Chapter 1 – Hitching a Ride

Colleen Hurst's shoulders were hunched and her mouth was pinched shut as she listened to the radio. The breaking news interruptions had ceased about two hours ago and now the broadcast was a steady stream of "experts" talking about today's terrorism in Washington D.C. She didn't know what helicarriers were but the reporters had mentioned HYDRA. She had heard of the rogue Nazi organization the Allies had fought during World War II but why they were talking about HYDRA in 2011 was a puzzle to her.

Colleen glanced down at the gages on her aging Chevy Silverado. She knew that even though the horse trailer she was pulling was empty between its weight, the heat, and stop and go traffic the truck was straining.

Her emotions fluctuated between despair and anger in the muggy heat of the cab. It seemed like hours ago, she had put all the windows down and turned off the air conditioning to lessen the chance of overheating. As the traffic once again crawled to a stop along Interstate 81, Colleen flipped her phone open to look at the picture of her 10 year old son, Phillip. A nearly overwhelming sense of sadness was now mixed with fear as the continued to listen to the news in the stuffy cab.

Yesterday, she had delivered Phillip and his beloved horse to her ex-husband, Tyler. About six months ago, Tyler had moved to a small town near Appomattox to join an established veterinary practice. Colleen and Tyler were still trying to amiably work out a parenting plan now that they were living states apart. Colleen had reluctantly agreed to Tyler's request that Phillip spend the entire summer in Virginia. Colleen's melancholy was profound as she thought about being parted from her only child. The fact that he was sitting in a state adjacent to the violence being discussed on the radio only added to her emotional upheaval. With a sigh she firmly clicked off the radio knowing she could do nothing about the terrorism in the capital.

As the car in front of her began to move forward, Colleen flipped her phone shut and tossed in onto the passenger seat of the truck. She noticed the line of traffic in front of her was moving as far left as possible in the lane. Colleen gritted her teeth, clenched the wheel, and eased back from the cars in front of her not knowing what to expect. About 50 yards ahead she saw a disabled red sedan sitting along the right side of the road. The car was mostly eased onto the shoulder.

A disheveled dark haired man stood beside the car eyeing the slow moving traffic. The man looked to be in his late twenties. His hair was nearly shoulder length and slightly unkempt. Even though it was well over 80 degrees, he wore a long sleeved jacket and gloves. His jaw was set with tension that matched his stiff posture.

As Colleen came adjacent of the disabled vehicle traffic stopped. Perhaps because of her own raw emotions, Colleen couldn't help but feel pity for his apparent situation. She leaned down to address the man through the passenger window.

"Do you need help?" Colleen asked.

The man stood beside the abandoned sedan watching the slow moving traffic while calculating his next move. He had come out of the trees near the highway to see if the sedan could be acquired. He had quickly determined the car was out of gas and besides an ugly plaid blanket, it offered nothing of use to him.

After leaving his Mission lying beside the river, he had been steadily putting distance between himself and Washington. He had stolen a car that had been left running outside of a convenience store but had ditched it after it ran out of gas. He had walked a while along a highway but knew that he was too conspicuous so he hid in a fence row. After observing a house from the fence row and determining no one was home, he broke into it. Thankfully, the house contained clothes that generally fit his athletic frame. He had used the time to set his dislocated shoulder and clean up before stealing a dust covered car sitting in the attached garage. The house didn't contain any firearms so his only remaining weapon was a knife sheathed in his left boot.

He had experienced a wave of anger and frustration when the dusty car had died after only 20 miles. He knew he wasn't far enough away from the mess in the Potomac River to stop traveling.

That's how he found himself contemplating walking again in the heat. If he had followed his mission parameters, he would be sitting in the covert HYDRA base located in an old bank near the Capital Building. The contingency was a safe house located in Arlington. But he wasn't going to either place. His head hurt after fighting the Mission on the helicarrier. The Mission had said his name was James Buchanan Barnes. His Mission's name was Steve. He had said they had known each other all their lives. Somehow he knew the Mission spoke the truth.

His head was a jumbled mess of flashes. He didn't know if they were memories. He just knew he wasn't going back. He wanted to know. He wanted to remember who he was and who Steve was. Part of his mind rebelled against his rogue behavior. Another part screamed to be free, to escape and to seek the truth.

When the truck stopped adjacent to him he was startled from his thoughts. He studied the women. She was looking at him earnestly with hazel eyes surrounded by long lashes. She had long dark hair that was sticking out of the back of a baseball cap. He judged her to be about 30 years old. She appeared fit with toned arms holding the steering wheel. She lacked the guarded expression he had come to expect from someone who might pose a threat to him. And he noted she was alone in the truck.

"Sir, do you need help?" The women repeated.

The man considered taking the truck from the women but decided against that action.

"I need a ride." The man said simply.

The women hesitated a few seconds before answering, "I'll give you a ride to the next exit. You'll have to ride in the back."

The man glanced at the back of the truck and then gave a slight nod. He walked to the back of the truck and climbed into the bed.