Page 45 of Fury

I kicked him over. He wore a dirty faded hoodie under his ratty windbreaker. I unzipped it. No colors. He could be a local contact of theirs, a dealer, a mover.

I crushed the beeper with the heel of my boot and tossed it in the garbage dumpster behind us. I grunted, dragging his body to the dumpster and curling him up into a ball. Just another dealer having a bad day. We took his .380 and two knives. Serena piled cardboard boxes that poked out from the dumpster and put them to the side of the metal structure, hiding his body from view. I went over his bike and pushed it to the back of the store by where he lay.

“Should give us some time.”

“They know where we are.”

“We don’t know that for sure. He could just be some local asshole.”

“You know that’s not true.”

“We gotta keep moving.”

“They know.” Her body shook, her gaze shifting up and down the quiet road. She was exhausted, ravaged by a potent cocktail of hope, anxiety, and adrenaline.

“Serena, you hear me? We gotta keep moving. Don’t quit on me now. We’re close. We’re almost in South Dakota.”

“So what? So what?”

“I’m never gonna let them take you back.”

“So what?” she repeated.

I gripped her jaw, and her blood shot eyes widened. “Listen to me,” I said. “We’re getting back on my bike and leaving.”

“I’m always leaving and never getting anywhere. In my dreams or here, right now, it just doesn’t matter, does it? Look at us. We’re both bleeding, both exhausted.”

“What did they do to you? You’re hurting.” I stretched out a hand to her and she smacked it away, turning her face from me, wiping at her eyes.

I rubbed my hand across my chest and blood stained my skin. I swayed under the heat of the sun. Under the specter of them finding us.

Don’t give up, Serena. Please, don’t give up.

14

We rode on, taking lowtraffic routes when we could, then I’d switch it up. Being in public might be a good thing. I needed to make up for the time lost with the stops we’d made. Plus, stops made it harder for her to get back on and ride. I grit my teeth every time I saw her squirming on the seat.

Two bikes riding together appeared in my left rear view mirror, and my pulse picked up speed along with my throttle. I was suspicious of everyone and everything. They turned off on an exit after at the next town.

We made it to South Dakota.

I turned off for Route 50 to find a gas station and something to eat.

A crooked sign hanging from a tall rusty pole blazed in the late afternoon sun over the entrance to the small lot. Tipson’s Gas Stop. A lone forest green SUV sat in front of the store. I parked in the back and lifted Serena off the bike. She gripped my neck, and I held her in my arms, savoring the feeling of her holding onto me, pressing into me, needing me. Everything would be okay. It fucking had to be.

“Want a big steak dinner?” I laughed, knowing the only thing we’d find inside were chips, cookies, bad muffins, cardboard nachos, and candy if we were lucky.

She only shook her head in the crook of my neck.

I put her down and took her hand. “Let’s go inside. Come on.”

Bike engines from out front cut through the heat in the air and Rena stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening.

I squeezed her hand. “We don’t know who it is. There are plenty of riders out here.”

“It’s over. It’s over. It’s over,” she chanted. Serena took out her gun, and I ripped it out of her strong grip.

“No. No!” I pushed her against the back wall of the gas station. “Where’s the girl who wanted to live no matter what?”

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