Predator

Chapter Twenty-Nine

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"Rach, sweetheart, come on."

My eyes open. The room is blanketed in darkness; groggily twisting my head, I look for my alarm clock but it isn't there. The bed sheets that lay against my skin feel coarse and unfamiliar, why- oh. Right.

"Come on, baby, we gotta go."

Suddenly I see Will's face, I feel his strong hands on my shoulders. How long has he been there?

"Huh?" I mumble drowsily. Then there's pressure on my arms, forcing me to sit up.

"You just need to get your shoes and get in the car," he whispers, "I already loaded everything back up, don't worry."

This alarms me. "What's going on?"

"Nothing, nothing," he assures. "I just have a bad feeling and I think we need to leave."

I rub at my eyes, shoving my bare feet into tennis shoes. Will is watching me anxiously, which makes me somewhat suspicious. "What time is it?" I ask. 

"About three in the morning."

I scuffle uncomfortably out the door, trying to adjust my feet, and he follows behind. "Jeez, Will," I grumble. "I know we're fugitives and all, but would it really set us back to get a decent amount of sleep?"

"You can sleep in the car."

I get in the passenger seat, shivering. The interior of the car is cold from being outside all night, and I'm only wearing a ratty t-shirt with shorts. I think Will notices because he turns on the heat.

Half-asleep, I rest my head against the seat and just watch him. It's odd. Maybe it's my drowsiness or maybe it's the situation, but he looks ten years older. His face is illuminated only by the car's headlights, shadows enhancing the contour of his cheeks and jaw. His hair, now absent of the curly locks, is buzzed short at the nape of his neck. There's an intensity about him, somewhere in the corner of his eyes and the crease in his forehead. I'm not sure why it makes me uncomfortable.

"It's more than a bad feeling, isn't it?" I ask quietly. "What happened?"

He shakes his head. "Nothing. I just...I'm really paranoid. It's not a good idea to stay in a place for too long. Especially this close to home."

"Hey...if we don't have computers or anything, how are we supposed to stay ahead of the authorities?" I ask.

"I thought of that," he says. "I'm gonna stop at the Kum & Go up here and get us something to eat, and I'm pretty sure they have Trac Phones. Those can get on the internet, right?"

"Yeah," I answer. "But connecting to the internet racks it up fast, like any phone would."

He nods. "That's fine. News stations usually have articles on their website, we might be able to see updates. And they can't track gas station phones."

We pull into the parking lot. Will shoves a baseball cap over his newly bare head along with an old pair of sunglasses. "I'll be right back," he says.

I watch him walk into the convenience store, seeing a bored-looking woman at the counter. I wonder if she's heard about us. And if she has, surely she wouldn't recognize Will, right?

I yank down the sun visor and flip up the mirror. I had almost forgotten about my hair. God, it's short. And from sleeping the ends are splayed out a little, which looks stupid. But the color has not gotten better, and although it was just washed, it looks greasy. This, plus my having to skip my skin care routine, makes me feel especially grimy. The hair does give me an edgy look, I suppose.