It's my third day running with Lizzy. We stop at multiple cities along the way to Texas, trying to make our trip count. Instead of sleeping in her car, Lizzy began to rent us motel rooms. Although still not quite a luxury experience, it definitely was a step up from not being able to shower and sleeping on an old throw blanket. Unfortunately, comfort costs money, something Lizzy and I were beginning to run out of. We don't really have time to worry about it though; there were bigger problems at the moment, like how the law was still on hot on our tail even though we had left Nevada days ago. We'd get glances of our old identities on television screens, in restaurants and our motel rooms; the media is making up rumours about how John Summers was assassinated and how Lizzy and I were on killing sprees. It added gasoline to the fire we started with the law. Now upon the charges we would face with cartel association and selling drugs, murder was a potential candidate. Thankfully, we haven't hit any bumps in the road on our trip yet, so I begin to think we might just get away this. Of course, just when I begin feeling comfortable with escaping the law, Lizzy and I begin having run ins with it.
It's about three in the afternoon and she drives fast southbound, toward Phoenix before being halted by bumper-to-bumper traffic. Phoenix is an average sized city in the middle of nowhere, it was just your typical desert town, so I'm confused as to why there is so much traffic entering the city. I try to look ahead but I can't, one of the roads entering the city bends around a hill.
"Why is there so much traffic?" I ask.
Lizzy seems unbothered by it, just like she did everything else. It's hard to believe that all of this was so natural to her, she never seemed to stress over anything. "I guess we'll find out," she says and turns on the radio.
The radio isn't much help. Since both Lizzy and I don't have iPhones anymore, we had to rely on getting all our information old school ways. It was a pain, especially if you wanted to find out something quickly but had to listen to three Taylor Swift songs before doing so. We end up rounding the mountain before the local radio gives anything away, so we can finally see for ourselves. State police were conducting stop and search procedures on the freeway into the city, stopping and questioning every car.
"Fuck," I say and cover my face. "Fuck."
We sit about fifteen cars behind the officers, barricaded in between the edge of the hill and the opposite lane. My heart starts racing and I feel my palms get sweaty. Lizzy notices how nervous I'm getting as we inch toward the officers and she puts a hand over mine. "Take a deep breath, relax," she says. "I'll do the talking, okay?"
I nod and Lizzy gives me a reassuring smile, although it doesn't really make me feel better. I swallow hard and look at the officer's faces, as we get closer, beginning to notice every distinct detail of them. I try not to imagine this as being a live or die moment; Lizzy is smart and thinks quickly, and she already has a story to tell them anyway. We pull up to one of the officers about twenty minutes later and he leans into our window and asks us for identification. I try not to panic in front of him, but it's hard, I feel like I'm going to be sick.
"What's all this?" Lizzy asks, pretending to be ignorant to what's been happening.
"We're following procedure," he says, taking our cards away from her. "There's been cartel activity in Las Vegas, a man was murdered. So just for the safety of civilians, we're inspecting every car to make sure the suspects aren't on their way to cause more trouble."
"Oh," she says, her eyes follow two cops who go to the back of her car and open her trunk. "Wow."
"San Francisco is a ways away, isn't it?" He asks her, looking at her ID.
