They drove in silence at first. It wasn’t peaceful silence. It was the kind that presses on your ears. The cruiser rattled over broken asphalt, and only then did they realize something was wrong.
Aaron slowed. “Why does it feel like we’re dragging something?”
John leaned forward, squinting at the road ahead. The steering pulled slightly to the right. Aaron cursed under his breath and eased the car to a stop. Both front tires were shredded.
Aaron just stared at them. Then he laughed once. Not amused.Just tired.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”
John rubbed his face. “You shot the guy. Maybe you should’ve asked him about the tire warranty.”
Aaron snorted despite himself. “Yeah, I’ll make sure next time I execute a psychopath I check the tread life.”
They stood there for a moment, both looking at the useless cruiser. Finally, Aaron kicked the tire.
“Fine. We walk.”
They grabbed what they could carry. The afternoon heat wrapped around them like wet cloth. They kept to the side streets. John’s chest hadn’t stopped burning since Aaron’s trailer.He tried to pray.
Lord, please. Please let them be safe.
But another voice whispered: You already know.
He pushed it away. Aaron noticed the way John’s jaw tightened every few minutes.
“You good?” Aaron asked casually.
“Yeah.”
“That’s a lie.”
John gave him a sideways look.
Aaron shrugged. “You’ve got that face.”
“What face?”
“The one where you’re pretending you’re not thinking about it.”
John exhaled slowly. “I’m trying not to.”
Aaron nudged him with his shoulder. “Hey. No blood, remember? That worked for me.”
John stopped walking for half a second.
“For you.”
Aaron froze. Too honest. He cleared his throat. “I mean—it’s a good sign. That’s all I’m saying.”
John nodded, but the nagging feeling in his chest only deepened.He could see his kitchen in his mind. The table. The chair where his daughter used to sit, swinging her legs. He could almost smell coffee. It hit him so hard he tasted it. The memory was so vivid he had to blink to clear it.
“You ever think,” John said quietly, “that you can smell your own house even when you’re not there?”
Aaron glanced at him.
“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “Like laundry detergent. Or whatever your wife cooks too much of.”
John almost smiled.
“She burns bacon every time.”
“See? That’s what I’m talking about. Burnt bacon. That’s what you’re walking toward.”
John swallowed. Please let that be true.
They passed a car in a ditch. Bullet holes riddled the doors.Blood smeared across the window like someone had tried to claw their way out. Aaron didn’t look long. John did. He imagined the panic inside that vehicle. The screaming. The smell of metal and gasoline. He forced himself to turn away.
They heard an engine. Aaron grabbed John’s arm.
“Bushes. Now.”
“What—”
“Trust me.”
They dove into the ditch just as a patrol car screamed past. It braked hard. Reversed. John’s stomach dropped.
“STOP! HANDS UP!”
The officer jumped out, gun drawn. John slowly stood, raising his hands. The bag of water slipped from his grip and rolled under the cruiser. He stared at it. That was for my kids.
The officer smiled. Not normal. Too wide.
“Fresh meat,” the man said, voice shaking with excitement. “They are going to love you where we’re headed.”
John felt nausea creep up his throat.
“Man,” he said, forcing sarcasm through dry lips, “that was water. You just crushed water.”
The officer stepped closer, eyes wild.
“You don’t understand what’s happening.”
“You’re right,” John muttered. “I really don’t.”
The man leaned in close enough that John could smell him — sweat and adrenaline. Then — BANG. The sound exploded behind the officer’s skull. For a split second, John didn’t understand what he was seeing. Then fragments hit his shirt.
Warm.
Wet.
The officer’s body collapsed.
Aaron stood several yards back, pistol still raised, jaw tight.John stared at him.
“You could’ve warned me,” he said faintly.
Aaron lowered the gun slowly.
“You were doing great,” he replied.
John turned and vomited into the grass. Aaron watched. Didn’t move. Didn’t flinch. That scared him more than the shooting.
“You okay?” Aaron asked.
John wiped his mouth. “I almost died.”
Aaron gave a crooked grin. “He didn’t even fire.”
“I almost had a heart attack.”
Aaron laughed. It felt wrong. But he needed it. Inside, something in Aaron had shifted when he pulled that trigger. The recoil didn’t shake him. The blood didn’t turn his stomach. It should have. It didn’t.
That realization sat heavy. He didn’t say it out loud.
They took the cruiser. Aaron drove. John checked the weapons.
“We’ve got two pistols with half mags, one empty pocket gun, and a shotgun with side shells.”
“Good,” Aaron said. “I prefer options.”
John glanced at him.
“You’re too calm.”
Aaron shrugged. “If I slow down, I think.”
“And?”
“And I don’t want to think.”
Silence.
Two lifted trucks passed them. Packed with civilians. Men with rifles in the back scanning everything. John’s pulse spiked.
“They’re organized,” he muttered.
Aaron’s eyes hardened. “They’re hunting.”
John felt something cold settle in his gut.
When they finally hid the cruiser near John’s neighborhood, the sky was turning gold. Five o’clock. Too late in the day. They moved on foot. Every step closer to John’s house tightened the pressure in his chest. Aaron noticed his breathing change.
“Hey,” Aaron said softly.
John didn’t answer.
“You remember that time your daughter locked herself in the bathroom and cried because she thought she’d swallowed a Lego?”
John blinked.
“Why are you bringing that up?”
“Because you busted that door down like you were saving the president.”
“She was choking.”
“She was not choking. She said it was stuck in her throat because she ‘felt plastic.’”
John let out a shaky breath. Aaron kept going.
“You panicked harder than she did.”
John almost smiled.
“She was five.”
“You love hard,” Aaron said quietly. “That’s not a weakness.”
John looked at him. Aaron didn’t look back. Because he knew what was coming.
An engine roared. They dove into a ditch, lying flat. A car slowed near them.
“They look dead,” a woman’s voice said.
“Shoot them anyway,” another voice snapped.
John’s heart hammered so loud he was sure they could hear it.Aaron slowly slid his hand toward his pistol.
“Man, leave ’em,” a male voice argued. “We don’t have time. Catch or kill, but catching’s more important. You heard the Russian.”
The word Russian tightened something in John’s chest. The car sped off. They didn’t move. Not for a full five minutes. John could taste dirt in his mouth. He could smell grass. He could hear his own pulse.
Aaron finally whispered, “You still with me?”
John swallowed. “Yeah.”
Aaron exhaled slowly.
“Then let’s go see your burnt bacon.”
John closed his eyes for half a second. Please. Then they stood.
And ran.