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Michael’s lungs felt as though they’d been scorched. His chest swelled in heaving breaths, only to shrivel again as the air rushed out of him. A side stitch forced his hand over his ribs. It was as if some invisible crab was twisting and wrenching his muscles in its pincers. His feet stopped running on their own, his body telling his mind that a break was needed.
His breathing slowed as he trotted languidly toward the curb on his right, his mind finally slowing enough to take stock of his surroundings. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw no one behind him. The street was quiet.
To his left, the high school, in front of him, Brentworth, and beyond that, the police department. Sam. It seemed an impossible distance after his all-out sprint. He was starting to see the value of joining cross-country.
Sam! He groped in his pocket, searching for the cell phone she’d given him, that she’d told him to always carry. His heart stopped when he found his pocket empty.
He stumbled, suddenly dizzy. Maybe one of these houses will let me use... His eyes rolled back, and for a moment, he thought he was going to fall. Squeezing his eyes shut, slowly recovering his breath and his balance, he rested his hand against a silver car. Its alarm blared, and he jolted upright. His gaze darted in every direction. Hands covered his ears. A dog barked. A man unseen yelled, “Get away from my car, asshole!”
A siren whooped then boomed continuously as tires screeched around a turn. Michael turned to face the police car speeding his way. He raised his arm to flag it down, all at once thankful for the protection Sam had placed on him and the cavalry that would take him to safety.
His smile faded, and his mouth went dry when he saw the cigar-store Indian staring back at him from the driver’s seat, an identical mask riding shotgun.
He hesitated, trying to determine where to go, but he couldn’t think straight under the pressure. The school was closest, his best option. But the police car’s engine roared louder as he made to dart across the road. Michael kept to his right and quickly built up to a sprint, getting onto the curb as soon as he saw a break in the parked cars. He could hear the cruiser following—the siren was off but the engine revved occasionally as if to taunt him. He felt like a cornered mouse, the cats whoop-whooping their siren, playing with their trapped prey.
He ran another mile, at least, cops in tow. Cars passed without a care, their drivers turning their heads with curiosity before continuing on their way. He thought to flag one down, but knew it would be certain death for whoever stopped. He wondered if any of them would report what they saw when Michael’s picture ended up all over the news, when they found his body. If they found his body.
Michael didn’t dare look back, even as fear and strain brought tears into his eyes. Just keep running. Just keep running. But even in his panic, he knew he couldn’t outrun a police car.
Another siren came from the opposite direction. Michael lost all hope then. The cops, sworn to serve and protect, were after him. He wondered how many had been corrupted and what made him so damn important to them. Why me? God, how he wished Sam were with him. But she had no way of knowing where he was. No, he was on his own.
Before the second car came into sight, Michael slowed and crouched, slumping against the front wheel well of a pickup. Over the hood, he could see the cop car pull up alongside it, engine idling. He needed to rest and regain some of his wind while he let them make the next move. The tenement house to his right looked inviting enough. He considered sprinting for the front door to beg for entrance. But the cops would get him, arrest him in front of whoever opened the door, acting as if they were just doing their jobs, as if he were the criminal.
If he even made it to the door.
He glanced back at the cop car as the second sped toward them. The officers had their masks off. The passenger, an old gray-haired man with skin hanging loosely from his face, stared straight ahead at the approaching vehicle. Michael thought he was way too old to be a cop and tried to look past him at the driver but couldn’t get a view of him. The second car sped by, a black Toyota Camry.
Sam? Michael jumped up, waving his hands. “Sam!”
He started to run into the street, in front of the police cruiser that had followed him. That car’s tires screeched as its siren whooped again then blared. The driver ignored Michael. The car whipped around and followed after Sam.
Purple spots appeared before Michael’s eyes, and he let out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. He felt like he might faint. But those cops, they were after Sam now. He thought to start running again, after her, to help her. But his legs wobbled as he took a step. He would never make it to her in time, even if he tried.
And what if they come back? What if there are more? Sam would want him to hide. He turned around, studied his surroundings, and found himself only a few yards from Brentworth. It was as if fate had driven him there. The police station still a few more miles away, he had a choice to make. Take the ready-made place to hide, or take his chances with an obviously infiltrated police department and all the many steps it would take to get him there.
The whole thing was crazy. He was just a kid. He didn’t know anything about those sickos—what they were about or why the heck they would want anything to do with him. When the Suarez gang had kidnapped him, it had been because of Jimmy. In some sick sort of way, that at least made sense. But this seemed to have something to do with Brentworth. He wondered if Jimmy had told someone inside something about him and his visions. Or maybe Tessa had.
And he was moving closer to the place. It didn’t seem smart, but at that moment, he couldn’t feel as though he could trust anyone but himself—and Sam. But she was on her own, just like him. A tear ran down his cheek as he prayed for her safety.
Then, he headed into the woods.