I slowly give another him a once over before meeting his eyes again. “I’m more inclined to say it’s the latter.”
“You little bitch.” He lunges forward in his seat, but my hand shoots out, punching him in the throat before he makes it. He falls back into his seat spluttering and choking, holding his neck like he can loosen up his trachea. My fingers dip down to my thigh and pull out the bowie knife from the holster I strapped on before we left. It takes seconds from him launching at me to me straddling his hips, the knife pressed firmly under his jaw.
His eyes are wide and bloodshot while he takes measured breaths, careful not to nick himself on the blade. The hiss of pain followed directly after he gulps satisfies my growing bloodlust just a little. I spit my next words through clenched teeth, not blinking as I stare directly in his eyes.
“Never forget your place, Rylan. You are not the biggest monster here.” His head bobs up and down quickly, causing a few more cuts as open up, blood now trickling down his lap.
I slide off his lap and into my own seat, yawning widely like the whole interaction was literally nothing to me. He doesn’t move his eyes away from me as he reaches around behind him to go for a grab at his gun. His grin is predatory until he feels nothing. My chuckle is dark and unamused as I wave his gun at him. He looks ready to pounce on me once again but before he can I point the barrel towards him.
“Uh uh uh. Sit down Rylan, little boys don’t deserve such fancy toys.” His whole face practically glows with how red he is, but he doesn’t make another move. I empty the cartridge into my palm, pushing the bullets into my bra before handing him back the empty gun.
He glares at me as he takes it, not saying a word, but I need one more thing from him before I let this go. He’ll know it’s me, he’ll know I didn’t bring my phone with me. “Call your boss.”
He picks up on the third ring, his voice has me clenching my teeth together tightly. “Rosie. Nice to hear from you so soon.”
“I need the details, Clarke, otherwise I can’t what you need.”
He huffs out a noise before answering. “Of course. Rylan here is in the middle of escorting you to me as we speak. The job is more discreet than most, there can’t be a trail.” I say nothing. “Is there anything else?”
“Bring a medic.” The line is silent for several seconds before a burst of laughter so loud pulls through the phone. I almost check that it’s still Clarke because I haven’t heard him laugh that hard since we were kids.
“Good girl.”
The car pulled up at a deserted gas station miles away from any civilization in every direction. The place is seriously run down. At one point I’m sure the building was once white, now it’s a sickly yellow with splatters of dirt smearing the walls. Any signs to give any hint have been long missing if the dust and cobwebs caking the pumps is anything to go by. Towards the side is a bathroom which is even worse than the rest of it, as if that could get any worse. The door hangs off its hinges and the sink is shattered across the floor.
Clarke’s visit was short, long enough to tell me the details I needed for the job and hand me provisions I didn’t know I’d require. He didn’t bring a medic. The assignment is to track down a girl. I don’t understand why he needs me for this when tracking and finding people is majority of what his company does, but he’s unrelenting. It must be me. The supplies are minimal. A bag with canned goods and non-perishables, two liters of water, and a run-down car to get around in.
I’m thankful I thought to pack my warmest clothes, a few liters of water, and my knives. My estimate is the food will last a couple of days if I ration it well and if I make sure to only drink a liter of water a day, I should be okay for around five days. I don’t generally bring cash with me but when I open my wallet I see a hundred dollar note sitting there. It’s not much, but I can’t imagine the car runs on empty dreams.
Clarke couldn’t give me much information on the girl or who was looking for her, saying the specifics were not my business but it was my business to get the job done. The only descriptors he could give me was her red hair was cut in a bob, she was roughly five-five in height, willowy, and her name is Carlie. No last name. So, I have no background, no motive for running, no clue who wants her home, no clue where she ran from, and a deserted gas station as my start point. Great. Just great.
I scrub my hands over my face, trying to figure out where to even start. My eyelids droop and the chill from the Fall night begins to seep into my bones. It must be around two in the morning. Sleep, I’ll start with sleep and then look at the day with fresh eyes tomorrow. I crawl into the backseat of the car, pulling on a coat over top my jumper and push my bag under my head as a makeshift pillow.
Chapter Nineteen
I woke with the sun, the day starting to break in beautiful shades of orange and yellow. My eyes felt like sandpaper from lack of sleep, but I needed to get a head start in the day. If Carlie was spotted here yesterday morning, every minute is critical. For all I know she’s lying low in the closest city or hitched a ride out of the state. That would be just my luck and I can’t hold back my groan at the thought.
I’ve circled the damn place three times and can’t see a hint of anyone who might have come through this way. There is no fingerprints in the dirt on the walls, the toilet isn’t useable, it’s fucking disgusting but not used, and there doesn’t seem to be as much as a scuff mark in the gravel road.
Okay, think think think. I scrub my hands over my face as I try to piece together the information I was given and what I would do in this situation. The problem with that is that I’m working with less than helpful information. I have barely a character description and literally no information about her background or why she’s being hunted down, or even how she ended up in the middle of nowhere. There’s no tire marks except the ones from the Rylan and Clark’s cars yesterday, so can’t be driving.
I can hazard a guess as to why I’ve been assigned to her that I’m not ready to acknowledge and think on the rules that Clarke set for me. I have until the end of Fall break to not upset my current assignment and she is to be alive, but whatever client who’s seeking her isn’t worried about her being “taught a lesson”, as long as she’s in “working order”. I’d never heard so much wrong in a sentence, but I’m not in a position to question his ordered without dealing with consequences.
I spin on the spot once more, trying to get an understanding of what she’s thinking. She came from the East, which would make running towards the West path her next logical point. The lack of signs of life left behind tell me that she may want coverage in her travels. Both sides surrounding me are covered in thickets of trees and shrubbery. That’s coverage, but momentum is just as important.
I walk over to the side which isn’t as condensed in bushes, scanning the area from top to bottom. Sure enough, about a yard in from the road is a bare footprint in the shallow mud. She’s not wearing shoes. Why the hell wouldn’t she be wearing shoes? I simultaneously want to cheer about my luck or strangle the girl at how reckless that is. The trees could cover many dangerous things, and her feet walking through this, no matter how gingerly she may step will be torn to shreds! There’s also no way she could have made it to the next town by now if she’s barefoot.
I follow the path of the footprint, seeing more and more signs as I go. A broken twig, crushed leaves, and flattened grass. I don’t realise how far I’ve gone until the first chill of a setting sun begins and I want to fall to my knees at the forethought to bring my backpack with as much crammed in it as possible. There is no way I would have made it back to my car before the temperature really starts to drop, so I guess I’m having a camp out.
You learn a lot of things when you grow up in foster care, but the most important thing I learned is how to survive. That paired with multiple YouTube how-to videos, I start moving around to gather what I think I’ll need for the night. Half an hour later, I’m sitting beside a little pile of sap and twigs, wondering if that will be enough to start a fire, or if I should even start a fire. I doubt I’m close enough to the woman for her to hear me, but there is a possibility she’ll see the fire and I don’t know how she’ll react to someone else being out here.
Deciding on the fact that I would rather not die from hyperthermia, I dig my hands into my pocket to produce the smaller pocketknife I have in there. My hand hits a few loose items that I don’t remember packing and when I pull them out I see that it’s the bullets from Rylan’s gun. That brilliant idiot has just made my night. It takes way longer than I thought it would to separate the bullet but eventually I have a little pile of gunpowder in the center of my sap. I grit my teeth, hating that I’m going to damage my knife, but slash it against a hard stone I found in quick succession until it takes light.
I eat slowly to trick my body into thinking this is enough and desperately try to not guzzle back as much water as I can. The last few months at Fairwater have left me pampered in the easy access to food and water and reverting back like this might just be the thing that breaks me. I put on the extra jacket and scoot close to the fire to get a few hours of restless sleep.
“Mama! Mama!” My voice echoes out into the glowing light. The lounge room is covered in pictures that whip around in the flames. I can’t see the childlike drawings clearly, but they line the walls like paint, covering every inch from the bare plaster underneath.
My chest aches as I watch the picture of my family go up in flames. My feet rooted to the spot as the thick smoke begins to burn my lungs. I see Mama, her eyes are closed, and her face is a mess of red. She looks like she’s sleeping but she doesn’t look like she’s at peace, like she died with a frown on her face, and it has yet to remove itself.