Drive. ~James Buchanan Barnes

Chapter 11

Bucky has been doing most of the driving since the incident in Tennessee. We just left the motel two days ago, and now it's been almost a month since DC. A month of constant movement.

We're just outside of Atlanta.

And we have a problem.

Bucky and I were parked in the lot of a tiny gas station when we saw them. Three shiny black SUV's pulled in one after the other, backing in strategically.

And we're surrounded.

"Seatbelt."Bucky mutters darkly, "And make sure you can get to your knife. Just in case."

Almost a month of no incident other than a routine traffic stop.

"How did they find us?" I ask as I pull the blade from my hoodie.

"I'm betting we were caught on camera somewhere."

He watches the cars, staying still until the drivers doors swing open on each.

Our truck starts, and he speeds out of the lot prompting the drivers to jump quickly back in their cars to follow.

Our back window breaks.

"What the hell-"I start, but then realize that the cause of the break is also riddling the sides of the truck as we turn onto the road.

We are being shot at.

"Bucky?" I question worriedly.

"Just keep your head down!" He commands.

I do as I'm told, but register the fact that we're entering the city, weaving in and out through heavy traffic.

Atlanta.

My home.

"Take a left." I say, sitting up.

"What?"

"Take a left!" I yell back.

Bucky jerks the wheel, nearly putting us on two wheels, "You have a plan?"

"No," I laugh nervously, "But I know the city.  Left again, two blocks."

Bucky nods, his hands tightening on the wheel as we continue to weave between the cars.

He makes the turn, and so do the three SUV's.

"Parking garage in half a block, on the right." I instruct.

We enter quickly, crashing through the flimsy barricades at the toll booth.

"Where now?" He questions.

I am about to tell him to head to the lower levels, where I know of a back exit, but one of our tires is suddenly shot out and we begin spinning on the smooth concrete.

We jump out of the truck as soon as it stops, making a break for the stairwell as the agents chase us.

"There's a train entrance on the lower level." I inform him.

"Subway?" He questions as we run.

"Sort of.  It's called Marta. Goes above ground as well as below." I explain breathlessly.

We reach ground level and I pull him between the barriers and into the remnants of the Georgia dome. We crouch behind the rubble as we hear the three agents go the opposite direction.

"Where are we?" He asks, looking around.

I follow his gaze, "This was the Georgia dome. It was a landmark of sorts for a long time, but the city outgrew it, so it was demolished to make room for a bigger stadium." I point to the large building adjacent to us.

Bucky pokes his head around our hiding place, and he pulls me up, giving me the all clear.

"Hydra?" I ask.

"Or shield," He says, "but they're no better. They may even be the same."

I shrug, beginning to move forward, taking the long way to the train station.

I map out the streets in my head, choosing where best to blend in, where best to hide in the shadows.

"Are you okay?" I hear from behind me.

I turn, glancing at him, "Of course.  You?"

"You shouldn't be." He says softly.

I have to think about that for a second.  He's right, I'm a civilian.  I've been dragged into this.

At least that's what he thinks.

"But I am." I reply shortly.

He catches up to me then, picking up his pace slightly and opening his mouth to ask more.

I make another turn.

"You're supposed to be freaking out. You were just shot at. You're on the run." He states, "You haven't panicked this entire time."

"Do we really want to have this conversation now?" I sigh, "I'm good at keeping my cool. Not everyone is fragile minded, Bucky."

"There's a difference between keeping it cool and being weirdly okay with almost dying, Verity." He points out, "I don't get it."

"I'm not okay with almost dying. I'm also not okay with having a conversation about my mental state while we're running away from people who want you dead." I argue back.

He shakes his head, letting it go for now, "Where's the train?"

"We're close." I reply, "Just a couple streets over."

We make it to the entrance, and Bucky begins heading down the steps. I pause.

Something isn't right.

"Wait..." I murmur, "I have a bad feeling."

He pauses at the base of the steps, "What do you mean?"

"It's a Wednesday afternoon isn't it? Kids take Marta home from high school. Back to their apartments from college. People should be getting off work..." I trail off.

Bucky stiffens, "Atlanta is a busy city."

I nod, meeting his eyes, "Why isn't anyone on the platform?"

I slide my hand into the pocket of my hoodie, gripping the handle of the blade he gave me.

He backs up the steps, surveying the area until he reaches me.

We hear a shout from the empty platform.

And we keep running.