Chapter 8 - The Interstate Escape
The heavy doors of the state police cruiser clicked shut with a definitive, mechanical thud, sealing Jax and Leo inside the cramped back seat. The scent of disinfectant and black coffee hung thick in the air as the cruiser’s engine roared to life, pulling away from the diner and leaving Martha standing alone under the flickering neon sign, watching them vanish into the rainy night.
Jax sat rigidly on the hard plastic bench seat, his eyes locked on the side mirror as the blurry lights of the mountain town faded into the distance. Leo sat pressed tightly against his side, his small fingers curled into the fabric of Jax’s worn leather vest. The only sound inside the car was the rhythmic swish of the windshield wipers clearing away the relentless mountain mist.
“You okay, kiddo?” Jax asked quietly, looking down at Leo.
Leo nodded slowly, resting his head against Jax’s shoulder. “I knew you’d come back,” he whispered, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Mom said you were just fighting your own demons, but you’d find your way to me eventually.”
Jax swallowed hard, a sudden lump forming in his throat. He wrapped a heavy, tattooed arm around Leo’s small shoulders, pulling him in closer to share his body heat. “Your mom was too good for the likes of me, Leo. I spent years running away because I was scared I’d drag you both down into the dirt where I lived.”
Up in the front seat, the gray-haired state trooper kept his eyes on the winding asphalt ahead, glancing back through the rearview mirror every few minutes. “You’re making a massive mistake going back on the grid, Miller,” the trooper said without turning his head. “The Vipers don’t let people walk away, especially when they take a child with them. Silas and Vance aren’t going to stop until you’re both buried in a shallow grave.”
“I know what I’m facing,” Jax replied coldly. “I lived with those animals for five years. I know every hideout they’ve got between here and the state line.”
“Then you know they control the fuel stations, the motels, and every backroad in this valley,” the trooper warned, signaling a sharp turn onto the interstate on-ramp. “I can drop you at the bus station in the next county, but once you step out of this car, you’re entirely on your own. My jurisdiction ends at the county line.”
“That’s all I’m asking for,” Jax said.
Twenty minutes later, the cruiser pulled up beside the desolate, dimly lit shelter of the county bus depot. A single yellow bus idled by the curb, its diesel engine rumbling softly in the damp night air. The driver stood outside smoking a cigarette, ignoring the freezing drizzle.
“This is your stop,” the trooper said, putting the car in park and unlocking the rear doors. “Bus leaves for Denver in five minutes. Buy your tickets with cash, don’t use any credit cards, and keep your head down.”
Jax pushed the door open, shielding Leo from the cold wind as they stepped out onto the cracked concrete platform. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a roll of crumpled bills—the last of his savings from his days working odd jobs at the garage.
“Thank you, Officer,” Jax said, nodding respectfully to the man behind the wheel.
May you like
The trooper gave a brief, solemn nod in return before putting the cruiser in gear and pulling away, leaving them standing alone in the damp darkness. Jax grabbed Leo’s hand, turning toward the ticket window, when a pair of blinding headlights suddenly cut through the fog across the street.
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