Page 4 of Chasing Storm

Leo pipes in, “Where are you?”

Joey pauses and then says, “Detroit.”

“Yeah, but approximately where? There are gangs galore, and everyone knows about—”

“Not helping.”

There’s some noise, tapping sounds, and Leo saying, “Okay. My tech guy pulled up the cameras in Detroit. Give me the street names where you’re at.”

Again, Joey pauses, and gives me a side glance. I mouth, “We can trust him. He’s my brother.”

Joey rattles off our location and Leo directs us down side streets while I take in the area. Half-standing carcasses of buildings line the streets,spray-painted and boarded up. Guys are hanging out in doorways, alleyways, and in front of abandoned buildings, no doubt dealing and negotiating illegals.

Joey says, “SUV behind us. Tinted windows.”

The sound of shots splinters the air.

“Down, Tea!”

Joey and Leo are shouting out information at each other. Joey’s telling him about the situation and street names, and Leo is directing him out of here. It’s chaos. A bullet shatters my side window, whizzing past Joey’s nose. My hands cover my head as I scream. Joey’s flooring the gas pedal, taking turns on two wheels, and weaving through the alleyways. Unfortunately, this is an old car which has seen its days of drag racing. From my vantage point, I notice the SUV inching along the passenger side of our car, and I tug on Joey’s pants to get his attention. He yanks the wheel to the right, sideswiping the vehicle. It only puts them back a few feet, rearing alongside us again. We’re approaching an intersection, so Joey slams on the brakes, whips the car 180 degrees, and floors it. My body slides from Joey to the door and back, still cradling my head.

Leo’s shouting out commands, advising me to hit the floor while shouting at someone else. He tells Joey one of his guys is five minutes out. The SUV hasn’t relented. They’re coming at us, and Joey is doing everything to shake them off. Leo instructs Joey to pull back when he tells him to. At the end of a side street, he says, “Pull back now,” and Joey does so. The SUV cuts in front of us and is plowed into the side by a garbage truck, forcing it into a building. Tires screech, metal scrapes against metal, and the SUV is lodged against a brick wall, all doors crammed shut. The driver of the truck waves our way, Leo tossing more instructions, and Joey speeds out of the city center.

Five minutes out and Joey and Leo are about to end the call before my brother’s last words. “If anything happens to my sister, I’ll put a bullet in your head myself.”

“Fuck off! I’ll protect her with my life.” The call ends.

I brush the glass shards off the seat, but Joey squeezes me against his side. We are both high on adrenalin, our breaths quick and wispy. My head falls to his shoulder, and we rein in our nerves. This is how it’s going to be. On the run, looking over our shoulders everywhere we go; dodging accidents and bullets. I swallow the lump crawling up my throat. My hand rests on my heart. I love this man. Our hope for a future seems to be fading fast. Rather than a wood cottage by a lake, we’ll be in a wood coffin, six feet under.

When we hit the next small town, Joey parks the car in a parking lot near the main road. He tells me to place everything in the car outside the trunk. I follow his instructions, occasionally glancing at him. He disappears behind a line of cars. With all items outside the trunk, Joey rolls up in an old clunker, gets out, tossing all the bags and suitcases into it, and I hop in. At the rate he steals cars, we can open our own dealership.

We get six hours under our belt before Joey pulls into a motel to sleep for the night. He’s exhausted, which I’m also attributing to his head injury. At least the cut stopped bleeding. Instead of unloading the suitcases, I grab another shirt, and he brings in the duffel bag. In search of food, I empty what little is left in a vending machine, grab some waters, and make my way back to the room where I find Joey fast asleep. After munching on Doritos and a Snickers bar, I cuddle next to him.

I wake to footsteps and check the time. It’s four a.m. The wind is rattling a branch against a nearby window. Rubbing my eyes, I sit up against the headboard, running my fingers through Joey’s hair, untangling the sweat and blood from the strands. His breathing has evened out, and he’s deep in sleep. This is good after an adrenalin infused day. A good night’s sleep is important for him, especially when I have no idea where we’re going or what tomorrow will bring.

Gazing down at my beautiful man, I hear footsteps again, except they stop outside our room. My butt and legs propel me off the bed, sliding against the wall to see if I can see anyone through the window. The darkness and lone bald light hanging outside of the door masks the person’s appearance. All I can do is guess it’s a man.

My eyes flash to the jiggling doorknob. I back up into the wall, fist in my mouth, praying I locked it when I came back in. Again, it jiggles, and my eyes fly up to the hooked door chain. My hands guide my shuffling feet back to the bed, shaking Joey, and whispering for him to get up. He doesn’t budge, and then I freak out, wondering if he mightactuallyhave a concussion and won’t ever wake. This is not the moment for my mind to head into dark places. To appease my worries, I place two fingers against his neck to check his pulse and it’s a regular heartbeat. I straddle his legs and yank his arms to get him into a seated position, but he’s too heavy. A shadow crosses the window. I hunt through the duffel bag and find a gun. I’ve never used one, so I place it on the floor.

Shit!

I swipe my sweaty hands over my thighs before slipping them under Joey’s armpits, so I can shift him off the bed in case the person shoots through the window. When he falls on top of me, it stirs him, and I smack his face. His eyes fly open.

I place my hand over his mouth and whisper, “Someone’s outside the room.”

Like he’s struck by lightning, he jumps to his feet in one go, shoving me toward the windowless bathroom. I don’t make it there before a shot is fired through the door. My body drops to the ground, patting myself down. No blood. Joey grabs my ankle, dragging me next to him behind the bed, and he reaches for the gun. The doorjamb cracks as the person slams their body into it. Several more strikes, the chain flies off, and a man stumbles into the room. Joey doesn’t give him time to right himself. He releases two shots, hitting the intruder. I’m pressing my hand against my mouth so hard, it’s going to leave indentation marks. The guy falls onto his face and doesn’t move. Joey takes the intruder’s gun, crouches by the door, and scans the area. It appears he came alone. We snatch up the duffel bag, hop in the car, and head to Ohio.

Joey shakes his head, I assume to clear his mind, and he says, “How the fuck did he find us? We were in some random shithole motel. There’s no GPS. I’ve ditched the cars, our phones are burners, and we went through the suitcases.” He slams his fist on the steering wheel. “Nothing! So how did they find us?”

I don’t have an answer, staring out into the darkness, rubbing my hands up and down my arms. Joey tells me to scoot closer. Of course, this is an old Junker; no bucket seats, so he drapes an arm around my shoulders.

“You did good, Tea.” Joey kisses the top of my head. “Thanks for waking me.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t know how to use a gun.”

He gives me a small squeeze. “We’ll have to change that soon.” After a long sigh, he adds, “Unfortunately, this is how our life is going to be.”

I lean up to kiss his cheek. Joey doesn’t stop until we hit a small town with a population of 250. Fields stretch for miles. The town has one of everything, except for a motel. Joey finds an abandoned barn, parks the car inside, and covers us with a blanket. This is our life. Backwoods and hiding. But we’re together. For better or worse, I believe Joey and I will find a way to make our dreams come true.

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