Death by Denim

by Linda Gerber

  I could hear heavy footsteps crashing through the field behind us. We were close, so close to the cover of the trees, but close wasn’t going to cut it. I wondered who Marlboro would try to take down first. Probably Ryan. I would be easier to catch. But the guy never fired a shot. Maybe he preferred to do his work at close range.

  When we reached the safety of the tree trunks, I could have cheered, but I knew I had to save my breath. The chase was not nearly over. Ryan took the lead again, dodging around trees, trailing me behind him like a child’s toy. Moonlight filtered through the leaves above us, casting Rorschach shadows on the ground, and camouflaging the terrain so that we couldn’t tell if we were about to trip on a rock or step into a hole. I twisted my ankle more than once and nearly fell on my face, but Ryan held me up. Ryan kept me going.

  The moonlight faded as we pushed deeper into the woods, and at first I thought it was because the trees were so much thicker, but as it grew darker and darker, I glanced up to see that heavy clouds had swept across the sky, blotting out the moon and whatever light it might have offered. Which was good because it meant we would be hidden in the darkness, but not so great because it was getting to the point that we could barely see three feet in front of us.

  From behind—I couldn’t tell how close—came a sharp crack as if someone had stepped on a very large twig. I tugged on Ryan’s hand to signal him to stop. We pressed our backs up against a tree trunk and waited. I wanted to gulp in great rasps of air, but I forced myself to breathe silently, easy in, easy out, until I thought I would choke. There wasn’t much I could do about my thundering heartbeat, though. I closed my eyes, wincing with every ba-bump, quite sure that Marlboro Man would have had to be deaf not to hear it.

  I heard him pass by. I didn’t dare turn my head to visually verify it was him, but I didn’t really have to. I could smell—the burnt-tar stench, now mixed with pungent BO. That was enough for me.

  Ryan shifted so that his body was shielding mine against the tree and he stood there, pressed up against me, until Marlboro Man was long gone and his odor faded away. It made me feel, if not exactly safe, at least protected. Grudgingly, I had to admit that I was actually glad that Ryan had insisted on coming along. I would have preferred it to be Seth pressing me up against the tree, but that was a thought for another time. Our only concern at the moment was getting out of the woods undetected and finding our way to Varese.

  Suddenly, Ryan was gone from me. He sprang into the darkness and I heard scuffling to my left. Someone grunted. It didn’t sound like Ryan. And then I heard a heavy thud and the ground vibrated beneath my feet.

  Ryan returned, out of breath. “Let’s go. Quickly.” He took my hand again.

  “Is he … ?”

  “He’s out, for the moment.”

  “What about his gun?”

  Ryan grinned as he held the weapon up so it could catch the faint moonlight. “No worries,” he said, and tucked the gun into the back of his waistband underneath his shirt. He led the way through the trees double-time. I had to practically run to keep up with him, but I wasn’t going to argue. I kept thinking that Marlboro Man could wake up at any moment and when he did, he’d be plenty angry. I didn’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity when that happened.

  Eventually, the trees thinned and spilled out of the woods near a paved road. Not the same road we had seen that led into town, I guessed, since this one was flat and straight, whereas the other had curved away from the station.

  “What now?” I whispered.

  “We keep moving.”

  “How close are we to Varese? Can we take a taxi?”

  He snorted. “We’re not that close.”

  “Can we take one to the next station? Beyond the cow on the tracks?”

  He nodded. “That’s the idea. We just need to figure out how to get there.”

  “There was a taxi stand back at the station… .”

  “No good,” he said. “Our friend back there could be waiting for us.”

  “The city center, then. It can’t be far from the station, can it? Do you think this road connects with the other one?”

  Ryan hitched his hands on his hips and peered through the darkness. “Only one way to find out.”

  We followed the road, walking on the pavement because it was easier than navigating the uneven ground. A breeze had picked up and I, in just the tank and shorts, started to shiver. Not horribly, but enough that Ryan noticed.

  “Here. Take this,” Ryan said. He peeled off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. I tried to give it back—I was beginning to feel just a little too much like a damsel in distress—but he glowered at me. “Put it on.”

  I figured it probably wasn’t worth the argument, so I slipped my arms into the sleeves. Just then, two beams of light swept toward us down the road.

  Ryan grabbed me and pulled me off to the side. “Stay low,” he warned. “We don’t know who it might be.”

  I ducked low as he was doing until the lights drew nearer and a delivery truck came into focus. “A ride!” I jumped up and waved my arms madly to flag it down. The truck passed slowly, but then rolled to a stop just a few yards ahead of us, the red taillights glowing like hot coals. I ran toward them.

  “Wait!” Ryan yelled after me. “Be careful!”

  But I had already reached the cab. The trucker powered down his window and asked if we needed a lift. “Volete un passaggio?”

  “Sì, fantastico. Grazie!” I said. Yes, please!

  Ryan was at my side before I could reach the door handle. He grabbed my arm. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  I pulled away from him. “I’m going to Varese. Are you coming?”

  The driver leaned toward the passenger seat and said in English, “I don’t go to Varese. But I can take you as far as Cassano Magnago, sì?”

  I didn’t know where Cassano Magnago was, but it must have been on the way to Varese if the driver said he could take us “as far as.” And it would be farther away from Marlboro Man than we were at the moment. “Sì,” I said, and climbed up to the cab. “Grazie.”

  Ryan made an exasperated growling sound, but he climbed up behind me just the same.

  The cab of the truck had obviously not been designed for three passengers and the fit was tight. Still, our driver appeared to be very pleased to have company for the long, dark drive ahead. He shoved a couple of notebooks and paper bags that had been sitting next to him underneath the seat and brushed the bench free of any crumbs there might have been—though it’s not likely he could have seen them in the dark.

  “I am Salvatore,” he said, touching a meaty hand to his chest.

  “Buona sera, Salvatore,” I replied. “I’m Donna and this is John. Thank you so much for offering us a ride.”

  “Ah, Donna!” He grinned broadly, gold tooth catching the light from the dash. “An Italian name, yes?”

  I nodded slowly, settling onto the seat. “Uh … yes. Of course. I am named for my grandmother who lives in Varese.”

  “Wonderful, wonderful,” Salvatore exclaimed. “You are American?”

  “Canadian,” I said, giving him a winning smile.

  Ryan slammed the door shut behind himself, and Salvatore released the emergency brake. “I have been to Canada once.” As tight as we were in the cab, I was practically straddling the gearshift, but it didn’t seem to bother Salvatore. He ground the gears into first. “Many years ago. I see the Niagara Falls.”

  Ryan fell easily into our fictional personas. “My cousin lives near Niagara Falls,” he said. “Plays for the Bills.”

  “American football?” Salvatore sounded genuinely mortified.

  “He’s big,” Ryan said, “but he doesn’t have the speed to play regular football.”

  “Sì, certo, certo,” Salvatore mused. “One must have speed for the football.”

  “I hope to see Inter Milan play while we are here,” Ryan said.

  That was all Salvatore needed to hear. He launched into a lengthy de
scription of the soccer team’s strengths and weaknesses. I had no idea what he was talking about, but Ryan seemed to be getting into it.

  Between the drone of their voices, the darkness outside, and the hum of the tires on the road, I began to feel drowsy. I fought it; even though I didn’t know when I might sleep next, we were in a stranger’s truck and I knew I should stay alert. But then I figured that Ryan was alert enough for the both of us and I let my eyelids shut longer and longer each time I blinked. I kept drifting in and out of their conversation. By the time I heard the gears shift down as the truck slowed, I was nearly catatonic.

  Salvatore pulled over to the side of the road. “Only five kilometers that way you will find the Cassano Magnago station,” he said as we climbed down from the cab.

  “Thank you very much. Grazie!”

  We stood and waved as he pulled back onto the main road. My brain was so tired I couldn’t even think straight.

  “Five kilometers …” I asked sleepily. “That’s how far again?”

  “Just over three miles,” Ryan said.

  “Then we better get walking.”

  The first thing I noticed as we crunched along the lonely road was that the dark clouds overhead seemed to be lower than they had been before. The second thing I noticed was that on this road, unlike the larger road we had just left, no streetlights lit the way. We literally had to stumble along through the dark.

  And then it began to rain. The drops started out small and tentative as if they were scoping out the countryside before planning an assault with the bigger artillery. Sure enough, they grew bolder. Like the rain at the cemetery, big, fat drops soaked through our clothes and splashed up from the ground at our feet.

  Ryan pointed to what looked to be a farming shed about one city block down the road. “Come on!”

  I didn’t need any more encouragement than that. He grabbed my hand and we ran through the rain to the shed, only to find it closed up tight, with a padlock hanging from the door.

  “Hold on.” Ryan pulled out the gun.

  “Wait! Don’t shoot it.” I tried to grab his arm, but he shook me off.

  “We’ll leave some money for repairs,” he said, and pointed the gun at the door. He fired and the lock fell open. Rolling the door back, he shooed me inside.

  I couldn’t really see much of the place, but I could smell it. Fresh dirt, old hay, and very possibly natural fertilizer gave the place a pungent, very farm-y odor. Once my eyes adjusted, I could see a tractor with a miniature flatbed attached to it sitting in the middle of the shed. Stacks of hay bales lined one wall and an array of farm implements hung on the other.

  I had to admit that I was glad Ryan had destroyed the lock so that we could duck inside. Not more than a minute after we did, the sky ripped open and water poured down in solid sheets. With the rain, the temperature dropped even more and sucked away what little heat I had left in my body. I shivered so hard my teeth chattered and my back ached.

  Ryan stood in the doorway, his tall figure silhouetted black against the lesser black of the storm. “Why don’t you lie down and get some rest?” He said. “I’ll keep watch.”

  Again, my sense of feminism bristled. I could stand watch just as well as he could. But I was tired. So very, very tired. And then there was my mom’s voice echoing in my head. Sleep when you can. Sleep when you can.

  I let my eyes stray to the hay bales and considered that it wouldn’t hurt to close my eyes, just for a moment. Then I would trade places with Ryan and let him sleep. It seemed like an equitable arrangement to my tired mind. I drew Ryan’s jacket around me and curled up on the hay and before I knew it, I was out.

  CHAPTER 7

  I saw Seth in my dreams. I was sitting on the shore, watching the waves curl inland when he emerged from the sea like Poseidon’s warrior, sun glistening across his chest and on his wet, slicked-back hair. He strolled toward me purposefully. Water dripped from the hem of his board shorts, pooling at his feet, bringing the ocean with him.

  He dropped to the sand beside me and pulled me into his arms. I snuggled up to him, curving my arm around his neck to draw him closer. He brushed the hair from my face and whispered my name.

  “Aphra.”

  But the voice wasn’t his.

  All too soon I remembered where I was. Where we were. Ryan, not Seth, I thought, disappointed.

  Ryan’s fingers whispered across my cheek as he brushed back a stray strand of hair. “Aphra, are you awake?”

  I’m not sure why I didn’t answer him. I think it was something in his voice, like he was checking not to see if I was awake, but to make sure that I was asleep. I lay deathly still and waited to see why. Silence roared in my ears. And then Ryan’s footsteps creaked across the floor of the shed, moving away from me. The rollers softly protested when he opened the door. I heard the gravel crunch beneath his feet as he stepped outside.

  I sat up, feeling like a heavy stone had just been dropped square in the middle of my chest. From outside the shed I heard the low register of Ryan’s voice. He was talking to someone. Talking in a furtive, don’t-let-the-girl-hear kind of way.

  I leaned forward, straining to make out the words. What was he saying? Who was he talking to? I stared at the pale shaft of moonlight spilling across the floor from where the door had not completely shut. The rain must have moved on, I thought absently.

  And then I caught the urgent tone of Ryan’s voice. I didn’t like the way it sounded. Slowly, carefully, I scooted to the edge of the hay bales and pushed myself to my feet. I tiptoed across the wooden floor and hovered just inside the door.

  “… lucky to even find a signal. Yeah. We’re near Cassano Magnago, probably another hour or so to Varese.” He listened. “What? Are you ser—No, I know what you’re saying. Right. Yeah, she’s sleeping… . No, I’m not going to tell her. She’ll come along; she trusts me… . Right. We’ll see you in Milan.”

  His phone snapped shut and I backed away from the crack in the door. I leaped for the bales just as I heard the door squeak open. Squeezing my eyes shut, I tried to pretend I was sleeping, but what I really wanted to do was to scream. I couldn’t believe that just hours before, I had felt safe and secure with Ryan, when all along he’d been lying to me. What wasn’t he going to tell me? That we were diverting to Milan? The secretive tone of his voice played over in my head and I could have slugged him. She trusts me… . Yeah, right. Not anymore.

  Ryan’s footsteps drew nearer. He sat down beside me.

  “Aphra,” he called softly.

  It was all I could do not to rear up and slap him in the face. Instead I rolled over and squinted up at him. “Hnnnh?”

  “It’s stopped raining.”

  I sat up, smoothing back my hair. “What time is it?”

  “Six o’clock.”

  “Six?” I hadn’t realized I had slept that long. I bolted off the bale of hay. “What time is the train?”

  “Relax. We’re not far from the station. We still have about a half hour.”

  Sure. If we wanted to catch the train to Milan. I pulled off Ryan’s jacket and shoved it at him. “Here. Thanks for letting me use it.”

  He blinked at me. “Uh, okay. You sure you don’t need it anymore?”

  I headed for the door. “I’m positive.”

  He was right; the station wasn’t far at all. Just down the road, past the hay fields and over a gentle rise. In the early morning light and with the mist left from the rain, the farmland we were hiking through looked like a pastoral painting. But I was much too angry to enjoy the scenery. He lied to me. He was lying to me. My mom was right; you can’t trust anyone.

  We’d only been walking for maybe fifteen minutes before I could see the tracks curve ahead and not long after that, the hipped roof of the station.

  I did a lot of thinking in those fifteen minutes, and although I ended up with more questions than answers, one thing I knew for sure was that there was no way I was going to Milan. Not with the remaining threat against Seth an
d his family. I could only assume Ryan had been talking to the Agency, and no matter what they said, I wasn’t going to abandon the Mulos.

  How I was going to escape from Ryan was another matter. He wasn’t going to let me just walk away. I thought of how he’d chased me the night before and I knew I wasn’t going to outrun him, either. He’d said I needed to work on my evasion technique. Fine. That’s exactly what I’d do.

  As Ryan bought our tickets, I studied the schedule on the wall. It was six twenty-two. The train to Milan headed south from track four in six minutes. The train we should be taking curved north to Porto Ceresio, stopping in Varese. It left in twelve minutes. What made him think I would be stupid enough not to know the difference? Because I trusted him? Wrong.

  I pretended not to notice the destination clearly posted next to the door and allowed him to lead me onto the deception train.

  We found two empty seats together and Ryan stepped aside so I could take the one by the window. Or, more likely, so that he could box me in. I closed my eyes, resting my head against the back of the seat.

  “You still tired?” Ryan asked.

  “Sì.” I answered, without looking at him. Tired of being lied to.

  Soon, the voice on the train’s intercom announced our imminent departure. I stood. “Excuse me,” I said.

  Ryan glanced up, startled. “Where are you going?”

  I gave him a pained look. “I need to … you know.” I jerked my head toward the restrooms at the end of the car.

  “Oh.”

  I climbed over him and hurried down the aisle, feeling his eyes on my back the entire time. I glanced at my watch. The train should leave in less than a minute. I reached the doors to the bathroom. Thirty seconds. Paused. Twenty seconds. I kept walking to the vestibule. Ten seconds. Ryan bolted out of his chair and started charging down the aisle toward me. The chime sounded overhead. Five seconds. I slipped out the doors just before they closed.