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43. Tracker .43

Trees sailed by.

You sat inside a beat-up car, jostled by every bump in the road.

You had been driving for hours, taking random turns and hoping to get lucky.

Sure, you could have asked for directions to travel somewhere specific while in town, but you didn't want anyone knowing where your destination was, whether it be Janette or some random townsperson.

...thus, you didn't have a destination.

You could buy a map... if, no, when you made it to the next town.

You cast a glance to the passenger seat of the truck, at the paper bag.

You weren't sure if it would be a good idea to eat the muffins.

While you wanted to believe in Janette's good intentions...

Was it wise to eat food that you hadn't seen prepared, and that was given to you by a lady you had only known for approximately twenty-four hours?

No... it would be best if you left the muffins alone for the moment.

If a few more hours passed with no sign of food then you'd reassess the situation.

___

You were reassessing the situation.

How had you not seen anything yet? How could a road possibly go on this long?

Those possibly poisoned or drugged muffins were looking better and better with each hour that passed.

Maybe you could eat one bite, and wait a while to see if there was any effect? Yeah, that seemed like a good idea.

___

The muffins were good.

Apparently, your self-preservation was nonexistent, because the second you took a bite of one of the muffins, you couldn't resist eating the whole thing. Then another, and another, and... well, yeah.

Now, the sun was beginning to set, and you weren't sure if you should continue driving or pull over onto the side of the road and sleep in the car... unfortunately, the car's headlights didn't work either, so...

On one hand, possible bed... on the other, possible death. It was a hard decision indeed.

You ended up resigning yourself to a night of discomfort and sleeping in the back of the pick-up truck, under a large quilt that you had a feeling was left for you by Janette.

Oddly enough, it was pretty comfortable.

...or maybe it was the freedom that made you comfortable.

You fell asleep within the hour.

___

Day 28 - Tuesday

___

You woke up to the whirring of an engine.

"Do you see anything?"

"No..."

"It must be deserted like the last one."

"Is there anything nearby? A town or community? We were told to search this area specifically."

"Because of that tracker..."

"Yes."

"Why are we looking for this girl? Is she a suspect?"

"That's what Callix told me."

"But on what basis? The words of Mr. Seline's daughter?"

"Don't go as--"

The man's voice cut off under the clack of a door shutting, and you tried your best not to make any movement as the sound of the car's motor faded into the distance.

'Because of the tracker...'

You wormed out from underneath the quilt.

You had gotten rid of the trackers, hadn't you? The car, your phone, how else could Andy be tracking you? Your clothes? Or--

Your blood ran cold.

No.

Not that.

Your hand shook as you tentatively felt around one of your arms.

Nothing.

You felt the other.

Nothing.

Your neck was completely smooth,

Your shoulder, your leg...

And...

Surely, she wouldn't...

You felt your stomach,

smooth...

smooth...

Then you reached a spot you liked to pretend didn't exist.

The carving of Andy's name.

You didn't know why you hadn't expected it.

You ran your hand over it hesitantly.

There.

You'd found the bump, so tiny that if you hadn't been looking for it specifically, you'd likely have never noticed it.

Your gaze was hooded, emotionless, as you climbed out of the truck and began searching the wooded area around the road.

A stick? Or a rock...

Oh.

You got lucky.

Someone decided to throw out a plastic knife.

You picked it up, ignoring the concerning thoughts of where it had been in the past that attempted to assault your mind.

It took a lot of force, as the knife was plastic, but you managed to rip open the scar.

You barely flinched as you stuck your fingers into the waterfall of blood that was pouring from the wound and began to root around in it.

Your finger brushed up against something hard and small, like a chip off of a rock.

It was hard to grip it, slippery, painful... annoying.

When you finally pulled the tracker out, you crushed it with a rock and used the paper bag from Janette to stem the blood flowing out of your stomach.

This was it.

This was the difference between this time and every time in the past.

You found the tracker that had been implanted in your body, and you removed it.

This time...

This time, things would be different.