FUTURITY

HUNTED

Jason trudged on the side of the road, taking care to dodge into hiding whenever he heard a car coming. The wind whispered in the pines above. An owl hooted among the shadows. He squinted in the dim light of the full moon to see.

A wolf howled in the distance, its cry echoing in Jason's ears. He shivered. It had been the longest week of his life. Hiding, walking mile after mile, and going hungry had become a new norm for him.

He licked his chapped lips and sighed.

Jason got out his flashlight and looked at the map of Montana he'd bought. Based on how far he thought he'd come today, he estimated it was ten more miles to the next town.

He took a deep breath and stopped. All was still.

HOOONK!

Jason turned, blinded by headlights. A semi he hadn't heard coming raced toward him from out of the dark. He jumped off the road and raised his hands to shield his eyes. He felt something click inside of him. He could feel the semi's hard metal surface against his skin even though he stood yards away.

SCREEECH!

The headlights turned away. Jason blinked. The whole semi was tipping over. The truck rolled onto its side and slowly slid into a tree.

Jason gaped at the mangled mess.

Did I just do that?

Fighting panic, Jason burst into a full run and reached the semi in seconds. He opened the top-side door and squinted into the dark interior, hoping for a sign of life. A warm wave of tobacco-smelling air wafted up.

A thin man began to clamber out. He held a hand to his head. "Are you all right?" Jason asked.

"Other than destroyin' the company's truck on a good road and hittin' my head, I'm fine," the man said in a thick Texas accent.

Jason held out his free arm. "Here, let me help you."

A bony, tattooed hand grabbed Jason's, and the trucker climbed out. He muttered as Jason followed him off the truck.

"I'd call for help, but I don't have a cell," Jason said as he stepped onto the solid asphalt. "I got rid of my cell phone because . . . it had some issues."

"That's all right, son." The trucker pulled out a cell phone—or at least what used to be a cell phone. Some shattered pieces fell to the ground.

The man cursed. He swore so profusely that Jason couldn't do anything but stare.

Finally, the trucker stopped—out of breath—and turned toward him.

Jason eyeing him. "Why are you so far out of town?"

Jason stiffened and looked into the man's eyes. "Uh . . ."

The trucker swore once more. "You're that kid they keep talking about on the news." The man's eyes were wide. "Your face is everywhere."

Jasonlet instincts take control. He turned and ran. 

***

Ten miles later, Jason panted in the town's square. There was light in only one building—a bar. A few trucks and cars were parked in front of it, and the sounds of laughter came from within.

The thought of water made his bone dry mouth ache. He'd emptied the bottle he'd filled up in the last town long ago. His head was swimming, and his stomach was cramping from jogging and walking so long without food. He pulled his hood over his head and stepped in.

He didn't care if anyone recognized him; he couldn't help that right now. A few men and women leaned against the bar; others played pool in a corner. The wood floor seemed sticky as he walked across it. A plasma screen hung in one corner, playing a UFC fight.

He spotted an empty stool at the bar and sat down, his backpack at his feet. Beside him sat a huge man who turned and stared at him with piercing blue eyes. The man's shoulders and chest rippled with muscle as he gestured toward the bartender.

"Another," he said.

The fit-looking guy behind the counter nodded and poured out a drink. Passing the tall glass to the man, he eyed Jason.

"Ya twenty-one?" he asked.

Jason gulped down the contents and asked for another. He saw the muscle-man beside him glance his direction. Then with a jerk the next moment, the man stared at Jason, this time with a vigorous curiosity as if searching for something. He seemed surprised.

Jason turned away, avoiding any more eye contact, and downed the second glass of water.

"You're not from around here, are you?" the man said.

Jason lifted his glass and glanced at the bottom. "No."

"Where are you from?" The man sat back while turning over a newspaper on the bar. Jason caught a glimpse of the front page and saw a picture of himself.

The sound of Jason's heart began to hammer in his ears as he rotated the glass in his hand. "New Mexico."

The man brushed his black hair out of his eyes. "Fun place. I used to live there when I was young. I'm Leon Weston."

"Jay."

"No last name?" Leon said with a wry smile.

Jason set down his glass with a clunk, got to his feet, and hurriedly walked to the door.

Stupid! You had to go in there, didn't you? He groaned and looked down at the asphalt at his feet. He did feel better with some water in his stomach, though.

Jason leaned against the building, slid to the ground, and looked up. "God, help me. I can't take this. I can't," he whispered. He gripped a handful of hair and fought back the tears. "Maybe I should have stayed with the FBI. I don't know anymore. Talk to me. Please." Nothing. No sign or words of comfort. Jason looked down again.

He blinked. A penny rested on the ground. The coin's surface was badly corroded with only one spot on it still shiny. The words on the upper edge shone like fire.

"In God We Trust." Jason picked it up and put it in his pocket.

Trust Me, a still, small voice whispered.

"Hey!"

Jason jumped to his feet. In the dim light, he could make out a tall human shape walking toward him. Leon.

His pulse quickened, and he stepped back. "What do you want?"

"I want to help."

"Why?"

"That doesn't matter. I'm offering help. Want it or not?"

"No." Jason turned and began to walk away.

"I know who you are, Jason Sorn. You've already been reported.

The bartender recognized you too."

Jason stopped and turned. "So, that should make me trust you?"

"No." Leon walked toward Jason. "But I don't think you have a choice. Just come on, kid. Neither of us has time right now."

Jason shook with uncertainty. Then he remembered the penny and what it said. Trust. This may end up being the worst decision of his life, but he didn't have many options. It was either trust a stranger, or get arrested.

Trust a stranger; it is, then.

"I'll go with you," he said.