Page 79 of Travis
“You shouldn’t have left for a half-cocked mission.”
He continued as if I hadn’t spoken. “You’re not trained for this wet work. You have two weeks of self-defense and?—”
“And if you hadn’t snuck out in the middle of the night like a coward, that wouldn’t be relevant. My model would have flagged the security profile in three minutes.” I kept my eyes on the road. “Three minutes, Travis. You would have known it was a bad target. You wouldn’t be sitting here with blood pouring out of you.”
He was quiet.
“You left while I was asleep. You went out without telling me, without putting me on comms, without running the route. So yes, I came after you. And if you want to yell at me for it, you can do that after we figure out what the hell we need to do.”
“We can’t go straight back to the compound until we know if we’re clean. I have a safehouse in Missoula.” He gave me an address that Maude linked into the GPS.
I drove. Travis had his hand pressed against his side and his head tipped back against the seat. His eyes were closed. Not sleeping… managing. Sorting through what he could afford to ignore and trying to keep the balance on the right side of conscious.
“Travis’s blood pressure is dropping,” Maude said through the speakers. “Heart rate is elevated and his core temperature is rising. He needs medical attention.”
“No.” It was more of a grunt than a word.
“I’m reporting your vitals, not requesting your opinion.”
I looked over at him. His face was gray. The hand on his side had gone still, not pressing anymore, just resting there like he’d forgotten what it was supposed to be doing.
“How much further to Missoula?” I asked.
“Twenty-two minutes at current speed,” Maude said.
“Travis. Stay with me.”
The highway unwound in front of us, two lanes cutting through grassland and pine stands, and I drove ten over the limit and watched Travis fight a war with his own body in the passenger seat.
He’d surface for a few minutes—eyes open, scanning the mirrors, checking the road behind us—then drift back down into that gray space where his breathing went shallow and his hand relaxed against his side.
Every time he surfaced it took him longer.
“Ten minutes to Missoula,” Maude said. “Travis, your blood pressure has dropped again.”
He didn’t respond.
“Travis.”
Nothing.
“Travis!” I yelled, reaching over and grabbing his forearm. His skin was hot and damp and wrong. “Wake up.”
His eyes opened. Slower this time.
“Ten minutes,” I said. “Hang on. Try to stay awake.”
He nodded. Swallowed. Pulled himself up straighter in the seat with a grimace.
“Maude,” he said. His voice was rough, scraped thin. “Run the vehicles behind us. Everything within a mile.”
“Four vehicles currently within range. A white sedan, Montana plates, registered to a Missoula address. A blue minivan, Montana plates, registered to a Kalispell address. A livestock trailer, no current registration match. And a silver pickup truck, Montana plates.” A pause. “The silver pickup has been maintaining consistent distance for the past four minutes. It decelerated when Sera decelerated for the speed zone two miles back and accelerated when she resumed highway speed.”
The car went quiet.
“Could be coincidence,” I said. “How would they have found us?”
“I’ve stayed alive this long by not believing in coincidences. One of Kindt’s men must have called in a description of this vehicle.” Travis was awake now, obviously overriding everything his body was telling him. His eyes locked in on the mirror. “When we hit city traffic, I need you to do exactly what I say.”
