Insubstantially Me

Chapter 13

It only took me a second to realize that it was Mark. He abruptly stopped when he saw me and his eyes went wide before he glanced around nervously. He looked back at me and we stared at each other for a few seconds.

Instinctively, I was ready to knock out anyone who might have come along, but I didn't want to hurt Mark. He was my friend.

No, I reminded myself. He wasn't my friend. He might be the most decent person here, but he was still one of them.

He blinked at me for a second, looking shocked, and I couldn't bring myself to hurt him the way I would anyone else. But it was either that or go back, and going back wasn't an option. I balled my hand into a fist, ready to do it, still not really wanting to.

Mark reached into his pocket, making me realize that my deliberation might have just cost me everything. Cursing myself, I got ready to swing, but stopped when I saw that what he pulled out of his pocket wasn't a little black remote. It was a little black wallet.

Curiously, I watched as he opened the wallet and took out the money from inside it.

"Here," he said, shoving the money in my open hand.

I looked down at the bills in my hand, in shock, and he shoved the wallet at me.

"Take it!" he whispered urgently.

Not understanding what he was doing, I opened my other hand and took the wallet, too surprised to do anything else.

"Now throw the wallet in the bushes," he ordered.

"What?" I asked, confused.

"Just do it!"

Still clueless about why, I did what he said.

"Here," he said, shoving his keys at me. "Mine's the black truck, all the way on the end. Spot thirty-four, row six."

"What-" I tried.

"Whatever you do, don't rush," he interrupted me. "Walk to the truck and then drive the speed limit. If you rush, you'll only attract attention."

I nodded, still feeling lost.

He looked at me assessingly for a second before he started taking off his jacket.

"They'll spot you in a second like that." He handed it over. "Put this on, keep the hood up and your head down."

I slipped the jacket on and put the hood up, like he said.

"Follow the road out of the lot and turn left at the highway. You're gonna drive about a mile before you reach Bentley Road. Turn right, and you should get to the train station in about twenty minutes. Ditch the truck, get on the train, and head for New York. Don't try to drive all the way there," he said. "As soon as they figure out you took my truck, they'll find you in a few minutes. I'm pretty sure they can trace it."

"Mark, what-" I tried again.

"Stay in populated areas and keep moving." He didn't let me talk. "They can trace you, but if you stay in a crowd..."

I nodded. "One hundred feet."

He made a face. "It's not great, but it's something. Once you get there, change everything you can. Change your hair, your clothes, everything. Change your face, if you can."

"Why are you doing this?" I managed to ask.

"Because I didn't sell my conscience," he said, reminding me of the first thing I accused him of.

I smiled.

"Because maybe I can do something good after everything I've done to help get you here."