"Okay," I said, stopping him, "enough! I can't think and we're coming into civilization." I stopped for a moment to pack my Take Down and bolts and made sure my coat was covering my hatchet. "I need my knife back," I told him.
"Sure"—He passed it to me—"Sophie… "
I stood back up, slinging my pack onto my back. "My name is Freya."
"Freya?" he repeated. "Like the Norse goddess?" His lips curved into a soft smile that quickly spread across his face.
"Yes, just like the Norse goddess," I said. "Now, get over it."
I walked up ahead of him again while I listened to his light laughter.
Chapter 3 Personal
We scaled a chain-link fence and made our way to a truck stop. I tucked my hair up under my blue ball cap and pulled it tight over my face before we walked into the place. I bought us two sodas and brought them outside to watch the truckers go in and out.
"Thanks for the drink, but I can pay for myself," Theron said.
"No problem," I replied. "You know," I observed with my back pressed against the building, "there is a serious deficit in women truck drivers."
"What are you looking for?" he asked, leaning next to me against the white wall. I was very aware of his presence. There was a power about his stance.
"A ride to Bowling Green—Memphis would be better," I answered.
"Why don't you just ask one of them?" He motioned to the seven truckers pumping diesel into their rigs.
"Well, sometimes men can expect… "—How could I put it?—"too much payment for a ride. It's not safe for girls to hitch rides with men," I explained. It wasn't safe for girls to hitch period, but my choices for escape were limited.
"You're not alone though. I'm here," he said matter-of-factly.
"No," I reminded him. "You're calling your friends from out-of-town to come and get you."
"I told you, I'm checking places out. We could team up," Theron suggested.
"I don't team up," I said dryly, missing my Sunday morning games and pancakes with Piper.
"Look, I've got no place I have to be. I have my own money, I'm pretty smart and I can watch your back," Theron persuaded.
I wasn't budging.
"As far as Memphis?" he offered. "Then if we want we can go our separate ways?"
I remained silent and swallowed hard.
"You already think I'm strong and handsome," he chimed.
I rolled my eyes. "As far as Memphis," I conceded.
Theron immediately walked over to a rather large man wearing a gray T-shirt, suspenders attached to his Carhartt pants, and a red plaid flannel over-shirt. Theron spoke with him for a moment then put something into the man's hand. When he walked back, he looked pleased with himself.
"Ten bucks and we are on our way," he said.
"To?" I asked.
"Memphis. Guy's name is Russ and he's going all the way."
Russ was in his mid-fifties. He kept a clean rig and had photos of his family taped to his dashboard. He liked talking and seemed happy to have some company. He bragged on his wife who was a nurse at a Memphis hospital and his youngest daughter who was graduating high school in June and had already been accepted into Ole Miss. His love for his family was genuine, but it made me envious and cut me to the quick.
Theron sat in the middle between Russ and me. I was grateful that he had stayed on. The ride would take seven hours or more, and I decided that I would allow myself to bask in the feeling of security for that time. Russ was a real conversationalist, and Theron seemed to be enjoying himself—they discussed sports, news, politics and current events. I took the opportunity to watch the countryside pass by while I considered my next move. I knew it was time to find my mother and that meant locating her old friend Scarlett and the safe house first. Last I had heard they were located in New Orleans.
As I formulated a plan, my thoughts kept wandering into ridiculous daydreams—all of them starring Theron. I blushed pink and was thankful that I was facing toward the window and that neither of my companions could read my mind. I wasn't imagining anything weird—it was just… well, normal life stuff—going to a movie, holding hands, attending a school dance. They were all things I had never done before. Things I could never have. I wasn't whining or feeling sorry for myself; this was just a fact of my life and there was nothing I could do to change it—not yet anyway. Not until I found my mom and got some answers.
I must have dozed off for a while because, when I opened my eyes, the traffic had thickened and we were passing through a small sprawling city. I stretched out and Russ boomed in a big voice, "Welcome to the land of the living." He laughed at his own joke.
"I didn't get much sleep last night," I said in my defense.
"Too much studying?" Russ asked.
"Yes," I lied.
"That puts me in mind. Did you kids hear about the Takers attacking a mall or something in Lexington?" Russ asked. "They grabbed fifteen kids. Fifteen! The news called it the largest taking since it began."
"Who do you think the Takers really are?" Theron asked.
"Somebody must know, but if the U.S. government does, they aren't saying. Some experts are speculating that they're some kind of advanced robotic technology. Truth is no one has caught one of the sons of… excuse me, ma'am"—Russ caught himself before he cursed—"one of the Takers. It could be that one of our country's enemies has developed teleportation equipment like from Star Trek. Last night on the news the President gave an official statement—they're stationing National Guardsmen at all the previous drop points in case they strike again."
I didn't say anything out loud but I couldn't help thinking that didn't make any sense. The Takers had never hit the same place twice.
"They're slamming us while our country is weak and they know it." Russ' voice rose with indignation. "With most of our troops overseas trying to hold back World War III from erupting, we don't have enough manpower to fight them off!"
"How many people have they kidnapped?" Theron asked solemnly.
"Last night's take brought the total to over two hundred," Russ almost spat.
"How long has it been going on?"
"Where have you been, son?" Russ asked with a sarcastic chuckle. "'Bout five years now."
"Overseas," Theron answered. "Has anyone that's been taken ever gotten away?"
"No," I said. I wanted to change the subject but I was at a loss for ideas on how to steer the conversation any other way.
"It's such a shame," Russ continued. "And they always go after venues for young people like high schools, bookstores, cafes, nightclubs. And there's no trace of them left behind. No trail to follow, no leads. The FBI has been chasing its tail."
We all sat quietly for a little bit, chewing on the weighty discussion. The silence permeated the truck's cab for the rest of our trip. We pulled off the Memphis exit before sunset.
"Anywhere particular I can drop the two of you?" Russ asked.
Theron looked to me for direction.
"Anywhere convenient for you," I said.
Russ brought the rig to a stop on the outskirts of the city. "Good luck to you both," Russ called out the door while Theron wrapped his large, strong hands around my waist and lowered me to the sidewalk.
We answered in unison. "Goodbye!"
Russ added, "Take care of each other and be cautious of the Takers."
"Thanks, Russ," Theron said. "We will."
We waved goodbye and Theron and I were left on our own again. The sun was dipping into the lower sky. I faced Theron to deal with the inevitable.
"Well, now you have a chance to check out Memphis," I said. "I've heard they have really good music."
"How long are you planning on staying here?" he asked.
"I'm not," I admitted.
"Where are you going?" Theron's brow knotted.
"I live a really complicated life—"
Theron interrupted, "Who doesn't?"
"A lot of people," I said.
"You know, the way I see it, we have only been go
od for each other."
I nodded. "That might be true now… " My voice trailed off.
Living in Lexington I had needed to stay undercover the entire time. I had dyed my hair a different color every month and only went to the bookstore on Monday mornings when it wasn't busy—nowhere else—and even that was selfish and stupid of me! I could have put Piper in danger. And sure enough, they found me. I couldn't put another person in jeopardy, and I had no home to hide inside of like I had with Piper. I wondered how Theron would have responded if he knew I was a homeless girl on the run.
I continued, "I've been taking care of myself for a long time now. I prefer it that way." I couldn't keep the sadness out of my inflection, but at least I sounded firm.
"Prefer it that way, huh?" he challenged.
"It was good to cross your path, Theron. Good luck." I reached out my hand to shake his.
He looked at me contemplatively, gripped my hand firmly in his and then flipped it over and pressed his warm lips onto it. The sensation sent electricity I had never felt before pulsing through me. I brought my hand back awkwardly and jammed it into my front pocket, swallowing hard. "Bye, Theron."
I turned and forced myself to move my legs. I could walk away and I did.
"Can I call you sometime?" Theron hollered out from behind me.
I walked back for a moment to watch him, rolled my eyes and shook my head dramatically and then pivoted to walk away again. Handsome, funny, strong and charming—a rare combination—and one I couldn't afford to lose myself in at this point in my life. I didn't even know who I was.
Securing my backpack tighter to my body, I switched on my iPod and put it on my Chevelle and Bush playlists. I certainly didn't need any lovey songs right now. I needed to get that boy out of my head. I picked up my pace to put distance between us.
I had some decisions to make. I had to get to New Orleans, where the Underground—a group of young people building a civilian militia to fight the Takers—were positioned. They would know more about what was going on with the Takers and they would know where Scarlett and her safe house were. It was a straight shot from Memphis, about six and a half hours south down Route 55. But how? Jacking a car was an option, even though I hated doing it. Stealing was just plain wrong—someone had to work to afford that vehicle. So I made an arrangement with myself every time I felt forced to do it. First, I would pick up the car during the mid-morning or early afternoon from a corporate parking lot so that the owner would probably be working and would be less likely to leave anytime soon—that way I would have more drive time without the immediate threat of police pursuit. Then, I would drop the car off in another parking lot a few hundred miles away—unscratched and with everything in its place. The biggest headache of it all was not leaving any trace of DNA behind. I'd jam every hair under my cap, brush off my clothing, wear gloves throughout the entire procedure and even lay down a big ripped plastic garbage bag against the driver's seat for easier sweep up.
You can't leave any trace of your DNA behind, Freya. That is very important. That's all they would need to get a trail on you, my mother would insist until it became a mantra.
But it was already evening when snagging a car wouldn't be so simple, and since I had foolishly gotten comfortable in Lexington, the Takers were now on my trail. Even though I had been careful, it was my fault those people were taken from the bookstore.
Focus, Freya, night is coming and you're exposed in a city. Think! I commanded myself.
I could get to a Greyhound station and buy a bus ticket. It was one of the few modes of travel that didn't require you to show identification. But everything was so risky right now considering that I had just gotten out of Lexington and the police and Social Services were most likely searching for me. I decided that I had better keep to the train tracks—less population, less risk.
I wasn't perfectly safe, of course. Homeless people often hung out near the tracks because there was almost no police presence there. That meant I had to be extra cautious.
When didn't I have to be extra cautious? I thought sarcastically.
A breeze blew past me, carrying the scent of carnival-fried food. I was nearing a Sonic. Perfect. I couldn't remember the last time I had eaten. I went up to the window and ordered a burger, fries and a Coke with no ice. It was late March and I would be spending the night outdoors so I didn't need an icy beverage. The kid behind the window didn't look too happy to be there. I asked him if there was a water faucet I could use, and he directed me to the back of the building where I filled up my water bladder and slid it into my backpack.
I went back to the window and asked him where the train station was. He was preoccupied with a carload of rowdy teenagers who had just pulled into the lot, so he gave me some rushed directions, which was fine with me—they led me in the general vicinity of the tracks. He handed me my drink and my food bag, and I walked away quickly as the teen boys from the car in the lot started catcalling me. Didn't need to deal with that too, thank you very much.
A few blocks away I turned down an alley and onto a dead-end street. The tracks were easy access—no fences, no yards and, thankfully, no angry dogs. The moon was rising into the sky and the sun was no longer visible, but it left a soft orange glow across the horizon. I sat on an old slab of broken concrete and ate my fast food. Unfortunately, my stomach wasn't too happy about it. After so many healthy home-cooked meals at Piper's house, my belly was protesting against the fat and grease.
Get over it, I thought. At least it will keep me warm and full for the night.
I smashed the paper bag, lit it with my Zippo and dropped it onto the middle of the tracks. The flame burned fast, and I stomped it out to ashes with my boot. Then I assembled my Take Down and slung it, along with my quiver, across my back. I made sure to keep my hunting knife and hatchet close to my fingers. I strung a can of pepper spray over my wrist and gripped it in my fist. It would be another long night and I was grateful for the few hours of sleep I had gotten in Russ' truck.
Reaching into my pack, I grabbed my night vision goggles. They had been a gift from Jesse, a boy with the Underground. He gave them to me when he knew I was going on the run again. That was last year. They had always served me really well. I slipped them over my eyes, put away the case and zipped everything up. Then I rechecked my full water bladder and pulled the pack tight to my back. It would be a marathon night. I'd walk and run for as long as I could.
I stopped to look and listen for trains and then, with everything silent, stooped down and placed my hand over the steel beam. No vibrations. Good. The night was going to seem even longer with no iPod, but I needed all my senses alert—not only did I have to listen for trains, I would have to be mindful of people with bad intentions hanging out down here. I pulled my compass out of my pocket. Fortunately for me, the tracks seemed to follow the highway, so I started a steady jog south.
In the quiet there was so much time to think. Five years ago the Takers had started showing up. At first I considered myself lucky—it always seemed like they showed up in places I had been just a few weeks before. But as that pattern continued in the months that followed, paranoia washed over me and adrenaline pumped through my body. But this paranoia wasn't insanity; it was legit. The Takers hadn't hit anywhere in the country—or the world for that matter as far as I knew—except for the places I had been. I went over the mental math again.
The first year that the Takers had appeared: I didn't know much about them—I was still pretty sheltered by my mother.
Second year: My mother had left me and I became more aware. I caught bites of info from newspapers and gossip. I learned that professional and organized squads were kidnapping groups of people—especially young teen girls.
Third year: In April four men nabbed four girls (approximately 13 to 15 years of age) from a schoolyard in Baja California, Mexico. No leads. I had just left Baja a few weeks prior and had been sleeping in that same schoolyard. I hadn't thought anything of it at the time; bad things happen
all the time.
Just a month later two girls, both fourteen, were taken coming out of a convenience store in Sonora, Mexico. I had shopped at that store just two weeks before. But again, I figured it was coincidence.
In June of that same year a news report explained that five men had rappelled from a Walmart roof in Great Falls, Montana, taking four teenagers. All four were females between 13 and 19 years of age. I had just stopped in Montana to restock my supplies nine days earlier. I had moved quickly on to Babb, where I stayed on the Blackfoot reservation with a few friends and then in Glacier National Park back country.
I heard of no other reports of the kidnappers anywhere until September after I hopped a bus through Cortez, Colorado on my way to El Paso, Texas to winter in the warm climate. I had spent some time in Mesa Verde National Park for a couple of weeks. Then I did something my mom had warned me not to do. I stopped at an ATM machine at some bank. I didn't have any money there to take—I just pretended for a moment that I was a regular person living a real life. I was only fourteen years old. I played with the buttons and touched the screen, but only for a few minutes. When I realized how stupid I was acting, I walked away. Ten days later a group of four young women and a man waiting in line at that same ATM were whisked away.
That's when the Takers got their name. They left no trace, no leads, and you always heard the same story from witnesses—men rappelling from silver cords came out of the sky, clothed in identical navy blue suits with white button-up shirts and gray paratrooper boots. They were strong, young men between the ages of 16 and 35—at least that's what the reports said. And they had some sort of lenses over their eyes that made their irises violet.
Mexico's government blamed the incidents on drug cartels. Federal authorities in the U.S. searched for the Takers and the missing people with rigor for months, but soon it was only the families that kept their vigil, offering rewards and plastering photos of their taken loved ones across the country. After several more hits from the Takers with no ransom demands or responsibility taken, White House officials feared foreign enemies had developed a new deadly technology.
Hunted (Dark Secrets Book 1) Page 3
