BooksBarbecue
Back The Runaway
Chapters (80)
  1. Cover
  2. TITLES BY NICK PETRIE
  3. Dedication
  4. Epigraph
  5. 1
  6. 2
  7. 3
  8. 4
  9. 5
  10. 6
  11. 7
  12. 8
  13. 9
  14. 10
  15. 11
  16. 12
  17. 13
  18. 14
  19. 15
  20. 16
  21. 17
  22. 18
  23. 19
  24. 20
  25. 21
  26. 22
  27. 23
  28. 24
  29. 25
  30. 26
  31. 27
  32. 28
  33. 29
  34. 30
  35. 31
  36. 32
  37. 33
  38. 34
  39. 35
  40. 36
  41. 37
  42. 38
  43. 39
  44. 40
  45. 41
  46. 42
  47. 43
  48. 44
  49. 45
  50. 46
  51. 47
  52. 48
  53. 49
  54. 50
  55. 51
  56. 52
  57. 53
  58. 54
  59. 55
  60. 56
  61. 57
  62. 58
  63. 59
  64. 60
  65. 61
  66. 62
  67. 63
  68. 64
  69. 65
  70. 66
  71. 67
  72. 68
  73. 69
  74. 70
  75. 71
  76. 72
  77. 73
  78. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  79. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  80. What’s next onyour reading list?

June ended the call. “Fucking bureaucrats and politicians.” She sighed. “I’m pretty sure we’re on our own.”

Peter felt the werewolf begin to stir again. “Not entirely.” He picked up her phone. The number was on speed-dial. “It’s me. Pack your shit, we’re going hunting.”

Lewis gave a low chuckle, slippery and dark. “All right. Where we headed, brother?”

Peter told him the county. “We’ll make a plan when we have an address. Did Bobbie have a spare shotgun?”

“Motherfucker, Bobbie got everything up to surface-to-air missiles. She says cleaning guns calms her nerves. Did you know Lisa was state target champion five years in a row?”

66

HELENE

Roy stayed off the interstates, avoiding the most likely areas for police roadblocks. They made decent time west despite that, pushing the truck fast on the long, straight roads.

He was quiet, gone someplace inside himself where Helene didn’t want to follow. She was still tired, and nervous about what was coming, and didn’t trust herself enough to make conversation. Her back hurt and her feet were sore. Before long, she climbed awkwardly into the back to get some sleep. She knew she’d need to take over the driving eventually.

She had a hard time getting comfortable, though. The baby had a mind of its own, swimming around inside her belly like a hungry fish grown too big for its tank. Closing her eyes didn’t help. First she saw Trooper Falk slumped on the gravel with the side of her head blown off. Then she saw her Aunt Willa held in Roy’s hard embrace. Then she saw Frank with the puckered red hole in his chest. You deserve each other, he’d said.

He was right about that, she thought.

Finally she dug into the cooler of food from her aunt’s house and found the rest of the sliced turkey and a tub of potato salad. The men hadn’t packed any silverware or napkins, so she ate with her fingers, then licked them clean. That seemed to settle the dead, and calmed the baby enough for her to sleep.

When she woke, it was dusk. She sat up and peered through the bug-speckled windshield at the deep blue of the western horizon. Behind her, to the east, the stars would already be out. “Have you been driving this whole time?”

“I figured you needed the sleep,” he said.

Music played softly on the radio. She was reminded again of the long trips through the shale country with her mom, when they went looking for her dad. The coziness inside the car, just the two of them, a tiny island of light in a vast ocean of darkness.

Then she remembered who she was with, what he had done. What he meant for her to become. What she planned to do.