Buffalo West Wing (33 page)

He let himself out as Clarr shouted for Josh to get his jacket on. Exasperated, he finally said, “Just forget it,” and reached for the boy’s arm. Josh ducked his grasp. “What the ...?”

Clarr tried again, but Josh ran behind one of the chairs and dodged right and left as Clarr tried to reach him. In the dark, it was difficult for me to make out where one of them began and the other one ended, but I could hear Clarr’s grunts of disgust and I launched myself onto his back, doing my best to wrench him away from Josh.

Clarr threw me off, and I landed with a
whump
on the floor. Josh yelped, and I could tell from Clarr’s shallow breathing and satisfied grumble that he’d finally grabbed the boy. “Get up,” he said to me. “And don’t try anything stupid again.”

We’d bought ourselves a minute, maybe two. “I’m not going out there and neither is Josh,” I said.

“Yeah, right.”

Clarr started for the door, pulling Josh along behind him. I ran up and wrapped my arms tightly around his little chest, and dropped to the floor. “Sorry, Josh,” I said as Clarr yanked him forward. “This is going to hurt.”

The boy was crying, but I heard him say it was okay.

“Let’s move,” Clarr said, tugging at Josh’s left arm.

I sat on the floor, arms still wrapped around Josh, refusing to let go. We tangled like that until Nourie stormed back in. “What is taking you so long?”

I can’t imagine what it must have looked like. Nourie swore and moved quickly to peel my arms off of Josh. “Get the kid into the van,” he said. “I’ll handle her.”

And handle me he did. He threw me over his shoulder and carried me out the door. I was hoping to make a break when he turned to lock the deadbolts, but he was unconcerned about securing the premises at that point. A white cargo van sat outside in the pitch dark. I couldn’t make out the logo or lettering on the van’s side, but as Nourie threw me in, I saw that the vehicle had no side or back windows. The side door had been pulled open, and a dim dome light revealed that the entire back of the van was bare metal. Josh was curled into a tight ball in the cargo portion’s far corner. I felt the cold of the van’s floor and walls. This would be a rough ride. In more ways than one.

“Do you have a blanket or something?” I asked.

Nourie shut the door. Clarr had already climbed into the passenger seat. “Hurry up,” he said, and jerked his thumb backward toward us. “She’s a real fighter, that one.”

“She wasn’t part of the plan,” Nourie replied.

Clarr said, “Well, we’re stuck with her now,” and shut his door.

Nourie ran around the front of the van. “You know where we’re going, right?” he asked as he slid in behind the wheel.

Clarr had opened the window and adjusted the sideview mirror as he answered. “Yeah, head back to the expressway.” He switched on a handheld GPS. “Go north.”

“That’s not traceable, is it?”

“Not in a million years.”

Nourie put the van in gear and eased forward. “Let’s do this.” Tires crunched against the gravel, sending little pings as rocks bounced up to hit the van’s undercarriage. Once we were on the road, I would have no way of telling Gav where we were. And he would be looking for a silver sedan, not a white cargo van. Why had I told him that?

I positioned myself directly behind the two men so that I could see out the front window. So that I could hear every word they said. Maybe there was some way to signal an oncoming car ...

“Back off,” Clarr said. He’d drawn his gun and had it pointed at me. “This will kill your eardrums in such close quarters,” he said. “To say nothing about what a bullet would do at point-blank range.”

I moved farther back. “Who are you, anyway?”

“One of the loyalists,” he said. “One of the many who will not sleep until justice is served.”

“Justice?” I said, nearly spitting the word. “This is terrorism.”

Nourie said, “No more talking.” He shot a warning look at Clarr. “Keep your mouth shut.”

This far back in the van, I couldn’t see the GPS display, couldn’t see anything of our surrounding area. I couldn’t hope to do anything without telegraphing my objectives. We were at the men’s mercy ... and from what it seemed, there was little to be had. My heart sunk so deep in my gut that I nearly lost myself in despair. I didn’t notice Josh sidle up next to me. He had to tug at my sleeve before I realized he was talking to me. “What happens now?”

“I ...” My voice caught in my throat. “I don’t know.”

Nourie drove with his headlights off and slowed as we reached the end of the long gravel road, which had brought us to the house. I remembered that Clarr had told him to head back to the expressway. Peering over Clarr’s shoulder at the GPS, I was determined to memorize every turn, every single landmark so that if the opportunity presented itself, I could jump on it.

Nourie eased off the brake, preparing to turn left. “Hang on,” Clarr said, placing his hand on the wheel.

“What?”

He gestured to the right with his chin. “Car coming.”

Hope rose in my chest, but a moment later, I saw that it wasn’t a cavalry of thirty government vehicles; it was one lone car trundling up over the rise. With its headlights low to the ground and its over-loud bass beat causing my heart to shudder with every syncopated throb, I knew no one was coming to save us. Just as the sports car was about to pass, another car came around the bend from the left, speeding.

“Busy street,” Clarr said.

“Yeah, all of a sudden. What’s with this place? Sami said nobody ever comes down this way.”

“Teenagers, probably. You know how it is. They find all the local deserted places. Good thing that house is so far off the road. Otherwise we might’ve had company.”

“That would have been their mistake,” Nourie said. He switched on his headlights and pulled out onto the paved road. There would be no chance of anyone finding us now.

For the next mile or so, Nourie and Clarr talked softly between themselves. My mind raced, but I could come up with nothing that even resembled a plan. I had to do something, but I didn’t have anything to work with. Just wacky, disjointed ideas, most of which were too ludicrous to even attempt. Josh was quiet, too quiet. I turned to find him curled up, nearly asleep. Part of me wanted to let him stay that way, to forget, for a while, the peril we were in.

“Josh,” I said, shaking his arm.

For one second, he looked just like any nine-year-old might who suddenly finds himself jolted awake. Puzzled, yet drowsily content. A split second later, however, reality washed over him with an electrifying effect I could actually see. “Are we there?”

“No, but I need your help,” I said. “Make noise. Keep them busy. Be pesky and annoying but don’t get them mad.”

“Why?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.

“Just try it. Give me a little time.”

He boosted himself to his knees and scuttled forward. “I have to go to the bathroom,” he said, affecting a whiny tone.

“You just went,” Nourie said.

“But I had all that water.”

Clarr half-turned. “You’re just going to have to wait, kid.”

“But I’m hungry and I’m tired and I ... I want my mom.” The moment he said the words, pretending went out the window. Josh’s overwhelming sadness came bubbling up and he began to sob.

“Stop it,” Clarr shouted.

I didn’t pay attention to the rest. I’d been moving quietly to the back of the van. Thank goodness they’d opted for such a bare-bones model after all. I bent a plasticy piece of covering to expose the back of the vehicle’s driver side taillight. Positioning my right foot behind it, I waited until Josh’s cries crescendoed, then kicked with all my might.

The light didn’t fall out, but I thought it budged. I kicked again.

“What’s going on back there?”

“I’m getting sick,” I lied. “I’m going to throw up.”

Josh must have known I needed more cover because he ramped up his complaints and started crying, loudly, again. “Please take me home,” he said between sobs. “Please.”

I kicked one more time. Success burst through in a thin rush of cold air as the taillight went flying. Pulling off my apron, I stuffed it through the opening. Then, thinking fast, I tore off my shoe, and wrapped the apron strings around it, tying a quick knot. The shoe was too big to fit through the opening, but the apron should be flying free behind the van, like a white flag of surrender.

Which it was anything but.

Nourie shouted, “What’s going on? The dash says one of my taillights is out.”

He started to turn, but Clarr said, “Just drive,” almost as loudly. He tried to see what was going on but I blocked his view of the back of the van.

“One of my taillights is out,” Nourie said again. “Did she do it?”

“We can’t stop now.”

Josh had silenced his complaints and turned to me. He gave me a thumbs-up.
Oh, if it were only that easy,
I thought.

“Nobody is around. Just drive.”

“What if some hick cop decides to pull us over?”

“Just drive,” Clarr repeated.

By my estimation, we’d traveled about five miles from the “safe” house. All hopes of Gav swooping in to save us were gone. I’d been holding on to the belief that he was just waiting for the right moment to pounce on the van, but every minute since we’d left made me realize how slim those chances were.

There were no oncoming headlights and I couldn’t tell if anyone was behind us. Would anyone report an apron flying out from the back of a cargo van or would they just think it was a weird advertising gimmick? An observant cop might see it and pull us over, but what then? Would the unsuspecting officer then be shot just for doing his job?

Guilt almost made me want to pull my flag back in, but fear for Josh stopped me. I shivered as the temperature in the back of the van dropped with each passing mile. My body tensed—the cold of the frigid metal and the ruthlessness of our abductors made it difficult to think. But I had to. Josh was depending on me.

“How much farther?” Nourie asked.

Clarr consulted the GPS. “The expressway’s just ahead. Ten miles on that, then maybe about five miles north.”

My heart soared. Somebody on the expressway was bound to see us.

“We’re going to be too early. Sami’s not going to be happy.”

“Okay, fine. We can avoid the expressway,” Clarr said. “Side roads will take longer.”

Disappointment nearly made me snap. I had only fifteen miles to do something, yet no idea what that should be.

Josh stared up at me with such trust in his eyes my heart broke. For both of us.

Well,
I reasoned
, if I’ve already done everything in my power, maybe it was time to do something that was
not
in my power.

“Take a right, here,” Clarr said.

I pointed, telling Josh to move back. He did. I had no real plan. My only plan was to foil their plans. Create chaos. And then jump on any opportunity that presented itself.

As we completed the turn, and Clarr consulted the GPS again, I saw a car coming toward us. Praying that no one would be injured, I launched myself between the two men’s seats, intending to grab the steering wheel and shove it far to the left into the oncoming car’s path.

Deaf to Clarr’s and Nourie’s shouts, I heard our tires screech and the other car’s horn blare furiously. We skidded sideways and Josh tumbled around the back of the van, crying out in pain. But I held tight until we ground to a halt. No impact. The other driver was out of his car in seconds, running over, shouting and raising his fist.

Nourie didn’t hesitate. He spun the wheel right and hit the gas. We fishtailed as Clarr fell sideways off his seat, shouting. Josh screamed. Nourie swore but gripped the wheel with both hands and had the car righted in seconds. We sped away.

With a murderous look in his eyes, Clarr climbed into the rear compartment of the van with Nourie bellowing about tying me up.

Clarr looked around the van’s dark interior. “With what?”

“Improvise.”

It was then that Clarr spotted the open taillight. “What have you done now?” He yanked the shoe upward, but the apron outside caught tight and wouldn’t give. He pulled again, finally bringing the fabric inside. “I’ll use this,” he said, but Nourie wasn’t paying attention.

“Should I stay on this road, or do I head north again?” he asked.

“Just stay on this road until I get back up there.” Clarr ripped the apron’s strings off and used them—twisted and cold from being outside—to bind my hands behind me. “I need to find something for your feet,” he said. Turning to Josh, he said, “Give me your shoelaces.”

Josh pointed to his shoes. “These don’t have any.”

He looked to me. I shook my head.

“Don’t move an inch,” he said, sitting on the floor of the cargo van to remove his own laces. To Nourie, he said, “This has got to be the worst planning I’ve ever been involved in. Nothing is going right.”

“You want to be the one to tell Sami that?”

“He planned this?”

“How much farther do I take this road?” Nourie asked again. “It looks like we’re getting into a town up ahead.”

Clarr finally got his laces free and used them to bind my feet together. He pulled the laces tight across my ankles—as tightly as he’d tied the apron strings around my wrists, making the cords bite into my skin. As he got back to his feet and stared out the window, I tried to find wiggle room. There was none.

Clarr got into his seat. “We should have turned a while back.”

“I asked you.”

“I’m telling you now.”

“Fine.” Nourie was at his breaking point. He spun the van around in a tight U-turn and headed back the way we’d come. “This is ridiculous.”

“You’re telling me.”

We traveled about two miles before Clarr told Nourie to go left. “You’re sure?” he asked.

Clarr didn’t bother to answer.