Hey, sorry if her escape from the CIA was a bit easy… I just didn't know how to write it. Originally, the security guards caught her, but I decided to change it so that she escapes.

Rightio… there's a tiny bit of Zammie in this chapter for those of you who love them so much (I'm a fan too! – it's just I never know how to do justice to their relationship, so I don't write so much about it!) *sigh*

Well, enjoy chapter seven

As it turns out, Jonas and Liz's apartment is incredibly escape-proof. There's no access to the roof… the windows have some sort of unbreakable seal on them… I can't find any vents or anything… the balcony door is locked with at least five big locks… not to mention the bullet-proof glass.

Defeated, I slump onto the couch, rubbing my eyes. But then it comes to me… how could I have been so stupid? The front door! Who expects someone to escape in the most obvious way? Besides, Gallagher did teach us very efficient, handy tricks which could get any door open in 26 seconds max.

Quietly, I sneak into the gadget-room and start ruffling around for the small contraption I'm in so much need of.

Liz, as predictable as ever, has hidden it in the bottom drawer of her desk in a small box labelled Liz's Lock-Breaker. I roll my eyes at her foolishness and snatch up the box. Within seconds, I've taken it out and have made my way over to the door. I'm just about to attack the locks when the thought comes to me. I can't exactly leave without thanking Liz…

Liz,

I know you don't want to listen to me right now, but I have to tell you that I'm so grateful for your help. You always were there for me and I'll never forget you. Thankyou. But I'm also so, so sorry. I'm not going to apologise for joining them, but I am going to apologise for deserting you, Macey and Bex. You guys were always there, especially when I needed you most. I should have explained it, I should have done it better, but at the time, I saw no way out. A letter can't explain it all, so I hope that one day we'll meet again somewhere, someplace I can actually tell you the whole story. I badly need to. So, for now, thankyou, again. And you too, Jonas.

-Cammie

I left the note on the dining table and set back to work on the door. I think I broke an all time record with that thing. The locks had clicked open in 18 seconds flat! I eased silently out of the apartment, careful to not make any noise shutting the door. And that's when I remember that to use the elevators past 12PM, you have to have a special key-card, and Liz's was around her neck…

Cursing myself for being so stupid, I know there was no way I'll be getting the key at this time of night, and my escape can't wait 'til morning! I realise there must be another way! As if on cue, I notice the small square on the ceiling, where builders and electricians could gain access to the ceiling, and which no doubt connected onto the floor of the elevator lobby above.

I rush across to it and drag the musty couch underneath it. When I stand on it, I can just reach the ceiling, thankfully.

"Come on…" I mutter to myself as I push up with all my might, lifting the heavy slab.

Once it's free, I shove it to the side and haul myself upwards. Glad the P&E teacher at the Gallagher Academy made us practise our chin-ups until we were good enough to do one hundred and fifty in a row. Inside the low area, of the attic-part, I have to crouch because there's not enough room. It's very dark and dusty, and many spiders dangle from the thick, steel beams. I re-block the access to the room again by sliding the slab back over the square hole. I repeat the whole process; all the while telling myself that going downwards would have got me caught by security sensors, and that even though going up was tiring, it was the quickest way out. Six heavy slabs later, I emerge onto the windy roof, shivering.

My hair whips my face as I survey the edge of the building, searching for foot and hand holds. I quickly map out the easiest way down and brace myself for the adrenaline rush I'm above to have. I try not to look down as I lower myself over the side of the roof and place my feet on two jutting-out bricks. It's ten and a half terrifying minutes before I'm safely back on the ground, hiding in the shadows, as I do often.

I briefly glance up at the balcony to Liz's apartment for one last time, before running off into the darkness.

The bright lights of the city are gradually growing dimmer behind me, as I trudge along the dirt path I discovered not long ago. The night – or morning – air is crisp and cool, biting into my skin, causing Goosebumps to appear. A bird caws somewhere off in the distance, startling me slightly.

When I reach the side of the highway, the vroooom of a car grows louder and louder, approaching at a fast rate. I expect it to pass right by me. I expect it to continue along the dark road, oblivious of the fact that a lonely girl is wandering, knowing where she is, but being completely lost at the same time. I expect all sorts of things, but the car actually slowing down and a Brazilian man poking his head out the window is not high on my list.

"Hey, you need a ride?" he calls, his accent thick.

I bite my lip, calculating the risks and possibilities, but the fact that I have no idea where I'm going, makes me nod and walk around the passenger side of the car and slide in.

As it turns out, Rico, the driver, and his brother Alvar like to drive really fast, which isn't such a bad thing, more like a terrified-for-my-life type thing. Oh, and they also like to sing. Loud. Especially along to their sister's latest single, Mamba Moves.

Rico doesn't snoop about my life. He doesn't ask why I'm walking, alone, at just past midnight, along a dark highway. And better yet, he doesn't want to know specifics about where I'm going. But I have no such luck with his brother.

"So, bela, is there a man in your life?" he asks, curiously.

I laugh. "Is that your subtle way of asking me out?" I tease.

But Alvar toothily grins and leans forward in the back seat. "No, that's my subtle way of asking if you have a boyfriend. You see, Rico here needs a woman to liven up his life ever since – what was her name? Aldene? Benita? – anyway, ever since he had his heart broken a few months ago."

Rico grimaces and says, "It's Aidia, and no, Alvar, I do not need a woman to satisfy me. I have my car! Anyway, if Aidia wants to run away with some Belgian Bungee-Jumping pom-pom, then she can run away with some Belgian Bungee-Jumping pom-pom. His fanny-pack made him quite pathetic in my eyes."

I laugh even louder at this. "Belgian Bungee-Jumping pom-pom?" I inquire, not entirely sure I want to know.

Alvar nods semi-solemnly, choking back a grin.

"Ah, come now, bela. Surely there's someone out there for you…"

My smile slips slowly off my face and I shake my head sadly.

"I used to think there was, but as it turns out, I did something completely stupid and now I have no chance of him ever forgiving me," I blurt before I can stop myself.

Alvar narrows his eyes, playfully, at me.

"You didn't become a dog-food taster? Or a kinky stripper, did you?" he asks.

I splutter, at a loss for words.

"No!" I finally choke out as the two brothers laugh loudly.

Sensing my embarrassment, Rico reaches forward and turns up the volume on his sister's second album, Sunshine Party.

And as Rico increases our speed, we all sing along with the chorus at the top of our voices.

When Rico stops at a motel to let me out, he hands me a business card and says, "I'm in the transport business. So if you ever need a car, train, horse, helicopter or Air Force One, or something small like that, give me a bell."

I smile appreciatively and thank him for his kindness. Once they speed off and are swallowed by the darkness, I walk halfway through the town and find a tiny backpackers' to stay the night at.

I collapse onto the, let's face it, rather mouldy, uninviting bed and I close my eyes thankfully, not caring that it's now 1:46AM and that I have to be gone by 8.

It feels like seconds before I'm being woken up by someone hitting me over the head with a pillow and screaming my name.

"Wake up, Cammie!" the familiar voice screeches, her voice reverberating in my eardrums.

I open one eye sleepily and glance at the fading alarm-clock. 7:24AM. I'm going to kill whoever this psycho is.

But as I open both eyes, I know I'd have little chance against Macey McHenry herself.

She looks angry. Very angry.

"You have some explaining to do and if you don't get up right now, I'm going to use that Hinskley Manoeuvre you taught me, when we were seniors, on you."

I sit up immediately, and instantly regret it because I feel lightheaded all of a sudden.

"Macey?" I ask, incredulously.

"Yes, now get out of that bed and be downstairs in eight minutes," she orders loudly, slamming the door behind her as she leaves the tiny room.

Considering I have no luggage to speak of, I wash my face in the female public bathroom and am downstairs in five.

Macey turns around as I walk down the rickety stairs and into the gloomy foyer. She looks as glamorous as ever, not to mention stunning. Her face wrinkles at the sight of my dirty, smelly clothes but she doesn't say anything. Yet.

"Car's out the front."

"I just have to p—" I begin.

But Macey interrupts. "I've already paid."

As soon as we're in her small, light blue car I turn and look properly at my friend. She, of course, is much prettier than me. Her dark, long hair is as sleek and shiny as ever. Her slender face radiates a sort of happiness, but her eyes have a sadness about them, behind all the beauty.

"So… where are we going?" I ask, causally.

She doesn't reply for a moment, but simply pulls out of her parking spot and turns onto a main road.

"My place," she eventually says, not quite meeting my eyes.

"And… why are you here?"

This time Macey's face breaks into a small smile. "You're safer with me."

I look out the window at the small, aged houses which are whizzing by and I feel safe. The kind that's like a hug from your mother, or any other loved one.

Half an hour – okay, twenty-eight minutes – later, Macey turns left into a subtle street. I wouldn't have noticed it if it hadn't been for the fact Macey had actually turned into it.

"We're home!" she exclaims, cutting the engine in the driveway of a cute, modest cottage. The front of the house is covered in some very clichéd vines. Flowers line the path up to the front door.

"Very… not you…" I remark.

Macey ignores me and unlocks the front door. She throws her keys at a little hook and, thanks to her amazing aim, they catch on it.

She drags me, by the arm, to her bathroom and tells me to shower. The she shuts the door and leaves me alone in the white-tiled, gleaming room.

I run the hot water, and gratefully step under it. I use way more soap and shampoo than I usually would, just to get rid of the dirt and rather unpleasant odour about me.

Only when I step out and wrap a towel around me, does it dawn on me that it would be incredibly pointless to change back into my old clothes. So I open the bathroom door cautiously, and go to find Macey.

But instead of Macey, I see a tall, broad-shouldered figure leaning against the kitchen bench, looking at the ceiling.

A figure I remember well.

And the last time I saw him, we were pointing guns at each others' face.