Flame (Ruin Outlaws MC #4) (7 page)

"I don't know, but we can't stay this close to the road."

I climb behind him and wrap my arms around him. He starts the bike up again and it sounds even more ragged than normal. He curses under his breath and I don't bother asking. It can't be a good sign and I don't know anything about motorcycles. "At least it still runs," I offer.

He smiles at me and we ride up over the hill and down the other side, pulling us even further away from the main road. I don't know any landmarks out here, even if it was the daytime. Thinking of it now, I'm hoping Logan has some kind of plan for us before daybreak. Without water or food... we won't last very long in the heat. Especially if his bike is breaking down.

I can't be thinking like this right now. If I grow cynical, I'll only drag Logan down with me.

"Logan," I say. "What now?"

He doesn't answer and I don't push. The sirens wail behind us, the border patrol finally catching on that we tricked them. They seem so far away, even though we're not even moving that fast anymore. The road seems more like a trail, and who knows how far it goes before just ending.

The sirens fade away, leaving nothing but us and the droning of his motorcycle on the dirt path. I guess they gave up. I grip Logan tight and hope he feels my heart. That he knows that I won't let anything happen to him, as much as within my power.

I still can't stop thinking about the range. About shooting that man in the back. I didn't even know his name. We just left them all there. Even Damian. Everything is so fucked up.

. . .

We keep riding down the trail. Logan keeps on pushing forward, even though I just can't stop thinking about sailing off a cliff face in the darkness. I get a vague feeling we're still moving north, still heading toward Phoenix. I don't know what we'll do when we get back. The Skeletons are surely still out for us, and if what was said about Surge is true... who knows what he's planning.

Logan hasn't spoken since we started riding again. No matter how much prodding or stroking I give him, he won't answer me. I can't pick up what he's thinking. Whenever I try to peer over his shoulder and look at his face, he's stone-faced. His facial hair is getting longer, making him look even more hardened. Dirt is patchy on his face from the sliding turn, and one of the saddlebags is worn down from grinding against the asphalt.

He's going easy on our speed though, and I'm starting to get nervous. How far out into the desert are we going to go? What if we don't make it back out? We don't have any phones, and I'm sure we wouldn't have reception in any case. If anyone catches us they'll probably immediately throw us into jail or export us back to Mexico because of the bodies at the shooting range. Three of them. Christ.

Bodies. Like they weren't people. Logan is probably used to all this, being an outlaw. Just being around him is changing me. Something cold and hard has grown in my heart, and I don't know if I should embrace it or try my best to thaw it before it kills me. I'm still horrified by how emotionless I felt at the range. Sneaking up behind the gun man, I had only one thought. Save Logan. Even when I pushed the barrel into his spine and felt his bones crack when I pulled the trigger, I only thought of one thing: Save Logan.

What else has he done to me? Have I had any affect on him? I stare at the back of his neck and the breeze catches his hair. The only thing lighting up the desert is the moon, casting grim shadows after the headlights pass over rocks and the gnarled trees.

Everything feels weird. Surreal.

. . .

We pass a sign on the road marking a campground coming up. I point it out and talk over the sound of the engine to tell Logan, but he doesn't answer. He doesn't stop either, so I can only assume he saw it and that's where he's going. He usually has a way to deal with the world when things get turned upside down.

The trail narrows a bit and the bike jostles on the rough terrain. If I don't squeeze Logan hard enough, I'm going to get thrown from the bike. He slows down just after a wave of dust overcomes us. I can feel the dirt stick to my face, covered in a cold sweat. I can't believe how cold the nights get out here, considering how unbearably hot the days are. I shiver and lean into Logan. His back is warm. I can faintly smell sweat on him.

I wonder if Sara is okay. Is she still living at the apartment where Rattlesnake died? I'm sure she isn't... as my mind goes to her, I think about how she would always freak out just seeing roadkill. And Rattlesnake was definitely a lot bigger than any squirrel on the side of the road. I really wish I could have saved her from that hell.

Logan releases the left handlebar of the bike and lowers his hand to the gas tank. Blindly, he grazes his hand and touches my thigh, rubbing me in a way that says everything will be okay. It's nice to be touched again, like he's coming back from whatever dark place he was in.

"Logan?" I try.

He grunts. "What's up?"

"Are we going to that campsite?"

"I don't see any other choice," he says. "Hopefully they'll have something we can use. I don't think we can stay though... the agents will be patrolling the area in the morning, especially any campgrounds. We won't be able to stop until we make it back into town."

I stare up at the sky and catch a glimpse of the Milky Way faintly glowing overhead. How far away are we from town? What time is it? I would probably be asleep right now, snuggled soundly in my bed, if it wasn't for Logan. I don't resent him for that though.

After some time, I agree, "Okay." He slows the bike as we reach another sign marking the turn off for the campground. Then he pulls the left lever and the engine quiets completely, a smooth drone replacing the cacophony from before. As we near the entrance, he shuts the engine off and coasts us to a stop near the entrance signage and deposit box. My ears ring as we climb off his bike. The moon's slipped under the horizon, and the only light I can see with is from now are the stars above. Like a candle held a thousand feet away, they're barely helpful.

A couple of tents are set up, like any kind of campground. I'm sure there's a host camper somewhere nearby. All the tents are darkened and silent except for some snoring, I'm surprised there isn't even a campfire smoldering. Logan walks past the sign marking the layout for the campsites. I follow behind him, trying to mimic him and be quiet. Even with his boots on, he's surprisingly silent, barely cracking the gravel beneath his feet.

Near a tent, that has a small truck parked behind it, there's a cooler. The red color is muted, but still bright against the gray backdrop of dirt and trees. He reaches it and kneels down, before cracking the seal and rummaging inside. He pulls out two water bottles and hands one to me. I snap the cap on one and start to drink.

I didn't even feel parched until I saw the water. I take big swallows, feeling rejuvenated with every drop. He cracks the seal on his bottle and starts drinking, too. Afterwards, he replaces our empty bottles with fresh ones. "Here," he whispers, handing me four bottles altogether. "Take these and put them in the bike. I might try and get some fuel from that truck."

"Okay." I wander back to the motorcycle and open the saddlebags and throw the bottles inside. When I look back, Logan is creeping toward the truck and attempting to pop the fuel cap, but the tent closest to Logan lights up and a zipper splits it open. I want to yell out to him, but it's too late. A man steps out and squints into the darkness.

"Who's there!" he calls out. He sounds angry and I can just barely make out his large frame.

Logan turns from the side of the truck and pulls his gun. He steps forward and puts his finger to his lips and pushes the man backward. The man falls into his tent and Logan descends on him. Now, all I can hear are forced and upset whispers. I pull out my gun from the saddlebags and start pacing back toward the tent. Before I can reach it though, Logan emerges from the tent and runs back to me. He grabs my wrist as he passes me, and he drags me back to the bike.

Logan reaches the bike and tosses some energy bars, his gun, and a smartphone into the saddlebags. The light in the tent is still on. The shadow moves and the man steps out of the tent again, and shouts for help.

"Someone! Help! I'm being robbed!" Some other tents light up and shadows move to unzip their tents. One man wearing nothing but underwear emerges from a neighbor tent wielding a shotgun.

"No time for fuel now, we have to go," Logan says. He kicks the motorcycle alive and it startles the camper, who scrambles to slip his boots on. I straddle the back of the bike and Logan swerves the bike back around, being quiet isn't a priority anymore. The bike throws up dirt and gravel and it falls back on us like rain. Logan guns the throttle to full blast and before I can blink we're gone from the campsite.

After a couple of minutes down the rocky trail, I prod Logan in the shoulder.

"What did you say to him?"

"I said we needed a phone, and if he didn't give it to me, I'd kill him."

"Seriously?"

"I wouldn't have actually killed him, Cassie." He turns over his shoulder so I can see the side of his face for a moment. "He wasn't going to call my bluff over a dumb phone. There's no service out here anyway."

"What about the fuel?"

"It'll be okay, I think. It won't last forever though, but with our current pace, I don't know how far we can really get."

It took us so long to reach the border in the first place, this huge detour certainly isn't helping. The chill of the air gets to me again and I wrap my arms around Logan, and grab my wrists. I rest my face against the nape of his neck. His warmth radiates into me.

I'm so exhausted, but I don't want to go to sleep. I need to stay awake incase he gets too tired to drive. But... how can I when he's so warm? I lock my arms around him and manage to get my feet jammed against the pedals so I can't sway from side-to-side. I close my eyes and feel the world slip away.

. . .

"Cassie." Logan's voice feels far away, but I try to reach out for it. I struggle to move, my eyes feel sealed shut. "Cassie!" he swerves the bike and it shakes me. I twitch and groan, opening my eyes. My legs and arms have gone numb, and with movement comes pain. A million needles stab me at once and I want to buckle over in pain.

We're still riding, and the sun is in the sky. I wipe my face and sweat greases my hand. Logan turns back to look down the road, and I realize we're still not on the highway. Is this another dirt path, or the same one from before? I try and stretch one arm at a time, holding Logan's shoulder to keep my balance. With my arms feeling a little better, I stick my legs out and try and shake them awake, but the movement only makes the pain worse.

"I can't believe you were sleeping like that," Logan says. I want to laugh, but the pins and needles are too painful.

"Can we stop so I can stretch?" I ask him.

He stares down at his speed and then taps his gas tank. "No, we can't. We have to get as far as we can before she kicks the bucket."

I suddenly feel a lot more awake. I shake my head and rub my eyes to free the left over sleep from my body. Logan's shoulders are hunched, and he looks exhausted. Dark rings are under his eyes, but they still look clear and eager. His body is coiled tightly though, maybe from stress and exhaustion. He's probably just as numb as me.

"How far have we gone?"

"I have no idea," he says. "I just keep heading this direction. I'm sure we're getting close to... some kind of civilization."

After grabbing his shoulder for balance, I lean backwards and open one of the saddlebags. Doing something like this would have scared the shit out of me a week ago. I feel around inside the bag and dig out a water bottle and open the cap. "Drink this," I say as I pass it over his shoulder.

He takes it eagerly and tips the bottom up. Some of the water splashes his face and dribbles down his chin, but god knows he must need it. Now that I'm awake, I'm starting to feel how hot the sun is already. He hands the water bottle back to me, crushed and empty. I toss it back into the saddlebag and close the buckle with a snap.

The motorcycle heaves and kicks forward, but Logan manages to keep it in control. The head light dims as it bucks back and forth, but Logan coaxes it to keep going. He settles her temper tantrum. "Not good," he admits. We're going slower now, the motorcycle's note deeper than it was before.

I scan the horizon and try to look for any signs of Phoenix, or any civilization. How big could Arizona really be? The undulating landscape and red rock make it almost impossible to tell. Hell, as the day drags on, I'm sure the red rocks will look like sky scrapers in the haze of the heat. I suddenly remember the cellphone we snatched from the campsite.

I open the saddlebag again and pull it out. I unlock the screen and see that the battery is half dead. 'No service' stares back at me from the screen. No service, No GPS.

"Shit," I say. "The phone still doesn't have service."

"Figures," he says. "Shut it off, we can't have it dying on us too." I power down the phone and I slip it into my pocket.

The motorcycle kicks forward and lurches again, and the lights dim. It starts to slow, and Logan curses loudly, banging his hand on the tank. "Come on!" Without any further drama, the bike shuts off and Logan brakes it to a stop. "Fuck."

I climb off the bike and stretch my legs, finally able to knead the sleep out of my joints. When I look up at him again, he's still sitting on the bike, staring at the fuel tank. He pops open the cap and peers inside, before rocking the bike back and forth and putting his ear to the hole. "Nothing, it's dry as bone. I'm surprised she made it this far," he says. He gives me a sorrowful look. Logan stands up and rummages through the saddlebags. He starts to unstrap them from the back of the bike and unload them.

"What are you doing?"

"We have to bring it," he says. He pulls out the energy bars and last three bottles of water. He hands them to me and digs through the cash. After digging for a couple of minutes, I sigh.

"We can't bring all of it. We'll have to leave it," I say. He nods slightly and grabs a handful of bundled money and slips it into his back pocket.