Page 33

33

I was alone. Completely on my own. In the middle of nowhere and with no one to help me. I’d always thought I’d manage perfectly fine by myself. People who needed people were losers. Winners didn’t need anything but their own brains and abilities. That was me. I could do that. That was how I’d always lived my life.

And it had brought me here. Close to a railway line in the middle of nowhere, with nowhere to go and no way to get there. The Feds had my truck—well, that journalist’s—and I didn’t even have enough cash in my pocket for a Happy Meal.

That train had come through at exactly the right moment, though. I was due for some good luck, because even with all my athletic prowess, I couldn’t outrun an SUV.

Maybe I should’ve taken a shot at them after the crash. Stopped all this running. I was tired, there was no doubt about it.

Shooting them with any degree of accuracy most likely would’ve meant instant death for me. In the time that it took to line up my shot, I’d never have gotten both of them. The other one would’ve killed me on the spot.

The train saved me. Just made it onto the last car, scrambled around the side, and let it carry me away.

But I figured they’d be waiting for me when the train stopped, so I leaped off as soon as the thing slowed.

Train must’ve still been going a good thirty miles an hour, though, maybe more, when I jumped out about ten minutes after we crossed the Cumberland River. Landed on my left ankle and rolled through a bunch of gorse bushes. They scratched me up all over—both hands were bleeding. I hobbled away from the tracks as quickly as I could, in case someone saw me.

On either side of the train tracks were trees and overgrown vegetation, which separated them from the residential neighborhoods east of the city center on either side. I decided to lay low here on a sawn-off tree stump until sunset. I needed some time to think, to get my head together. I rubbed my throbbing ankle.

I needed to get off my feet for a while too.

There was no way I could get back to my warehouse. The Feds would be all over that place, especially once they found the homeless guy in the toolbox of my truck.

And that meant I was cut off from all my supplies. All my chargers were there, my sleeping bag, all my food.

What a mess.

Some bait that homeless guy turned out to be. I was like a fisherman who whipped out a line only to get the hook stuck in his own ass. After all I’d done, all I’d achieved up in Pennsylvania, to fail like this, to fail so badly, was just awful. It was humiliating.

The pain in my ankle wasn’t too bad. Maybe I could walk it off. That was what one of my coaches used to say whenever I stumbled during wind sprints.

“Walk it off.”

“Move your ass, pretty boy.”

“Pain is weakness leaving the body.”

So I’d get moving and the pain would kick in with each step. But it was a good kind of pain. The kind that made a person tough.

The kind that made a warrior.

A small stream ran through the forested area on the side of the train tracks. I scrambled down to wash the blood off my hands. It wasn’t all that homeless guy’s blood. Some of it was mine, too, from the bushes.

I shivered. The water was almost ice. It numbed my fingers, and I ran them, dripping, over my face.

But I needed to clean up. I must’ve looked crazy.

The cold water refreshed me. My time wasn’t done yet. I could still take them. I would take them. I was determined to finish what I started.

After sitting there for at least an hour, I watched the sun about to set. I knew I had to keep moving, to get away from the railway track. The Feds would stop the train as soon as they could and they’d find I wasn’t on it. They’d have dogs and whatnot running down the line looking for the place I’d leaped. Maybe even send up a helicopter to try to see more from the air.

I had to get some cover. I stood up and walked on. The pain wasn’t too bad. The cold probably helped. Like having an ice pack. But not just on my leg. I was cold all over. The numbness was welcome.

Adrenaline shot through me when I heard dogs barking in the distance. As I moved out of the forested area beside the tracks, I spotted a helicopter up ahead, sending out a beam of light through the encroaching darkness to find me. I was just in time.

It was nice to think I was that important.

And I was. I would be.

When I crossed the street onto a block filled with small town houses, a powerful pang of frustration shot through me. Dammit.

It wasn’t fair. I’d done so much. And now I’d come up short. Darkness was filling the sky. The sun had set. The moon would be up soon.

I couldn’t stand the idea that I might not get that bounty.

All that preparation. All that planning. I’d traveled so far to make it happen, and now bad luck had prevented me from reaching my goal.

How those Feds managed to find my hideout, I didn’t know. I knew they’d find it eventually. But I thought I had more time.

They worked fast. I had to give them that.

I came out onto a road. There were no lights except the glow through curtained windows and the flash of pictures moving on television sets. I must’ve looked real strange heading down that street.

The lights were brighter up ahead from some kind of convenience store, and next to it, a place offering barbecue ribs. The breeze picked up the smell and stuffed it up my nose. Made my mouth water. Two bucks. That was all I had in my pocket. If I used a credit card, they’d be onto me in a flash. I was dirty, hungry, and homeless.

My stomach screamed.

My rage boiled.

I was so close to claiming my prize. So close and yet so far away.

All I’d wanted to do was take that homeless guy back to my warehouse. I wouldn’t have killed him immediately. Rather, my plan had been to call the FBI and tell them where to find their prize. I’d send them a picture, and they’d come running. Of course they would. Like pigeons to old bread.

I’d hide and wait—no shortage of places to hide in a place like that—and when Knox and Yates came charging in, distracted by the homeless guy, I’d take my chance.

My plan was so simple, so clean. The place was perfect, and I would’ve received the bounty and gotten the heck out of there.

But they’d been one step ahead of me. Once again.

A street sign up ahead pointed the way to Idlebrook. The homeless shelter was there, and the soup kitchen. I’d walk there, and I’d make it happen.

My excitement grew. I didn’t have much anymore, but I did have one more lure to set.

I called Dr. Silow, the man who’d tried so hard and failed so badly, and I threw out my bait.