We walked through the woods for what felt like hours. Goodard said nothing and neither did we, though I wanted to say something to break the silence. But what would I say? Gus and I were probably walking to our doom. My feet hurt from stepping on rocks and twigs and Gus' grip on my arm was the only reason I hadn't fallen. Finally, I couldn't take the silence or the tension of not knowing what was going to happen.

"So Robert - can I call you Robert?" I said, my voice shaky.

Goodard jabbed my back with his pistol. "Shut up and keep walking. We're almost there."

I stumbled, but Gus pulled me upright, flashing me a scared look.

"Look, dude," I continued, "I know your still mad about your brother going to prison and all, but the past is the past. Why don't we turn around and take the Blueberry to Jamba Juice for some smoothies and we can talk abot this like rational men?"

"My brother's incarceration is only one of the reasons I tracked you down. You ruined my whole operation. I had thousands of dollars worth of meth in that lab, ready to ship. Do you know how long it took me to get that far without being caught? You ruined everything!"

As Goodard was talking, we came to a small clearing. Just up ahead was a small wooden cabin that looked like it would collapse any minute. Goodard forced us forward, shoving open the door and pushing us inside. We fell on the dirt floor in a heap and I heard the rickety door slam shut. I saw a chain pass through a metal loop and a lock clicked.

"I'll be back, psychic," Goodard said through the door. "And when I return, you both are going to die."

I heard his footsteps as he walked away back through the woods.

"Shawn, are you okay?" Gus asked.

I opened my mouth to respond, but then I saw my feet. They were scraped and bleeding, and they hurt like crazy. I pulled back the muddy hems of my jeans to get a closer look. Gus made a little moaning sound, letting me know that he'd seen my feet too.

I took a deep breath and leaned against the door, trying to stay calm. "It's nothing, just a few scrapes," I muttered. I looked over at Gus and saw him take off his shirt, remove his undershirt, and put his shirt back on.

"Here," He said, handing me the undershirt and looking me in the eyes to avoid seeing my bleeding feet. "We can use this to wrap up your feet."

I smiled a little. "Thanks, Buddy."

Gus quickly tore the shirt into smaller pieces and handed them to me. I began the painful task of covering the cuts and scrapes as best I could, gritting my teeth against the pain. When I finished, I leaned back against the door.

"All set?" Gus asked, sitting next to me.

"Yeah." I turned to look at him. "I'm sorry I got you into this mess. It's my fault, okay?"

Gus shook his head. "It's not your fault, okay? I mean, sure we were tracking down a murderer and a thief with no backup, but I didn't think we'd actually find him."

"No one knows we're out here," I said softly, picturing Jules and missing her.

"Yeah," Gus said sadly.

I leaned forward. "Gus, we've gotta get out of here. Now. Before Goodard gets back."

"I agree, but what about your feet?" Gus helped me stand and I began inspecting the door.

"They hurt, but that's the least of our problems," I said, shoving my shoulder into the door. It rattled, but stayed put. "Help me here, Gus!"

Gus stood beside me and I counted to three. On three, we both slammed our shoulders into the door. It creaked and I looked down. The door was coming away from the doorjam at the bottom. Gus grinned at me and we readied ourselves to shove again. After 3 more times, the whole bottom of the door had popped away from the door frame, leaving a gap just big enough to squeaze through. At least, I hoped it was big enough.

"Alright!" I cheered tiredly, holding out my fist to Gus.

"We are so out of here!" Gus said, bumping my fist with his own.

I dropped down onto the floor and began to crawl through the opening. It was tight and I began to feel claustorphobic as the sides of the splintery door frame dug into me. But Gus pushed me from behind and I finally squeazed through.

"Okay, your turn, Gus!" I said.

Gus began to claw his way out and when he was half-way, I grabbed his hands and yanked him the rest of the way. Panting, we sat for a moment, looking around.

"Okay, Shawn, now what?"

I looked down at my feet. Blood was already starting to come through the make-shift bandages.

"Let's get out of here and find a main road. We're not safe from Goodard until we find other people," I said. "We'd better get moving. That jerk could be back any minute and we'd better be history before then."