Second Chance SEAL(191)

I wanted to protest, but he was already walking away. Travis turned around and grinned at me. “Cap is always like that,” he said. “Does whatever he thinks is right and doesn’t worry too much.”

I smiled back weakly but couldn’t stop watching as Emory walked up to a black truck. He did something with the window and managed to pop the lock open. He disappeared inside the truck, and two minutes later the engine roared to life.

Emory pulled the car alongside Travis and rolled down his windows. “Too easy,” he said.

“Did the Navy train you for that?” I asked him.

“Nah. I just learned that one on my own.” He paused, looking around. “Come on. You’d better get in.”

I climbed out of Travis’s car, gathering up Mason and all his things. Mason’s cries had gotten softer, no longer screams of pain. I got him set up in the back seat, transferred over the rest of my stuff with Travis’s help, and then climbed into the front seat of the truck.

“Ready?” Emory asked.

“Where are we going?”

He started driving. “I have no clue.”

We lapsed into silence as he headed out of the city, driving farther south. We were moving away from Dayton, away from Indianapolis, away from everything I knew.

It had happened so fast again. One second I was comforting Mason and giving him medicine and the next there were men in the house trying to kill me. I was so beyond grateful that Emory had shown up when he did and taken those guys out. Otherwise, I had no clue what would have happened.

“What’s the plan?” I asked finally after a few miles of silence.

“Right now we’re going to put as much distance between us and Indianapolis as possible,” he said. “We’ll stop for the night soon, get some rest, and then figure out what to do in the morning.”

I nodded. “Can we stop sooner than that?” I looked in the back. “Mason is sleeping, I haven’t eaten anything in a few hours, and I need to give Mason his medicine.”

“What time is it?” he asked.

“Nearly five in the morning,” I said.

“Fine,” he said. “There’s a rest stop coming up. We can grab something there.”

“Thanks,” I said.

We drove in silence again, my thoughts ranging over the last few days. Emory had gone from a stranger to the only person I trusted in the world. As far as I knew, he was the only person who understood what was happening to me and could do anything about it.

We turned off the highway a half hour later and drove down a long off ramp toward a rest stop. The place was basically deserted, and Emory parked as far away from the other cars as possible.

He cut the engine and looked at me. “Okay, do your thing,” he said.

I nodded. “Watch Mason?”

“You got it.”

I climbed out of the car and walked quickly toward the building. I pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

The place was empty and most of the stores were closed. The only place that was open was a fast food place, and I just couldn’t’ stomach that kind of food. Instead, I bought some crackers from a vending machine and ate them while leaning up against a wall.

I wanted to cry, but I couldn’t. I wanted to feel something, fear or mourning or anything, but I was just numb. After this most recent attack, the only thing I felt was a numb nothingness. And that scared me so much more than anything else had so far.

At least before I’d had the good sense to feel afraid. During the attack I’d felt fear, real terror deep down in my bones, but it had been for Mason. I hadn’t felt any fear for myself at all, and now that it was over I didn’t feel anything else. I was totally blank, a clean slate, empty.

I finished the crackers and went into the bathroom, feeling unsatisfied. It was empty, like everything else in the rest stop.

I didn’t know what was happening to me. I didn’t understand it. I knew I should probably feel afraid now that we were out of the safe house and on the run again, but as I looked at myself in the mirror and splashed water on my face, I couldn’t bring myself to care. We’d drive and drive and the terrorists would get to us again eventually. Either Emory would save us or he wouldn’t. It was all going to end eventually anyway, so I might as well just stop trying to fight it.

A movement to my left caught my eye. I looked over, and standing there, framed in the door, was Emory.

“What are you doing?” I asked him.

He took a few steps toward me, the door closing behind him. He kicked a trashcan in front of the door and then looked up at me, his eyes dark and heavy.

“Emory?” I asked again.

He walked up to me and grabbed me by the hips, pulling my body against his.