My mind was reeling. He wanted me to run. To leave him alone with the soldiers when I was the reason his life was at risk. But I couldn’t have Chase’s imprisonment on my conscience. Not after what I’d done to Sean and Rebecca.
But I had to get to my mother. That was my only priority. Wasn’t it?
“What are you going to do?” I asked as the truck’s speed decreased.
He didn’t answer.
As much as Chase had changed, as much as the darkness in his eyes unsettled me, it seemed impossible that he would consider killing someone. Still…
I snatched the blanket out from behind the seat and covered my skirt. I hoped that the soldier wouldn’t know that my sweater was part of a reformatory ensemble. It looked mainstream enough.
Chase pulled onto the side of the road and turned off the vehicle, blocking the wired area below the dash from view with his knees. I glanced at his navy uniform pants and hoped the patrolman didn’t look down.
The seconds passed with biting intensity, until finally a soldier stepped out of the passenger side of the cruiser. The sound of the door slamming was as loud as a cannon firing in my ears. In the mirror I saw that another stayed behind in the driver’s seat.
The man that approached was older than most of the soldiers I’d seen, with a stark, silver comb-over that topped his weathered face. He sauntered to the front door and motioned for Chase to roll down his window. In my peripheral vision, I watched my companion’s every move.
“License and registration,” the soldier said, just like the cops used to say before the MM took over. There was a handheld scanner in his right hand.
Chase reached across my lap to open the dash. When his forearm rested on my knee, the warmth from his skin spread up my leg, and my sharp intake of breath smelled of soap and home and safety. The feeling faded as quickly as it had come. He grabbed a thin piece of paper the size of a note card and handed it to the officer.
“Sorry. A soldier took my ID during our last inspection. Said it was part of the census. He said I could still drive.”
“Yeah, yeah,” nodded the highway patrol, as though this were a commonplace occurrence. I remembered the way Bateman had tucked my mother’s ID into his pocket during her arrest.
The soldier scanned the bar code on the registration and squinted at a tiny screen, presumably checking for outstanding warrants. I was ready to crawl out of my skin.
“Lucky there’s a freeze on car payments, Mr. Kandinsky. Your registration’s expired. Three years.”
Chase nodded. The soldier handed back the registration.
“So, where you headed?” he asked. “Town’s cleared. Been empty for months.”
My hands squeezed each other with bone-breaking intensity. I flipped them over to hide the bruises.
“I know,” Chase lied smoothly. “My aunt’s got a place just down a-ways. I told her I’d check in on it. We’ve got a pass.”
“Let’s see it.”
Chase reached into his pocket. Just beside the gun. I turned to face the opposite window, eyes squeezed shut. My fingers clenched in the blanket as I braced for the gunfire.
“I saw it in your jacket pocket,” I blurted. Soldier or not, this man had done nothing to us. Chase shot me a scathing look.
“This your girlfriend?” asked the soldier, finally registering my presence. His eyes were roaming over my hands. I forced them to steady.
“My wife,” Chase answered between his teeth.
“Good thing,” he commented. My stomach twisted.
Chase looked at me. “In my jacket? Really?” He winced. “Damn. I left it at home then. I’m sorry, sir.”
“What was the number?” the soldier tested.
“U-fourteen. That was it, wasn’t it honey?”
I nodded, trying not to look petrified.
“It was a blue form, about this big.” Chase motioned with his hands the size of an index card.
“Yeah, that’s the right form.” The soldier bounced the scanner in his opposite hand, thinking. “I’m letting you off the hook, but make sure the next time you venture into an evacuated area, you have a pass, got it? You’ve got twenty-four hours.”
“Yes, sir,” said Chase. “Thank you, sir.”
A few minutes later, the cruiser disappeared behind a turn in the road.
“Oh. Wow.” The words were sticky in my throat.
“Old bastard can’t even do his job right,” Chase said. “The regs clearly state you can’t allow a civilian to enter a Red Zone without a U-fourteen. Everyone knows that.”
“Thank God he didn’t!” I practically shouted.
Chase lifted a brow. “Well. Yes.”
A somber fog settled over us. I couldn’t help wondering what Chase would have done had I not said anything. I knew by his demeanor now that he hadn’t intended to shoot him, but I also knew he hadn’t taken the option off the table.
But tomorrow, after we’d been registered missing, this scene would play out very differently.
It was time to get off the road.
WE drove through the empty streets of the Red Zone, hunkering down on an old hunting path beneath the charcoal sky. We hadn’t seen any more cruisers, but Chase said that they patrolled Red Zones to manage crime, and after our run-in with the MM, I wasn’t eager for a replay.
Still, waiting for dawn wasn’t any easier.
I made peanut butter sandwiches to busy my hands, and told myself that it did no good to focus on how we were sitting around while the clock on our safety dwindled down. There was nothing we could do until curfew lifted.
Chase took the sandwiches hesitantly when I shoved three his way.
“I didn’t spit in them,” I told him, long past feeling offended. His brows, arched in surprise, returned to their normal scowl. He may not have been used to someone taking care of him, but I felt compelled; making dinner was my usual chore at home. The reminder, sharp as a knife, brought on a new wave of desperation.
“I have to show you something,” he said, as if to reciprocate for the food I’d made. He went outside, sending a blast of cold air into the cabin of the truck, and reluctantly, I followed with the flashlight.
My breath caught when I saw the silver barrel of the gun emerge from his waistband.
It was too dark, and the woods smelled too heavily of dead leaves and earth. A sick sense of dread emptied my mind of the present and took control of my senses. I could still hear that fateful metal click, hear Randolph’s voice, pitched with excitement, accusing me of running.
“Hey,” Chase said quietly, startling me when he was closer than I expected. I shoved away from him, gulping a mouthful of frigid air.
“I’ve already seen it,” I told him. My heart was beating like I’d just run a mile, but I stood tall, hoping he hadn’t noticed my lapse.
His brows drew together as if in pain. For an instant I could have sworn he’d read my mind, but then his expression hardened once again.
“Do you have any idea how to handle a gun?” His voice was low. I knew he was thinking of what had transpired earlier with the highway patrol.
I cast him an acerbic look. “Do you
