by Regan Black
She was right. "The fresh air helps. Can you roll down my window?" The car weaved a little on the road as she reached across him to comply. He tried not to enjoy the soft press of her body. It wasn't entirely a sexual attraction. He simply craved all the little things he'd been denied in solitary confinement. Like conversation and casual human contact.
"We'll have to talk later," Kelly said.
Nathan sensed her spike of tension. He tried to move his head, to get a view of the trouble, but the Paracuron still had a tough hold on him.
Kelly swore and doused the headlights. Nathan fell to the side as she whipped right, turning onto a rutted dirt lane carved between harvested fields. She righted him and swore again.
"What is it?"
"There's no such thing as cover anywhere out here," she complained. The field behind them burst to life with searchlights from an approaching helicopter. The beat of the rotors grew louder, pounding after them like a charging army.
"Company. Can you do anything about it?"
She waited, but nothing happened.
"Not yet," he said, sounding as pissed off as she felt.
She leashed her temper, promising herself he wouldn’t be debilitated forever. More lights, headlights now, sparked to life behind the Mustang. They had to be closing in on the main road where she could really open it up and let the Mustang outrun the pursuers. At the moment, she struggled with the manual transmission and the uneven terrain.
"Let me drive."
She was sure she’d heard wrong. Let him drive? The man couldn't turn his head. "I've got this."
The wheel jerked out of her grip, proving he could handle it.
"You are insane." Or maybe she was. Inexplicably she eased her grip and let him try.
"Envision the route you planned."
He was back in her head, but there wasn't time to be bothered by it. Hands hovering over the wheel, she focused on the terrain surrounding the prison, trying to give him a bird's eye view of the map she'd memorized.
"Good girl."
She screamed when the searching beam sliced through the field ahead of the car. The rotor wash of the chasing helicopter pressed on the roof. At home there would be a thousand hiding places. Crevices, tunnels or niches to blend with or tuck into. Here, there was only more flat, open exposure.
"Hang on!"
To what? Kelly’s heart bumped her spine and her hands grappled for anything as the car did a one-eighty, zipped between two pairs of headlights then pulled a hard right into a cornfield.
She’d known Nathan was a powerful telepath, known he had telekinetic talent too, but this was a surprise. It was like he'd done a Vulcan mind meld with the car.
"Told you I just needed some air and space."
His normal, steady baritone was just a little ragged around the edges. Then it registered that he’d spoken aloud.
The car bumped along, gaining speed, but their pursuers were determined. She dared to take her eyes off the view in front of her, turning to study him. It was a mistake, he jerked the car again and, unprepared, she slammed against the door.
Lesson learned, she kept her eyes forward and her hands splayed on the door and ceiling so she didn’t impair Nathan’s ‘driving’. It seemed like a good idea, it was working, until the car bounced over another rut in the field and her head slammed up against her knuckles. "You’re beating the drug." And beating her up in the process, but she didn't expect to survive a prison break without a few bruises.
"For the moment. Let’s hope it’s not a smart virus."
A panic-immune sort of person, that statement sent her mind whirling through the catastrophic possibilities, making her grateful for the next distracting swerve and lurch of the Mustang. "Don’t you know? Can’t you feel if it’s smart or not?"
"Talk. Later."
Sufficiently silenced, Kelly turned to the task of discouraging their pursuers. Under the backseat she had her beautiful, stealthy .22 Green Hornet sniper rifle. An antique when she’d received it from her uncle years ago; it was her favorite weapon and a fast way to end this chase.
She waited until Nathan completed a serpentine maneuver to avoid another oncoming car, then she flipped the lever and her seat flopped back.
"What’re you doing?" he asked.
"Talk later," she echoed, rooting around for the back seat's release latch. "When you reach a real road, remember Chicago is north." It wasn't ideal as a hideout, but it was easy and they needed a little easy. She ignored the muttering that followed, doing her best to keep from tumbling around while he drove like a maniac to avoid capture. It took more than one attempt, but she finally got the back bench up enough to reach the rifle and ammunition.
She felt better already, but then she’d always been the sort to leap into things head first. Being proactive and involved came as naturally as breathing. Unfortunately both were characteristics her father counted as flaws in his only daughter.
Kelly gave herself a mental shake. Her father was almost a bigger energy drain dead than he’d been alive. She had to get some perspective. It scared her to think what sort of pitiful, grieving lump she’d be right now if Nathan didn’t need her.
A flash and pop near the rear of the car focused her attention. "I’m kicking out the window," she announced a split-second before the glass broke and the wind whipped through the car. "Find the road so I can handle them." She didn’t want to risk lives by taking shots at bouncing targets from a bouncing platform.
"What road?"
She thought Nathan shouted, but he’d gone the telepathy route to compensate for the wind. Hoping for faster and more effective, she closed her eyes and thought hard about the map again. The locations of homes, fields, roads, dry creek beds, showing him all of it from an aerial view.
The car slowed slightly, jerked one direction, then the other. Within seconds, they skidded onto a paved road and she waited until the pursuing vehicles joined them to line up her first shot.
She sighted on the right front tire of the nearest car. They must’ve punched a turbo option the way it was closing in on the Mustang. Unless they were slowing down because Nathan was tired. She discarded the negativity.
Red and blue flashing lights inched closer, but she kept the gun barrel hidden until the helicopter’s beam bobbed as the pilot adjusted his course. She’d worked so many years with this rifle it was merely an extension of her will now and her consistent accuracy on the firing range proved it.
Breathe. Hold. Squeeze.
She smiled, couldn’t help it. The shot was perfect. No sound, no flash, just immediate chaos. It never ceased to amaze her how much trouble one little bullet could cause.
The other driver struggled with the sudden impairment and she prayed she hadn’t caused any fatalities. The car spun toward the weak side, the rear swinging forward – until a second car swerved and skidded into the first, making the very roadblock she’d hoped for. The resulting cascade of crunching metal, grinding brakes and smell of burnt rubber rolled through the air toward her.
The helicopter swooped low over the accident, then bore down on them and Kelly caught sight of a sniper in the open door, weapon at the ready. Tired and irritable, she wanted to pepper the helo with gunfire and be done with it, but the Hornet wasn't the right weapon for that. Instead, she reconsidered her firing solutions. The only viable choice was to take out the searchlight before anyone realized she was armed and the pilot could lift back out of range.
She took the shot and darkness fell over them like a warm and welcome blanket. "Punch it, Nathan, and we’ll be clear," she said, watching the empty road stretch out behind them.
A strangled sound was the only reply. Well, that and the decelerating, swerving Mustang. Either the virus was smart or Nathan had worn himself out. She refused to let them get caught now. Scrambling back behind the wheel, she took control, downshifting, then revving through the gears until they were racing east across the deserted road, rather than north to the safety of his Chicago-based family.
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Nowhere was safe if Nathan succumbed to the virus. While she had a decent amount of first aid training, she didn't have the resources to deal with whatever Kristoff had dosed him with.
By instinct more than design, Kelly continued speeding away from the prison while her mind worked out solutions. Any local hospital would send him straight back to the prison and her along with him. If she only knew how much time he had.
She knew the current reprieve was temporary. Officials must already be redirecting assets to find them. The federal government wouldn’t take a breakout like this lightly. While Nathan’s Mustang could outrun just about anything in the vehicular world, it was becoming all too clear that he couldn’t outrun Kristoff’s virus.
Glancing over, she saw the exhaustion stamped all over Nathan. "You have to hang in there," she said, hating the tremor in her voice. There was nothing worse than making up the plan on the fly. Except that was her life at the moment.
She jerked her eyes away from the pitch-black roadway again. He was sagging in the seat, his silhouette etched with pain. "Poor baby. What can I do?"
"I’m cold."
She reached over, pressing the back of her hand against his forehead, then his cheek. He wasn’t cold, he was burning up. It seemed only logical that a paralytic smart virus could cause a systemic meltdown. There wasn’t much a smart virus couldn’t do. It all depended on the design.
Kelly let her mind float on a blue stream of curses while she urged all the horses she could get from the Mustang’s engine. There was an answer to every problem, a solution for every challenge. In her experience nature worked to balance itself. Which meant...apparently nothing for Nathan since she didn’t know how to find the positive opposite of a viral negative.
We can get help in Chicago, he was in her head again.
She wondered if he’d last that long.
Guess I have to don’t I?
"If that’s humor, it needs work." She tried to block her thoughts, revamping the original plan and hoping shelter made itself available soon.
She wasn't disappointed. A few miles later a dilapidated barn loomed in a field off the highway. It was an obvious hiding place, but they had to take the chance. She drove right up to the barn, then took the car through, parking in the muck of a mostly dry creek bed. She treated herself to a few deep breaths and then let Nathan doze while she masked the tire tracks. She didn't have much to make them comfortable, but she did her best, trying not to think about the hide out she'd fully equipped with blankets, food, and clothes.
So much for planning. Having done all she could to protect them, she leaned back and willed herself into a light sleep.
* * *
Kristoff came awake slowly. His body ached and every screaming nerve added to the agonizing pounding in his head. The clock on the dash was stopped at one-twelve a.m. He tilted the face of his watch into the light and saw it was just a quarter past five. Nearly sunrise.
He hesitated, then levered himself up to a seated position. When his vision cleared from the effort, he saw he was alone in the cab. Where the hell was his driver? He turned, checking the back of the ambulance. The moment of relief evaporated when he realized the body lying on the floor was Simon. Not Nathan.
He fumbled around, feeling for the shotgun he knew was under the seat, then clambered out of the cab and walked to the open back doors.
Cocking the gun, he leveled it at the boy. "Wake up!"
Simon sat up, instantly awake, instantly wary. "Sir?"
Kristoff took in the blood stained clothes. "Did you hunt?"
Simon nodded.
"What did you catch?"
"Two guards." He pointed past Kristoff, then to the front of the ambulance. "One back there. One here."
Kristoff lowered the gun and looked back at the prison. For god's sake, one tower was still in view. In a world he didn't run, they'd be swarmed by dogs and tactical teams. At least someone had proved dependable.
To get his hands on Nathan, he'd bribed the warden with two juiced soldiers and a case of the supplements known to suppress free will. By this afternoon, he'd probably have a message on his secure line upping the payoff to include the Paracuron he'd dumped into prisoner B-21187. Doubtless the warden had watched the entire interview and now he'd want to know everything.
"Clean up and stay low," Kristoff said. "And lock these doors." He closed up the ambulance and waited for Simon to throw the lock. Then he went back to the cab, sliding across from the passenger side into the driver's seat. He had no desire for an up close view of Simon's handiwork at this ungodly hour.
As the ambulance rumbled along, he wondered about Nathan's little liberator. She'd surprised him, outwitting Simon, and it left him unsure how to rank her threat to his cause.
Controlling Nathan and directly accessing his powers would strengthen Kristoff's current position, rocketing him back to the top, right where he deserved to be.
Kristoff tried to keep the unruly ambulance aimed at the prison while swatting at the navigation system. The damned thing refused to boot up. Nathan's work, surely. That boy had shown quite an unexpected aptitude for surprise as well. Especially under the influence of the drugs.
Ah, c'est la vie. Unless Nathan's rescuer was stupid enough to stay in the area, Kristoff reconciled himself to more of the dratted waiting game. At least with the Paracuron in Nathan's system, the waiting would be informative.
* * *
Kelly crept out of the car after dawn to scout around, leaving Nathan to rest. Her legs protested and she tripped a couple times before she had herself together.
Muscles stiff, she moved cautiously, circling around their hiding place and found no signs of detection. She followed the dry creek bed back to the car and cringed when she saw it in the morning light.
Covered with dust and bits of cornhusks, it was an ugly sight. With the back window missing in action, they couldn't possibly drive by daylight without getting stopped by any number of authorities.
Nathan would not be happy.
Neither was she, but for different reasons. The car could be repaired, but Nathan? She wasn't so sure.
Last night's smart virus comments tumbled around in her head, but she didn't have any better answers now.
"Morning," he said, drawing her attention.
"Morning," she repeated, sliding back behind the wheel. He looked like hell. The urge to soothe and comfort wasn't exactly foreign, he was just so beat up she didn't know where to start. "Good to hear your voice still works."
His fingers twitched, but his hands stayed loose at his sides.
Reaching over, she brushed the hair out of his face, and hoped her expression stayed neutral. His hair was stringy and dull, bearing little resemblance to the rich, close cropped brown she remembered. When his eyes rolled to hers, she knew she winced. Couldn't help it. The whites were completely red from burst capillaries.
She might've cried if she hadn't been afraid that once the floodgates were open she'd never get them shut again.
"The Mustang café is fresh out of food." That got a small smile. He was too skinny, his physique eroded after months existing on high stress and low nutrition. "You look horrible."
"Gee, thanks." His eyes drifted away from her to the limited view through the leaf debris she'd scattered on the windshield. "Do we have water?"
She found a bottle on the floorboard and carefully poured a few sips into his mouth. "Did the rest help?"
"Some. I've found a few weak spots, but the effect is hanging on longer than it should."
She offered more water. "If you can't move, how'd you make such a mess of the ambulance?"
"Memory. Same way I drove the car."
That had been nothing short of amazing. And terrifying. "Is it possible to remember your way out of paralysis?" She hoped so, because even in a weakened state, he was too much for her to manage alone.
He didn't answer and she didn’t press. Rest would probably do him more good. Unless what she interpreted as weary wa
s the effect of the drug. God! Couldn't anything be clear?
His condition went beyond her scope of knowledge. Neither of them could've expected this. A glance was enough to know it wasn't a simple matter of a few good meals and some exercise. One more part of her plan shot to pieces. He needed help, but she didn't know where to find it.
She pushed out of the car and paced. The movement helped her think.
Petra was out since anything she knew might get passed inadvertently to Kristoff. Her own childhood home was compromised – even if Nathan could make a trip that far.
She looked heavenward, praying for…what? Help? Or just a big lightning bolt to end the dilemma? She just didn't know which dilemma, Nathan's or her own. Refusing to venture down that mental mine field, she moved to the trunk to find the extra license plates.
Maybe if she stayed off the main highways, they could make a little progress today. She wanted them out of here, wanted him safe so he could rehab his body and spirit. She wanted to get on with her own goals of vengeance and mercy.
Mostly she wanted to get away from the heartbreaking sight of him. It shamed her and would infuriate him if he knew, but she could hardly hold back the waves of pity. She couldn't imagine the price he'd paid for a mission that might never get resolved.
She popped the trunk and rummaged around. After last night's wild ride, nothing was where she'd originally packed it. Just as she found what she wanted, a weight fell onto her back, nearly dumping her into the trunk.
She twisted around, one arm up in defense, the other cocked, ready to strike. She pulled the punch when she recognized Nathan. "What the hell are you doing?" she asked, reaching out to support him.
His hands braced on the open trunk lid, his legs trembled against hers. His lips parted, but the words were in her head rather than her ears. "Remembering how to walk."
His mouth twitched and she realized he was trying to remember how to smile. "Did it work?"
She let her head drop, along with all her defenses, and just laughed out loud at the absurdity of it all. Telepathically, she heard him laughing too.
