with my life. Well, there's the police, of course, but
I can just explain everything to them once I know my life's not under
threat.

“
Thank you,” I say. It's
kinda out of the blue, and almost self serving, as if him taking
Carmine out is meant for me. I don't mean it like that though. Not at
all.

He arches his neck and looks at
me. “For what?”

“
For everything,” I say. I
can hardly look at him now because I'm almost embarrassed for what
he's done – is doing – for me.

I can sense his eyes linger on
me for a few moments, but I keep mine fastened to the road. Then he
turns back and we both sit in silence, facing forward together.

It's an hour before either of us
speak again, and by now we've crossed over into Oregon and have
returned to the main highway heading north. It seems to be growing
ever more scenic by the minute, with beautiful vistas appearing in
front of us as we drive between steep hills and patches of thick
woodland.

Getting through the border
checkpoint was easier than I thought it would be, although that's
largely down to our changing of the license plates and that fact that
Colt took the wheel and I hid in a special compartment under the back
seats. Still, I would have thought they'd be a little more vigilant,
but we passed through without a hitch.

I can't help but feel a little
upset now that we're back on the Interstate. It's not just that the
scenic drive off the main roads is nicer. It's more to do with the
fact that the freeway is a lot quicker. I can't help but want this
trip to last as long as possible. The further north we head, the more
the nerves begin to grow inside me. Suddenly, all this is becoming a
reality. Am I really going to go through with this and completely
start afresh?

At lunchtime we stop at a gas
station and Colt tells me to stay in the car. The search for me will
have gone nationwide by now, and won't be just confined to
California. He, on the other hand, is completely anonymous. He fills
the tank and walks to the station, returning with what appears to be
a bag of food. I take a peek inside to see sandwiches, chips, and
chocolate bars. He's also been nice enough to buy me one of those
celebrity magazines we spoke about.

I also notice that he's bought
hair dye and a pair of scissors. When I see them I look up at him and
all he does is nod lightly. I know just what it means.

It's late afternoon when we find
a motel to stop at. Colt tells me to drive off the main highway for a
little while before we settle on one. This place is similar to the
trailer park we stayed in before, but is set further back off the
main road in a light patch of woodland. It's somewhere I'd never
consider coming alone and looks shady at best. But then again, that's
exactly the sort of thing we're looking for.

Colt climbs out, wincing
slightly as he does, and marches over towards the trailer with a
flickering reception sign. It's surrounded by airborne insects all
attracted to the light. I open my door a crack and the sound of
buzzing fills the air.
Urg
. I've never been overly fond of
bugs.

Soon Colt reappears and guides
me towards a trailer set back from those at the front. It's slightly
darker back here, under a thicker canopy of branches and leaves. I
can see a middle aged woman sitting out the front of a trailer next
to ours. She's gaunt, with heavy blue bags under her eyes, and is
sucking on a cigarette with one skinny leg crossed over the other. It
looks as though she lives here, and perfectly sums up what other
clientele I've seen.

We move inside the trailer as
the light outside fades. This time there are twin beds, which I'm
grateful for. Colt is going to need plenty more rest as he
recuperates from his injury, and frankly the floor doesn't look
overly inviting. Had there only been one bed, that's where I'd be.
I'd insist on it.

The next hour is spent changing
my appearance. After a bit of disagreement, I give in and let Colt
cut my hair. He's only got one good arm, so I'm hardly expecting a
professional job, but he does OK considering. Then I dye my hair
using the pack he bought at the gas station. It takes a while to get
a decent tone, but soon I can hardly recognize myself in the mirror.
My long wavy dark hair is gone, replaced by short blonde locks that
hardly reach my shoulders. I feel strangely cold around the back of
my neck without the added layer of insulation, but am generally
pleased with how things have turned out. I guess it's easier as a
girl to make such a drastic change. I look at Colt and imagine what
he might do if he was public enemy number one. His hair's too short
to do much with. I guess he could grow a beard, but that would take
time. Shave his head? Wear a wig perhaps? He catches me looking at
him in the mirror and I turn away. I think I'd been staring for a
little too long.

Before we go to bed I check
Colt's wound. He's eager to see my stitching job in the mirror and
gives me a nod of approval at the sight. I'm happy enough with the
effort myself, and it should close up nicely without too much of a
scar. Then I re-dress it and give him some more antibiotics to take
care of his fever. He's still hot, although won't let on that he's
suffering.

He tosses and turns in his
sleep. I hear him call out names. Sophie. Ellie. I wonder who they
are. I can see him grimace via the light of the moon. It spills in
through a torn curtain, throwing a pale blue spotlight onto his face.
His eyes twitch as if he's dreaming, sometimes opening suddenly and
then closing again. His jaw clenches and loosens repeatedly, groans
squeezing out from between firmly shut lips. I can't tell whether
it's the fever that's doing it, or something worse. Some horrible
memories of his past that he relives at night.

I don't sleep myself. Most of
the night I spend nursing him, covering his forehead with a damp
cloth and dabbing another at his sweating skin. Before I know it the
pale light of the moon is replaced by the early signs of dawn. A
yellow hue creeps into the room, lighting up the walls. Yet I don't
sleep. Not one wink.