Brian Freeman - Marathon

“Travis isn’t much for plans,” Ralston replied. “He’s a spur of the moment guy. He does whatever pops into his head. Was he angry? Yeah, he was angry. We’re all angry. We’re all pretty frustrated, too, because you people don’t seem any closer to catching the bomber.”

“As soon as we know anything, we’ll be communicating with all the victims and their families,” Maggie said. “In the meantime, if you do see Travis, or if he contacts either one of you, please ask him to get in touch with the police immediately.”

“We’ll do that,” Ralston replied.

Maggie turned and left the hospital room before they could ask her anything else. Being there made her claustrophobic. She walked to the end of the hallway, where the windows of a patient lounge looked out on the lake. It was almost dark. She checked her phone to read an update from Guppo, but the white van hadn’t been spotted yet.

Travis Baker was out there somewhere, probably holed up for the night.

She knew he was guilty of killing Ahdia and Pak Rashid and burning down the art gallery. And so did Wade Ralston.

Silence hung like a suffocating pillow over the hospital room. Wade didn’t say a word, but he felt Shelly watching him and waiting for him to look back at her. He got up and stretched. The surgical incision still hurt. He turned on the television without the sound. He stood watching it, his back to the hospital bed.

“Wade?” Shelly called to him. “What was that all about?”

“Hell if I know,” he murmured.

“I think you do know. I could see it in your face. What’s going on?”

Wade scowled and turned around. “Nothing.”

“Where’s Travis?”

“I have no idea.”

He’d told the kid to lay low, which had turned out to be good advice. He wasn’t surprised that the cops had zeroed in on Travis already. The kid always left a trail a mile wide whenever he did something stupid.

“Why are they looking for Travis?” Shelly asked.

Wade returned to the chair and sat down next to her. “Don’t worry about it. It’s probably nothing.”

“He’s my brother. Of course, I’m worried. You know what he’s like. Travis doesn’t think before he does things.”

Wade fired back at her. He didn’t care what he said anymore. “Maybe if you held him accountable for his stupid shit once in a while, instead of making excuses and telling him that God loves him no matter what he does, he wouldn’t be in such a mess.”

He could see her heart rate escalate on the monitor.

“Wade, please tell me what’s going on,” she said.

He said nothing.

Shelly began to protest, but then her eyes widened as she stared at the television screen. He glanced over his shoulder and saw video footage on CNN of the burnt-out Woodland gallery behind him. He swore under his breath. He didn’t need to connect the dots for her. She could do that all by herself.

“Gasoline,” Shelly murmured. “That policewoman asked about gasoline.”

“Yeah, she did.”

“They think Travis did this!” she went on. “Wade, did he? Did Travis burn down that building and kill those people?”

“We shouldn’t be talking about it, Shelly.”

“Oh, my God. Oh, Travis, what did you do? Wade, did you put this awful idea into his head? Was it you? He wouldn’t come up with a plan like this on his own. He does whatever you tell him.”

Wade hissed at her to be quiet as her voice rose. He got up and quickly closed the door to the hospital room. “Shut the hell up, Shelly. I had nothing to do with this, do you hear me? Nothing. This is all your baby brother’s fault. He got himself into this shit on his own, and now it’s too late.”

Tears crept down Shelly’s pale face. “He only did this to avenge what happened to me and Joni. You know that. If they catch him, he’ll go to prison for the rest of his life. Is that what you want?”

Wade couldn’t keep the harshness out of his voice. “No, that’s not what I want. I never said I wanted him in prison.”

“The terrorists are the real criminals. Not Travis. They did this to me. They killed your wife.”

“That doesn’t change anything,” Wade said. “The police don’t care.”

Shelly closed her eyes, and he heard her murmuring a prayer, calling on Jesus as if he were in the next room and could stop by to work out a plan. Religious people were so naïve. They didn’t live in the real world.

“Praying won’t help him,” Wade told her. “You’re kidding yourself. Even God can’t help Travis now. It’s too late for that.”

Shelly opened her eyes again. “Then you have to help him, Wade.”

Malik arrived back at the house after dark. He slipped silently through the rear door and then fell back against it, breathing heavily. He looked hopped up and jittery, and his face was bleeding.

“What happened?” Khan asked, pointing at the blood. “You’re hurt.”

His friend wiped his cheek with a sleeve. “It’s nothing. I made my way through the woods to avoid being seen. Thorns scratched me.”

Malik went into the living room and paced nervously. He couldn’t seem to stay still. His muscles twitched, and he rubbed his hands together. He kept going to the curtains and looking outside, despite his own warnings that it wasn’t safe to do so.

“Are you all right?” Khan asked.

“Don’t worry about me.”

Khan let his friend bounce from wall to wall like a pinball until he couldn’t stand it anymore, and then he blocked him with his hands firmly on his shoulders. “You’re hyperventilating. Stop and relax.”

Malik closed his eyes. His chest swelled with a deep breath. “Yes, you’re right.”

“Something’s wrong,” Khan said. “What is it?”

“Nothing is wrong. I’m fine. I know what to do. I have a plan.”

“Well, good. What’s happening outside? Can we escape?”

Malik laughed, which sounded strange and inappropriate, like a joke told in a cemetery. “Oh, no. Escape is impossible right now.”

“The police?”

“They’re everywhere. Squad cars are going up and down the streets. I don’t know if the mayor declared a curfew after dark or whether people are simply scared, but the entire neighborhood seems to be sheltered in place. I was lucky to get back here unseen. One of the police cars used a spotlight on the woods, and I ducked down just before it lit me up.”

“And yet you have a plan,” Khan said dubiously.

“Yes, trust me. The good news is that the car appears to be safe. It’s not being watched.” Malik dug in his pocket and found a set of keys, which he shoved into Khan’s hand.

“Why are you giving me these?” Khan asked.

Malik ignored him and paced again. “It will be best for you to leave around midnight, I think. It should be safe then, but you’ll know if it is. You’ll be able to tell. The car is a burgundy Taurus parked in the woods at the dead end of Gordon Street on the other side of the golf course. You can’t see it unless you hike into the trees. There’s a house near there, but the owners appear to be gone, so no one should see you.”

“I don’t understand,” Khan said.

“Then listen! Pay attention! It’s important. There’s a GPS navigator in the glove compartment of the car. Stay off the freeway. My advice is that you go west to the town of McGregor and then head south on Highway 65. They won’t be watching out there. Start making your way to Minneapolis. You don’t need to go all the way. If you want to rest for a couple of hours in one of the parks, that should be okay. Tomorrow will be a long day.”

Khan stared into his friend’s dark eyes. “What about you?”

Malik shook his head. “This is your journey, Khan. I can’t go with you.”