Page 54 of Catching Camila

John

Thursday 10:42 p.m.

John looked to Camila, but she was already turning, her hand tugging his arm. “We gotta go.”

“I'll go,” he said, touching Camila's arm. “You stay here. Stay inside.”

“No,” she said, glancing out toward the road. “I want to go with you.”

He began to shake his head, but stopped. If he left her again, how could he know if she was safe? And who knew what Nomad had planned? He took her hand. “If you're sure.”

“You can't be serious,” Fer said behind her. “Camila, don't go with him.” She gripped the knife.

“Fer, I’m safer with him than home alone. Just keep an eye out for Mama.”

Fer shook her head. “I wanna go on record as saying that this is a stupid idea that will likely land in your face on a milk carton. This guy is a murder suspect.”

Camila patted Fer's arm once. “Nobody buys milk in a carton anymore.”

Fer scowled. “You know what I mean. Don’t do this.”

Camila turned and tugged John. “I know he didn’t do it, Fer. I was with him when one of the murders took place.” He turned to John. “Let's go.”

“Camila, no,” Fer begged.

With one last look at her friend, Camila turned and pulled John forward. They sprinted out across the lawns of brittle grass, past the dark sheds and carports. John plowed over a plastic bucket as they ran through a weed-filled sandpit and felt it splinter beneath his feet. When they reached the field, John tugged Camila toward the woods.

I should just pick her up and fly off,he thought, but someone might see. Camila was already lagging behind and halfway through the long grass her panting sounded loudly in his ears. At this rate, they'd never outrun the cops.

Camila stopped, placed her hands on her knees and sucked air. “Just…a sec. I…gotta catch…my breath.”

John’s legs itched to run. Above the buzz of insects, police sirens sounded. They both stiffened and turned toward the road.

Camila pushed John forward. “Let’s go! I'm fine.”

They ran. In the dark, shrubs and brambles tore at their clothes. John had no trouble avoiding obstacles, but only a few minutes in, Camila tripped and fell into a thick crop of shrubs. John bolted to her side, yanking shrubs out by the roots, kneeling beside her.

“My ankle.” She reached for it, her face pinching in pain.

“Let me carry you,” John said, feeling helpless. Dogs barked in the distance. Flashlights cut through the trees. They were gaining. It would only be a matter of time.

“I'm too heavy.” She stood, wincing. Blood dribbled from her knee.

He shook his head. All this was his fault. “You're not. Please.”

She tugged damp hair out of her eyes. “I can make it.” She limped forward.

The dogs were closing in. Men's voices shouted. Shadows danced between the tree trunks as more flashlights joined the search. A beam of light skidded over his face. The dogs' frantic baying cut into him. They'd be here any minute. How could he protect her from a jail cell? Nomad had said that knowing his secret would put Camila in danger. As John looked down at her twisted ankle, the scratches on her arms and legs, he realized he'd already done that.

“Grab my neck,” he said, lifting her. He pulled her body to his. The heat that he felt every time he touched her stirred, but he pushed it aside. The pain left her expression as she looked into his eyes. For good or bad, she would finally see him for what he was.

Then he ran.

The forest blurred to a dark smudge around them. The wind whistled by, blowing her hair back from her face. Soon they couldn't hear the dogs.

“John,” she said, but her words were sucked away by the rushing wind. He stole a glance at her. Even in the darkness he could see the awe in her eyes.

He had a lot to explain.

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