Page 39 of Brick's Retribution

They're searching, but we're already gone, anonymous cargo in a sea of people.

I don’t like the idea of leaving Brick’s bike here, but I’m sure he’ll get it back at some point.

"Your grandmother really sick?" Carlos asks as we merge onto the highway.

"Something like that," I reply, watching the side mirror.

No one is following us yet, but I know it's only a matter of time.

The cab is warm and smells like diesel fuel and old coffee.

Carlos has the radio tuned to a Mexican station playing norteño music, the familiar rhythms a comfort.

For a moment, I can almost pretend we're just regular people on a road trip.

"How long to Chihuahua?" Brick asks from the sleeper.

"Ten, twelve hours," Carlos replies. "Depends on the checkpoints."

Checkpoints. I'd forgotten about those—routine stops where authorities inspect cargo and documentation.

Usually not a problem for someone with my connections, but now...

"What kind of checkpoints?" I ask, trying to sound casual.

"Drug interdiction mostly. Sometimes immigration." Carlos glances at me. "You two got papers?"

"Of course," I lie smoothly. We have identification, but using it would be like sending up a flare. "Just prefer to avoid delays, you know?"

He nods, understanding. "There's a checkpoint about six hours out. Usually just wave truckers through, but sometimes they're thorough."

I file this information away. Six hours gives us time to plan, but not much. If they're looking for us specifically, even routine checks could be dangerous.

The highway stretches ahead, empty except for occasional traffic.

In the distance, mountains rise like jagged teeth against the pale sky.

Beautiful country, but unforgiving.

The kind of place where people disappear and are never found.

"You sleep," Brick says quietly from behind me. "I'll keep watch."

I want to argue, to insist I'm fine, but my exhaustion is weighing me down horribly.

The adrenaline crash after the motel escape, combined with too little sleep and too much stress, is taking its toll.

"Wake me if anything changes," I say, closing my eyes.

"Count on it."

I drift off to the sound of the engine and Carlos humming along with the radio.

My last conscious thought is how strange it is to feel safe in the cab of a truck with a stranger, protected by a man I've known for barely a couple of days.

When I wake, the sun is high up in the sky and the landscape is different.

We're in the mountains now, the highway winding through pine forests and rocky outcroppings.

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