Run With Me

by Shorter, L. A.

  I lie back now and watch the road in front as Kitty gets to grips with the car. It's a good thing she drives stick, and she seems to grow accustomed to the extra power and acceleration pretty quickly. “Like I said,” she tells me when I ask her about it, “my dad boosted all sorts of cars, so I've been around them my whole life. I didn't drive them very often but sometimes he'd let me have a spin, so I guess I got used to it early.”

  She speaks about it almost with a sense of pride. Or maybe it's just a love for her father. She seems like a moral person, so I know she can't agree with what he did. But then, I guess she just misses having him around. From her file I know that he's still in jail and has been for a while. Anyway, who the hell am I to judge him, her, or anyone for that matter. My morals began fading a long time ago.

  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.

  Chapter 10 - Kitty

  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.

  H
e 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.

  By the time the sun has risen Colt's body has cooled and calmed. He's no longer groaning. No longer twisting and turning. Instead he lies silently on his back, his face a picture of tranquility. I watch him breath, watch his nostrils flare slightly and his chest rise and fall.

  Now I whisper to him, although I know he can't hear me. “I don't know how to thank you,” I say. “I'll never be able to repay this.”

  Then I lean in and kiss him, gently, on the lips. They're soft and full, and warm as freshly baked bread. I linger for a second before pulling back, dreading the thought that he might wake. But he doesn't. His head makes the tiniest of movements, but his breathing remains steady, his expression the same.

  It's another hour before he wakes, by which time I've retreated to my own bed. I must have fallen asleep, because I feel particularly groggy when he shakes me on the shoulder. I lie and tell him I slept well when he asks, my head still clearing.

  “How about you?” I ask him. “How is your shoulder?”

  “It's OK,” he says. “I think, maybe, I can drive today. Are you ready to go?”

  I nod and climb out of bed, still fully clothed. I'm starting to smell and am in desperate need of a wash and change of clothes, but such things are low on our priority list right now. When I look in the mirror I have to double take. It will take me a while to get used to this new look. Then we move back to the car, Colt returns the room keys, and we set back on our way.

  “We'll get there today,” Colt tells me as he pulls out.

  I still don't know exactly where we're going, but don't have the energy to ask right now. In fact, I don't even feel nervous either. Just tired, physically and mentally. I guess I've accepted it now. I guess, maybe, it's for the best.

  Then Colt guns the engine and we're off. Away to start my new life.

  Chapter 11 - Colt

  Colt

  My shoulder aches horribly as I grip the wheel, but I need to be driving today. Sitting for hours in the passenger seat isn't my idea of fun. I guess you could call me a control freak if you wanted to, and I probably wouldn't disagree. So, regardless of the discomfort, it feels good to be back behind the wheel and back in control.

  In any case, I get the feeling that Kitty could do with a rest. She told me she slept OK but her eyes tell a different story. Heavy, black, bags hang under them and they're badly bloodshot. She seems down, as well, almost numb. I can see her in the mirror, just staring forward down the road, her face glum. I feel truly sorry for her, for everything that's happened to her. But hopefully, I'll help to put that all right. I'll free us both.

  Within 20 minutes she'
s asleep and snoring lightly. Once she's dozed off I put on my police signal scanner and begin listening for anything relating to us. I hear no chatter about Kitty which helps to put my mind at ease. Clearly, over the last day or two, no one has sighted her. Now, with her new look, she'll become even more inconspicuous.

  It suits her, I think. Maybe I'm just one for blondes. My wife – Sophie – was a blonde, and my gorgeous baby girl too. She looked just like her mother. They had the same eyes, the same nose. If I was suspicious back then like I am now maybe I'd have assumed she cheated on me when I was on a tour of duty. That's how little she resembled me.

  Kitty looks a bit like Sophie. She's pretty, too, with a small button nose and a soft, rounded chin. With her eyes closed they could be sisters. It's only when Kitty opens hers that the more obvious difference is revealed - Kitty's eyes are dark brown, Sophie's were a sparkling sky blue. I can't help but look at her now, this image of my dead wife. In a way it's hard, but comforting also.

  Kitty keeps sleeping through until lunchtime when I decide to stop at a gas station by off the freeway. There are a couple of fast food restaurants next door, so I go in and grab some slightly more substantial food than we enjoyed the previous day. When I return to the car I wake Kitty, who's eyes flutter as she takes in her bearings. There's a slight fear in them until she recognizes me, which brings a warm smile to her face. I can't help but smile back.

  “Where are we?” she asks, taking a wrapped burger from my hands and curiously inspecting the contents. As I prepare to answer she takes a huge bite and moans in pleasure. “I'm starving,” she says as she chews. I could already tell from her rumbling stomach before she woke, but I don't tell her about that.

  “We've just passed into Washington State, north of Portland,” I tell her, unpacking my own burger and taking a bite. It's delicious, and I can see why she moaned with pleasure.