Page 92 of Our Elliana

“What if they’re nearby? They’re on foot, right?”

“Unless they switched cars,” Jackson offers.

“Yeah, but what if they’re in the process of switching right now?” the kid hypothesizes. “If they haven’t traveled far, maybe we can still catch them.”

It’s the longest of shots, but we have to take it anyway.

We bustle into the Tacoma, and Noah situates us into a space near where the overnighters would park. The hour is growing later all the time, and the restaurant will close soon. Yet the RVs, motorhomes, and travel trailers may stay.

Cracker Barrel is a location known for allowing people to camp overnight in their vehicles, and van-lifers and vacationers often take advantage of this policy because it’s free.

Each vehicle varies in appearance, and unless we want to go door to door, I’m not sure how this’ll work. But then there’s one with a Virginia plate, not that this is particularly uncommon. Virginia and Maryland plates dot D.C. highways and interstates due to their close proximity to the nation’s capital.

But the plate the security camera picked up was also a Virginia plate, and like this one, it’s a specialized one with a heart and stethoscope emblazoned with the message, “Nurses change lives.”

I’d go to Vegas or play the lottery with numbers like these.

Jackson barrels up to the door, then hunches over to retrieve something off the ground. It’s silver and delicate, and I know it the instant I see it. The rest of Elle’s butterfly bracelet. It’s mangled and broken as if someone tore it off with great effort. Would Elliana have done that? Has she been attempting to leave breadcrumbs behind?

I’ve never been so motivated to tear a door off its hinges in my life, to storm the metaphorical castle, but Jackson beats me to the punch. He knocks, and when there’s no answer, he attempts a gambit.

“Anybody home? You’ve got a flat tire out here.”

Nothing.

“Hello,” he brays. “I’ll help you change it if you want.”

I see Noah type 911 into his phone. I don’t know what gets into me, but I brush by Jackson and try the doorknob. It holds fast, obviously locked, but muffled voices erupt from within the RV. I’m pretty damn sure one of them is Elle’s. Either that, or it’s my own wishful thinking.

The RV shudders as if people are brawling inside, and the voices become raised to the level of incoherent shouts and shrieks. I yank on the door again, but the fucker won’t give. Jackson joins me, but even our combined strength isn’t enough to bust it loose. Then, the most horrendous sound imaginable ricochets from within.

A gunshot.

Jackson and I claw at the door to rip it off, enough that both our hands come back bloody, but the latch must be padlocked from the inside because it’s too strong to break. I next use the single metal step to gain more momentum, throwing myself at that goddamn door to kick it in. But even this doesn’t prove enough.

Another godawful shot goes off, and I can’t think. I can’t breathe. I can’t function. Until I hear Elliana’s voice.

The three of us lock startled gazes as we hear her scream clear as day.

“No, wait!”

A third shot resounds, and Jackson howls for Elliana like a wounded dog as he rams his shoulder into the door one last time. He hits it hard, beating it with his fists. In desperation, I do the same right up to the moment that Noah seizes our attention with a command so firm Jackson and I gawk at him.

“Move,” the kid orders us away from the exit, and only then does it register with me that he’s carrying something. A firefighter’s axe. “Now.”

We back away, letting Noah whack confidently into the metal and fiberglass, leaving a sizable gash behind. He does it again, this time hitting the handle. It cracks the door open like a raw egg.

Finally.

As he scrambles up that step with us right on his ass, it doesn’t even occur to me that we could all be facing a deadly weapon. Frankly, at this point, it doesn’t matter. We have to get to Elle no matter what that decision might cost us. Yet before we can take so much as one more step, I hear a hoarse voice. Elliana’s voice.

“It’s me. I’m the only one conscious.”

She meets Noah at the narrow doorway, stumbling into his arms, and Jackson and I reverse course to give them room. Once outside the RV, I detect something shiny on Elle, and directing my light at her, see splatters of scarlet blood covering her from head to toe.

Noah sits her on the step, but while I know I should be searching her body for bullet wounds and other injuries, I can’t look away from her face, from the haunted expression pinching her features.

“Where are you hurt?” Noah asks, all the authority of his EMT training packed into the question. I need to know that, too, along with everything else. Her appearance is that of a soldier coming off a battlefield, but what if she’s hiding damage not immediately visible? What if these are the last minutes we’ll ever have with her?

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