Take It On The Run

Chapter 58

POV: Avery

"Do we need to take a break?" Reed asked for the millionth time.

Even though it was dawn now, the dense canopy of trees blocked out most of the sunlight. Part of me was glad he couldn't see the full extent of my injuries yet, but that would change soon.

"Answer's still no, Doc," Deacon gritted out, the unmistakable sound of pain lacing his deep voice.

"Ave?" he pressed.

I was pretty sure Reed had broken my ribs when he saved my life because my side ached fiercely. Every breath I took felt like being stabbed in the side by jagged shards of glass, and my lungs burned like hell after the whole drowning incident.

Fussing over the two of us wouldn't change our circumstances though.

"I'm good," I lied, wincing. "Let's just keep moving."

I didn't have to look at Dr. Do-Good to know he didn't believe me. He had too much experience and was far too talented in his field to be fooled.

"You died, Avery," he said quietly.

"Trust me, I'm well aware, Reed." What had happened to me in that water continued to haunt me without his constant reminder. "Pretty sure I'll die a second time too if we get caught by The Collectors again."

"It's been hours," Reed informed us, checking his wristwatch. That and the guns he and Deacon brought were the only items to survive the car crash. "If they were going to catch us, they would've done it by now."

"How can you be so sure?" I asked skeptically.

"We take a lot of Coast Guard and medivac rescues at UMC. It would've taken a while to assemble a team of divers and search the car and even longer to search the rest of the lake and shore in the dark."

D prompted, "And what happens when they realize our bodies aren't there?"

"They might use dogs to track us, but I doubt we left a scent trail while soaking wet." Reed paused for a moment. "The only other things I can think of are helicopters and drones. Even if we're hidden from view, they might be capable of picking up our heat signatures."

"Thanks, I hate it," came my sarcastic comment. Every single one of those options gave me mad anxiety.

"Point is," Reed began, matching my dry tone. "We can spare a few minutes to rest and get our bearings."

As much as walking hurt right now, it was probably the only thing keeping us from freezing to death. It couldn't have been more than forty degrees, and large swaths of my suit were still damp.

I was tempted though. Now that my adrenaline had waned and we'd hiked through the night and early hours of the morning without rest, water, or food, I felt like I was on the precipice of collapse.

As if the thought alone had caused it, my stomach growled loudly. Even if we had food at hand, the thought of swallowing anything with my raw throat made me want to die.

"All right. That's it," Reed snapped, exasperated. Apparently, my stomach was the last straw for the surgeon. "We're stopping. I need to splint my ankle anyway. These hills are killing me."

I'd failed to notice the change in elevation on the drive out here, but I was fully cognizant of it now. It wasn't enough that we fought unruly roots and brush; we had to climb and descend the rugged, mountainous landscape as well. Poor Reed had alternated between D and I for balance to stop himself from plummeting down the gravelly slopes and cliffs.

"How bad is it?" I asked, finding a fallen tree and helping him sit on the wide trunk.

"Probably just a sprain. Hurts like a bitch, and I can't move it."