Jeff Hirsch - The Darkest Path

“I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe I also just got a feeling for people who aren’t where they want to be.”

Grey tapped his fingertip against the dash, then sprang up suddenly, like he was snapping himself awake.

“Man, we cannot be stopping this long.” Grey snatched the radio and keyed the mic. “Patel. This is Solomon. I can feel those Fed drones circling, my friend. What is it? Private Weims spot another weaponized tumbleweed up there?”

The radio crackled with static. A few seconds later a heavily accented voice came back. “Nope. It’s a roadblock this time, Sol.”

“A roadblock?” Grey said, then lifted the transmitter again. “What are they looking for, Patel?”

Static filled the cab as Grey waited. Bear sat up, suddenly alert. The air in the cab seemed heavier now. I put my hand on Bear’s shoulder and held on tight.

“Yo, Mr. Patel!”

“Sorry. Just through it now,” Patel said. “They’re looking for a kid, Sol. A kid and a dog.”

Both of us sat mute until the convoy moved again, this time at a painful crawl. I was holding Bear down in my lap, but he was anxious and shaky, trying to throw me off.

“How many until they hit us?” I asked.

“We’re tenth in line,” he said. “But Vasquez is third. Soon as he hears what they’re looking for…”

“Can we run?” I asked. “It’s dark. Maybe—”

“No. They’ll see.” Grey pulled aside a set of curtains behind us that led to a cramped room filled with a blanket and pillows. “There’s a cutout panel at the bottom of the sleeping quarters. It leads outside to the space between the cab and the trailer.”

“What about Bear? They’ll hear him. I can’t—”

“I’ll hold on to him. Once we’re through the roadblock, I’ll slow down enough for you to run and I’ll let Bear out too.”

I started to go, but Grey held me back.

“Listen,” he said. “There’s a man named Wade who lives in a little speck of a town called Bride Creek. Runs the post office, so he’s got a truck and a tech dispensation. He’s helped runners like you cross over into Wyoming before. I haven’t heard anything from him in a few years, but he’s a good man.”

Grey pushed a map into my hand. There was a small town circled in northwest Utah.

“I’m heading east, Grey. I can’t—”

“There’s a lot of desert between here and Wyoming, and a lot of Path. If you’re smart, you’ll go west and take the ride.”

Brake lights went out ahead of us and we moved up another space.

“What are you going to do?”

“See if I’m as slick as I like to think I am. Now go!”

My eyes met Bear’s as I sank into the back. He was shuffling from paw to paw and whining, nearly frantic. I took his shoulder and squeezed, trying to pass him all the reassurance I could.

I grabbed my pack and dug to the bottom of the compartment. Once I found the outline of a panel, I pushed it open and was hit with a blast of desert air mixed with the stink of diesel. The truck shook as Grey hit the gas and moved one step closer.

I dropped my pack on the other side, then wriggled through, finding myself on the steel platform where the cab coupled to the trailer. I closed the panel behind me and crouched low.

“Cut your engine!” someone called from up ahead.

There was a pause, and then Grey powered down. Heavy footsteps approached the truck. When they got closer, four of them peeled off and began a search down either side of the truck. Flashlights knifed through the darkness. I dropped off the platform and hid behind one of the big tires just underneath the cab. Beams of light glinted off the steel where I had been hiding just seconds earlier.

“Mr. Solomon! Step down out of the cab, please.”

The driver’s-side door clicked open, and there was a bark from Bear as he followed Grey out.

“Move to the side of the road, please.”

I watched from around the edge of the tire as soldiers escorted Grey toward the shoulder. Once there, headlights from the truck behind us slammed into him, making him stand out starkly against the night. He was surrounded by five soldiers, including Vasquez. Bear had moved away from the group and was sniffing along the front of the truck.

“What’s up, fellas?” Grey asked brightly.

Good , I thought. Keep cool, Grey.

“Where’s your nephew, Mr. Solomon?”

It was Vasquez. I stopped breathing in the pause that followed.

“Look, guys…”

“Why’d you lie to us, Grey?”

Grey swallowed hard. “I know I shouldn’t have,” he said, looking them each square in the eye. “But he seemed harmless, you know? I mean, you saw him. Ninety pounds soaking wet and busted up all to hell. He gave me a line about trying to see some relatives, and I wanted to give him a break. I should have been straight with you.”

“Where is he now?”

“He got twitchy a few miles back and bailed.”

“Leaving you the mutt?”

“Said the dog slowed him down. Asked me to keep him. I know. I should have figured something was up and given you guys a call. I’m sure if you backtrack a little, you can find him. He was only—”

“He tell you he was a murderer?”

A pulse of fear struck me in the chest. Grey said nothing.

“Killed a kennel master back at Cormorant,” Vasquez said. “Shot him in the back three times and stuffed him in a toilet. Worked for the man for three years. You got anything to say to that?”

I lifted myself into a crouch, muscles straining, ready to run.

“Grey?”

“I don’t know anything about that,” Grey said. “I fell off my Path, boys. I swear I did, but that’s all. I repent. I honestly do.”

“We can forgive you, Grey, but only if you tell us where he is. Right now.”

The side of the road was just feet away; after that, there was nothing but black. If I ran straight and hard, maybe they’d lose me.

“I told you, he—”

“Where was he headed?”

When Grey didn’t respond, I turned back. The guards hadn’t picked up on it, but he was looking beneath the truck, right at me, his eyes bright with terror. The blood in my veins turned to stone. Grey turned back to Vasquez.

“I don’t know, sir.”

Vasquez looked to one of the other soldiers, who nodded.

“Fine,” Vasquez said. “That’s fine.”

He pulled his sidearm and shot Grey in the chest.

I hugged my knees to my chest, trying to stifle the scream that was rising in the back of my throat. I wanted to close my eyes, wanted to look away, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t move.

Two soldiers stuffed Grey into a black body bag and then dragged him off. A slick of blood gleamed in the headlights. Down the road, Bear was barking a percussive stream, his claws digging into the roadway, teeth bared. A soldier turned and unleashed a volley of gunfire that hit the road and sent Bear fleeing into the darkness.

There was the slam of a door and then Grey’s engine came to life above me, snapping me out of my trance. I grabbed my pack and darted out from under the truck just as the big tires began to turn.

I sprinted across the road and into the dark, half blind, every other step sending me crashing to the ground. Pain sang through my wrist, my back, my side. Each time, I forced myself up and kept going, running to a drumbeat of images that pounded through my head: Grey standing in the glare of his headlights, his eyes on me, Vasquez lifting his weapon, Grey falling. Over and over: Grey falling, like a suit of clothes suddenly empty.

One word and I could have saved him. The truth of it was like a dull blade, gouging into me. I crumpled to my knees in the dirt, gasping, lungs shredded. The taillights of the convoy had disappeared down the road, leaving me surrounded by darkness. I saw myself stepping out from under Grey’s truck and saving him again and again. It was like some part of me was trying to convince myself that I had actually done it.