GRAVE DANGER

Grave Danger Chapter 6

When I come to, it's light outside and I'm lying on the floor of what's very obviously the police station. I sit up slowly, wincing at the pain in the back of my head. There's a staircase next to me, the top two steps are splattered with blood. A white bandage is wrapped around my head, just around the eyebrows. My clothes are still soggy from the rain last night, and the floor is covered in puddles and mud.Martin is asleep against a wall adjacent to me. I stand and slowly make my way up the stairs. The windows are broken in the chief's office and everything in the room is completely soaked. Martin walks in behind me. "You ready to get going?" he asks.

I resist the strong urge to shake my head. No I don't want to get going. My head hurts like crazy, I'm exhausted, and I have no idea how to get where we're supposed to be going. But I know better than to say anything. We've already been over why we can't stay here, I can't waste any more time. The thought of bandits coming to kill him makes my head hurt worse, so I reply with a flat "yeah".

"Well we should go round up some supplies first. Gas, food, water, first aid supplies, anything we might end up needing." he says.

We scout around the town for anything useful and find no trace of any people--Martin assumes they evacuated during the storm and we got left behind. Eventually we make it back to my house, only to find that a tree has fallen on my car, making the roof cave in. Martin goes inside the house to round up any undamaged supplies, but I refuse to go in.

"What are we supposed to do now?" I ask as he comes back, tilting my head in the direction of the ruined vehicle.

He shrugs. "Got a cop car we can take?"

Duh. I can't help feeling dumb for asking. Obviously we would take a cop car. He attempts to hide a grin, making me realize how red my face got all of the sudden.

We get back to the police station and I get the keys to the police car Jackson and I used to patrol in. It's covered in scratches and dings, and there's a huge hole in the back windshield, but it starts up fine.

"That's everything we've got." Martin says as he tosses a large sack into the back of the car.

I slam the gas pedal into the floor and we head out of Inverness.

We ride in silence until we reach where the city ends. I slow the car to a stop. "You know how to get there, right?" I feel nauseous at the thought of leaving with no real destination.

He looks sheepish. "Not the exact route..."

I bang the back of my head against the headrest on my seat. "Then what are we doing trying to go there?"

"We're trying to live." He says.

The mellow tone in his voice irritates me a lot. Is he not worried about this? We have a very limited supply of gas--we didn't find any around the city--and we don't know how to get there. Does he really think we're going to make it before they find us? He said he wanted me to live to make it, even if he didn't, but the odds are against either of us getting there. "When my parents went, they said it would only take about two hours--,"

"Yeah, but they were just going to the Inverness supervisors, your savings are at the capitol in Whitewood."

"There's no way we're making it on just this tank of gas, it's not even full." I glance at the gas gage, which is barely over half a tank. "This might get us a third of the way there."

"We'll just have to walk when the tank is empty."

"Isn't that dangerous since the bandits will be following us?"

"Well obviously, but what other choice do we have? We can't stay here, we might as well just go to Whitewood. We'll have a day's start on them anyway, by the time they get here we will have been going without the car for some time."

Obviously he says that meaning to help me calm down, but I don't feel any less stressed. I don't want to do this. I don't want to walk who knows how many miles to a place I probably won't reach alive. I don't want to do it with the threat of murderous bandits coming to kill my friend. I don't want them to catch us. I don't want him to die.I sigh and push the gas pedal down again, making the car move forward.

I'm still trying to accept the fact that he's being hunted. I'm still trying to accept the fact that he's alive. None of it feels real. It's not possible. Everything that's happened since I saw him again just feels so fake. I have a hard time taking it seriously because it's just so unrealistic. How am I supposed to just act casual about my friend who's been dead for the past four years running away from hunters who are trying to end his life? He doesn't seem to have any problem with it, which ticks me off. "Raven." he says. I practically jump out of my skin. The car swerves to the right, almost off the road completely.

"Don't do that!" I yell, smacking him over the shoulder.

"Slow down!" he exclaims.

I glance at the speed gage. 87. I try to act like I've been doing it on purpose. "Why? Might as well get the most distance possible out of the gas we have."

I can feel anxiety radiating off of him.

"What, are you scared?" I chuckle.

"Well it's not like I'm used to it. It's been awhile since I sped down an open road."

I roll my eyes. Does he think that's funny? Why is he being like this? I'm getting tired of him acting like everything's normal. Maybe it is for him by now, maybe he's accepted it, but I haven't. It's selfish of him to act like I shouldn't care that he's going to die soon.

Or at least, he thinks he's going to die.

He thinks he convinced me not to bring any weapons, but I hid a nightstick under the back seat of the car. As long as I'm alive, no one will hurt him.