At first, everything moved quickly.  We kept to the state highways and frontage roads that hugged I-40, jumping back onto the interstate only for an exit at a time. We had to stop once for gas, near Sanford. I pumped gas while Julika went into the service center to pay, in cash.  We only added a handful of gallons, so we could keep moving. There was no point in wasting cash anyway.

When we were back on the interstate, I asked: “Where are they?”

“Still behind us. Shut up.”

Forty-five minutes passed in silence, and then I asked again: “Where are they now?”

“Everywhere.”  I gasped.  The air rushed out of my chest as it if it were being sucked out of me.

We continued on in silence until, finally, another hour or so later Julika announced: “They are ahead of us now.  We can slow down.”  And, so, we slowed down.

Just after seven in the morning, we stopped near High Point, in the parking lot of a small suburban shopping center.  There was an Ingles, a nail salon, a CVS, a Starbucks.  A slender brunette in her forties waited outside the dry cleaner with a garment bag.  She was wearing in a blazer with an flouncy orange scarf, her eyes drawn down to the screen of her iPhone.

We went into the CVS, where an smallish elderly woman greeted us with a raspy “good morning.”  Julika gave a slight wave of the hand, and we passed her and turned into the aisles.  We bought hair dye (chestnut), a pair of scissors, two granola bars, two refillable water bottles.  The hair dye and scissors were for Julika.  With my brown skin, dying my hair would only make me easier to spot.

Back at the register, the old lady was more talkative now.  “Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” she was asking.  Julika smiled back in agreement.  “Hope it’s not too hot today.  Been so hot lately.” Julika continued to smile, silently.  “But it could be worse,” the old lady continued. Julika said nothing.

“It sure could,” I agreed.

The old lady was satisfied now.  “Well you two have a blessed day!” she said.

“You too,” I said. It was exhilarating.  I couldn’t remember the last time I talked to an outsider.  I felt naked, like I was being seen by this old woman in a way that I had not been seen in a long time.

Back in the truck, Julika was furious: “You don’t speak. Understand?  Never say anything.” I nodded.  “All right.  I saw an abandoned beater next to the strip club, a couple miles back.”  I put the truck in gear, and Julika gave me directions.  As we approached the strip club, I could feel the air leaving my chest again.  I wondered how much cash Julika had stolen, and how long we could make it last.

“Pull up quietly,” she said.  “Okay, stop it here.”  We were stopped in the alleyway next to the squat windowless building. “Go into town,” she continued, “to the train station on High Street.  Leave the truck there, in the parking lot, and walk out front.  I will come by and pick you up.  Don’t talk to anyone.  Got it?”

“Yes.”

Julika opened the passenger door and stepped out.  The second she did, I filled with panic; the sensation rippled down through my torso, and wrapped itself in a hundred little burning knots in my pelvis.  “You’ll pick me up, right?” I shouted.  I immediately wished I hadn’t.

Julika looked back at me, with a vacant stare.  She scanned the cab of the truck and then said: “Don’t forget my shit.” She nodded towards the plastic CVS bag in the back seat.   She closed the door and walked away, clutching the shotgun by the barrel with one hand and the box of shells with the other.  The granola bar was bulging in the back pocket of her jeans.  She disappeared behind the building.  The sun was now fully clear of the short suburban skyline,  its beams streaming into the cab of the truck, blinding me.  I put the road atlas on the passenger’s seat and flipped it to the right page, and then I put the truck in reverse and backed out of the alleyway.