Starcrossed (39 page)

After another hour or so, M finally curls up, using her coat as a pillow, and tries to sleep again. I’m glad. Because by now folks back in Jewel have to know we’ve disappeared. Which means things will get way more dangerous from here on out. I’d rather M not think about that yet.
 

As her breathing slows, I let down my emotional guard just a little. I keep glancing in the rear view mirror, though what I expect to see, I don’t know. Nobody can possibly have traced us this far yet. I don’t think.
 

Truth is, I have no idea
what
kind of technology the Council might have for emergencies like this. No way they tagged this car, but what if they’ve tagged
us
somehow? Not impossible, from the kinds of stuff I’ve seen and heard about. It’s good I didn’t think of that while M was listening in.

A while later gas is getting low, plus I’m having more and more trouble staying focused on the road ahead instead of on the cars behind us. A few snowflakes hit the windshield. I’m watching exits for a gas station when M wakes up.

“How long did I—? Oh, crap! It’s really snowing! When did this start?”

“Maybe fifteen minutes ago, but it’s getting worse. I don’t guess you’d better try driving after all.”

She gives me a long look and I can tell she’s gauging my mood. Between lack of sleep and being keyed up for hours, I’m too wiped to block her much.

“You’re really tired.” I feel her worry. “Do you think it would be safe to stop somewhere so you can get some sleep? I can at least keep watch.”
 

I glance at the clock on the dash. Almost three. They’ll have been looking for us for hours, now. “Not unless we find someplace really hidden.” I shouldn’t even consider it, but that three hours of sleep this morning seems like forever ago.

M feels even more worried now, but just says “Let’s get gas and some lunch.”

I pick a busy truck stop near the Kansas border, figuring we’re less likely to be noticed than at some little mom and pop place. Because who knows what kind of word has gone out about us by now.

We buy hours-old turkey sandwiches and a couple of Cokes and I pay with cash. I wish I could use the credit card my parents gave me after my birthday, but it’s way too risky.
 

“Want to eat here or in the car?” M asks, glancing at the dozen or so bright orange tables near the register.

“Car,” I say aloud, then think,
Don’t want to stay in one place too long, where someone might remember us.

She just nods. I can tell she’s worried by how tired I feel, but doesn’t want to say so. She’s not wrong, but we should put at least another hundred miles behind us before we think about stopping.

The snow’s coming down harder than ever when we get back in the car.

“I’ve been thinking,” I say as I unwrap my sandwich. “Colorado has some hippie-type communes in the mountains—I read up on it—so I’ll bet we can find a place where they’ll let us stay if we help grow food and stuff. We’d be impossible to find, then.”

“That would be perfect!” M sounds—and feels—perky. I wonder if she’s faking it. “I actually know stuff about gardening, too—Aunt Theresa always made me help in hers.”

I throw an arm around her and try to sound super positive. “You can teach me, Indiana girl. I’ve never done any farming or gardening or anything.”

M laughs and it’s a beautiful sound. I want her happy more than I want anything in the world. My worst worry, the one I have to hide deepest, is that I’m wrecking her future happiness. But then I glance in the rear view mirror.

“I’m no farmer,” M is saying, “but I can definitely— What?” She breaks off and I feel a surge of anxiety from her. “What’s wrong?”

“That blue car. It came zooming up, but now it’s creeping along like it’s checking out all the parked cars. Get down.”

She ducks down under the dash, then shoots me a terrified glance. “Did they see me? See us?”

I keep watching the mirror as the car crawls past us, then finally pulls into a space about four cars away. “I’m not sure, but we’re outta here. Don’t sit up until I say.”

M nods. I hate the fear I can feel from her. I back out so fast I almost hit another car. The driver lays on his horn, but I just shift into drive and head out, still keeping an eye on that blue car. Nobody has gotten out of it yet, but I can see at least two people inside.

A few seconds later we’re on the ramp to the highway. The blue car isn’t behind us, so I tell M she can sit up now.

“Was it really them? Could you tell?” she asks as she buckles in, fear still coming off of her in waves.

I shake my head, starting to feel stupid, even though I’m still watching the rear view mirror. “No. Probably not. I just . . . panicked a little.” I force myself to relax. “Sorry—didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I guess we’re both kind of jumpy.” Her emotions even out and I wonder if she’s working as hard at it as I am. Funny how we’re both doing that, for the other one’s sake. Or maybe not funny.

“Why don’t you take another nap?” I suggest. “If I get sleepy, I’ll pull off somewhere, I promise.”

She gives me a long look, then nods. “I can try. Wake me up if you need a distraction or if anything else happens, okay?”

“Promise.”

Even though she clearly doesn’t think she’ll be able to sleep, she drops off in less than ten minutes. Her even breathing makes it harder than I expected to stay alert. I glance in the mirror again and my gut clenches. Is that the same blue car from the truck stop? I can’t tell, but when I speed up a little, it stays the same distance behind me. I slow down until I’m going below the speed limit and it doesn’t pass me.

Crap.

I speed back up, just a little, trying hard not to panic again since there’s nothing I can do but keep driving. At least we have a full tank of gas.
 

Lots of other cars pass me, even though it’s still snowing, but that blue car stays behind me, mile after mile, exit after exit. As it gets dark, the windshield starts to ice up, even though I have the defroster going full blast. I can barely see the road, and all I can see of the car behind me is headlights.

Scared as I am of possible pursuers, I start watching for another exit. Escaping won’t do us much good if I crash and kill us both. I keep telling myself I don’t know for
sure
that car is really after us. I don’t believe me.

I take an exit for a farm road, then turn left, crossing over the highway, since all the lights are in the other direction. Sure enough, a car exits behind me—but it turns right, not left. A wave of exhaustion makes it way too easy to convince myself I was wrong all along.

Maybe three miles down the dark, deserted road I see a closed feed store with just a security light on. Nobody’s following, so I pull into the parking lot, then around behind. Gratefully, I put the car in park and turn off the engine.
 

M sits up with a start. “Where are we? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” I project all the certainty I can summon. “I decided to take a nap, that’s all. Tonight should get us through Kansas, but I can’t do it without some sleep. Then, when we get to Colorado, we’ll find a permanent hiding place in the mountains.”

“Will we live in a tent?” M feels more excited than worried. I can’t help but chuckle.

“Only if you want to. Might get cold, though.”

“I won’t be cold if you’re with me.”
 

Her smile and the wave of love and confidence I feel from her almost convinces me again that this whole thing can work. She snuggles against me and for the first time all day I really relax.
 

I’m just leaning over to kiss her when a blue car comes tearing around the corner, spraying gravel, at the same moment a truck rounds the other side of the building, headlights blazing. There are more cars behind both of them.

We’re trapped.

cloigh
(kloy):
overpower or overthrow; defeat; subdue

Rigel and I only had time to exchange one glance and one thought:
Run!
before people started piling out of the cars suddenly surrounding us. Since I was already leaning against Rigel, we both bolted out of his door, me clinging tightly to his hand. We raced toward the trees and brush behind the parking lot as they converged on us from all sides.
 

One man made a grab at me, missed when I dodged, then another loomed up right in front of us and seized Rigel’s arm, yanking him away from me. The first guy started to reach for me again, then hesitated. I didn’t. I whipped around with a back-spinning kick to his head.
 

He went down with a satisfying thump and I lunged for Rigel’s hand again. The second our fingers touched, we let loose an electric jolt that sent his captor flying six feet through the air.
 

“C’mon,” Rigel said aloud to me, taking a better grip on my hand. This time we made it out of the parking lot, but I could hear feet pounding right behind us.
 

“Stop!” a man yelled. “Please! Don’t make us shoot!”
 

Needless to say, we didn’t stop. A second later I heard the sound of one of those energy weapons all the Martians used during that big battle in the cornfield in October. A charge zapped right between us. Warning shot, or a miss?

Faster!
I thought to Rigel, since we were clearly outrunning them. Maybe they were lousy shots. Maybe we could—

Rigel grunted and his grip on my hand loosened as he stumbled and fell to his knees. He’d been hit.
 

Keeping a death hold on his hand with both of mine now, I turned to face our attackers, furiously sending all the healing and strength into Rigel I could. To my relief, he struggled back to his feet, but now they’d had time to surround us.
 

“Don’t come any closer,” Rigel warned them.
 

“Quiet, Stuart,” one of the men barked. “You’re in enough trouble as it is. Kidnapping a Sovereign is high treason.” His words and his
brath
confirmed that these weren’t random criminals looking to rob or kill us. Or hurt me, probably, since he called me Sovereign. But—

“Kidnapping?” Rigel and I said at the same time.
 

“Remember orders,” another man snapped. “We’re not supposed to let them say anything.” He brought up his tiny silver weapon. “You two come along quietly and no one will get hurt.”

“I don’t think so,” I snapped back at him. No way were they framing Rigel for kidnapping! I tightened my grip on Rigel’s hand.
Let’s zap them all!

He gave a grim nod. We sent out another lightning bolt and the two closest to us went down.

Again?
Rigel suggested, but now I hesitated.
 

If we accidentally killed somebody, they’d have a real crime to pin on Rigel. I sent him an anguished look, trying to choose between the lesser of two evils. Then someone in the back fired and we both went down. I felt like I’d been simultaneously kicked in the head and punched in the stomach. Before I could recover, two people grabbed me, one of them mumbling apologies, while two others grabbed Rigel, pulling us apart again.

A grim-looking woman moved toward Rigel, something shiny in her hand, saying, “Your youth might gain you some leniency, though I can’t promise anything.”

Rigel slumped into the arms of his captors as I watched in horror. “What did you do to him? Rigel? Rigel!”
 

But there was no response, either aloud or in my head. Terrified, I drove my elbow into the stomach of one of the men holding me. He grunted and loosened his grip. “Hold her!” he gasped as I wrenched partly away.
 

Without pausing, I elbowed the other one, then delivered a back fist to his face with the same arm. Amazingly, I seemed as strong as he was. He staggered back, almost letting go, but then the woman who’d just knocked out Rigel appeared at my side.
 

“My deepest apologies, Excellency,” she said. I saw the flash of silver in her hand a half-second before I felt a pinprick in my upper arm. Then everything went black.

I came to abruptly, my first conscious thought the same as my last. “Rigel?” I cried out, snapping my eyes open and struggling to sit up on the soft surface beneath me.

To my surprise and overwhelming relief, that surface turned out to be the couch in the Stuarts’ living room. Surely that meant Rigel was here too? I stared around at the sea of faces surrounding me—some concerned, some stern, most of them unfamiliar—but his wasn’t among them. Nor were his parents’. My relief oozed away.
 

“Where’s Rigel?” I demanded—though my voice sounded more pitiful than commanding.

Shim stepped forward and some of my relief crept back.

“He’s not here, Princess. That you are is something for which we must all be extremely grateful. You can’t know how very essential your safe recovery has been.”
 

His grave tone and expression, even more than his words, popped my last little bubble of relief. I’d never seen Shim look at me so disapprovingly. But no amount of guilt could distract me from my primary concern.

“Where
is
Rigel? You, or someone, must be able to tell me that,” I insisted.

Allister Adair, the
last
person I wanted to see, moved into my line of sight. “Rigel Stuart has been taken to a holding facility in Montana,” he told me with no trace of sympathy. “He will stay there until a verdict can be reached.”

“Verdict? What do you mean?” I didn’t like the sound of that at all.

Allister’s pale gray eyes grew even colder. “The boy has committed a serious offense. The
Echtran
Council has never before dealt with a charge of treason, so some deliberation will be required. It is possible that his youth will mitigate what would otherwise demand the ultimate penalty.”

I stared at him, feeling the blood leave my face as my mouth opened and closed soundlessly.

“Allister,” Shim snapped. “There have been no formal charges yet, merely an accusation. Let us not be precipitate. One thing at a time, please.” He turned back to me and I could see the anguish behind his carefully stoic eyes. It was nothing to my own anguish, though!