Chapter 9 - The Highway of Blood
The rain hit Emily like a wall of ice as she sprinted across the dark motel parking lot. Behind her, shouting echoed out from Room 114 as the second operative recovered his balance, wiping blood from his eyes and pulling his radio from his vest.
"Target is on foot! Heading toward the rear perimeter!"
Emily didn't run toward her SUV—they would have blocked it or disabled the tires. Instead, she sprinted toward the rear of the motel lot, where a dense wall of pine trees separated the property from a dark, narrow service road running parallel to the main highway.
She plunged into the muddy treeline, the wet pine needles slapping across her face, her feet slipping treacherous on the mud. She held Lily tight against her chest, shielding the little girl’s head with her coat as she fought her way through the dark woods.
After fifty yards of blind, frantic sprinting, her feet hit smooth, wet asphalt.
The service road was empty, pitch black, and completely unlit. To the left, a quarter-mile down, lay a twenty-four-hour truck stop, its tall yellow sign glowing faintly through the thick fog and rain.
"Hang on, baby," Emily gasped, her lungs burning, her legs trembling with sheer exhaustion as she ran toward the truck stop lights.
Ten minutes later, drenched, mud-splattered, and shivering, Emily burst through the double glass doors of the truck stop diner.
The bright fluorescent lights above blinded her momentarily. The smell of frying grease, stale coffee, and diesel exhaust filled the air. A few late-night long-haul truckers sitting in vinyl booths turned their heads, staring in shock at the wild-eyed, blood-stained woman carrying a small child in her arms.
"Ma'am?" the middle-aged waitress behind the counter gasped, setting down her coffee pot. "Honey... oh my god, what happened to you? Did you get in a wreck?"
Emily staggered to the counter, setting Lily gently down on a vinyl stool. She reached into her bag, pulled out her wet leather wallet, and slapped a hundred-dollar bill onto the laminate surface.
"I need your phone," Emily said, her voice shaking violently, her eyes wide and wild. "And I need a cab. Now."
The waitress looked at the money, then at the shivering five-year-old girl in the muddy pink sweater dress, and immediately reached for the landline receiver on the wall. "I'm calling the state police, honey—"
"NO!" Emily yelled, grabbing the woman’s wrist with frantic strength. "No police! Please... the police in this county are compromised! If you call the local dispatcher, they will kill us!"
The waitress froze, staring at Emily’s face. In Emily’s eyes, there was no madness—only the absolute, terrifying sincerity of a mother fighting for her child’s life.
Slowly, the waitress lowered the receiver. "Okay... okay, calm down. My brother drives a long-haul rig. He's parked out back right now, getting ready to pull out for the state capital."
She looked out the rain-streaked window toward the giant semi-truck idling in the bay, its diesel engine humming like a mountain.
"He's heading to the Federal Building in the capital," the waitress whispered, her eyes softening. "He leaves in five minutes. You want in?"
May you like
Emily looked down at Lily, then at the door of the diner, where distant headlights were already sweeping past the highway exit.
"Yes," Emily breathed. "Yes, please."
