Chapter 29: Zany Off-Grid Adventure
AN:
1) Chapters 28 and 29 were originally supposed to be one mega chapter, but got too long and thus were split.
2) On that note, this chapter is named for one of Alex's lines from 27.
3) Credit for the last scene in this chapter goes to the show "Weeds." Truly one of my all-time favorite scenes of television, and I've been waiting forever to incorporate it into this story.
"I think you and I should have a conversation," I reply. "Can we step into the bedroom for a second?"
"So you can kick me again?" he challenges.
"Alex, you grabbed my wrist," I defend myself quietly, "It was an immediate reaction. What do you think I meant when I said I've trained my whole life?"
"It wasn't that serious," he counters, "I just wanted you to stay and talk things out with me."
"It was that serious to me," I look down at my shoes, "Now can we just go into the other room? Yuri has some work to do out here."
"Fine," Alex says after a moment. He swings his legs off the couch and limps slightly as he walks back to the bedroom.
I shut the door behind him. "Soundproof." I let him take the bed while I sit cross-legged on the desk chair close to the door. We are both quiet for a moment before I speak up. "Alex, I feel like this is a very 'make-or-break' conversation for us, and because of that, I think we need to set a few ground rules. I'm going to list my rules, then you can list yours. Okay?"
"Okay."
"First, we have to stop yelling at each other. I've had a record-breakingly terrible day and I can't handle yelling," Alex nods. "Second, I think we should take turns talking. No interrupting each other. Last, you're not allowed to touch me. Are all of those fair?"
"Yeah, those are fine by me. Here," he grabs a small pink pillow from the bed next to him, "Whoever is holding this pillow gets to speak and whoever is pillowless has to be quiet." I nod, grateful that he's finally giving me more than one-word answers. "I have one rule of my own. No lying. If you seriously cannot tell me something, just say that. I need you to be 100% truthful with me, Ella."
"Okay," my voice is strained.
"You don't have the pillow, but I'll let it go this time," Alex smiles slightly. I exhale. "I would like to start off by asking what is going on? Secret phone calls, kicking me, disappearing for hours. If I am going on the lam with you, I need to know these things." He tosses the pillow over to me.
I hug it close to my chest and take a deep breath. "The person on the phone was my Uncle–Johannes' father. He drove me down to DC this afternoon. Wait, I guess I need to backtrack a bit more. I was in Northern Maryland on a camping trip with my family and My Aunt, Uncle, and Johannes," This is close enough to the truth for me because I do not have the time or energy to explain Piper right now, "I got in yesterday morning. While speaking to my father, I learned that he had deceived you and MI6 and I started freaking out. My Uncle ran into me and saw I was in trouble. He knows what my Dad does and what I do–for work, that is. He offered to drive me down here to buy me a few hours to find you and get on the road." I look up from the floor. "Any questions so far?"
Alex shakes his head.
"Anyways, my Uncle was calling me on a burner phone with his own burner phone to tell me he was about to report me missing to my parents. I want to give him plausible deniability because this is not his fight. We made up a fake reason to come to DC and I pretended to escape from his car while he wasn't paying attention. He was telling me I had 20 minutes before he told my father I was gone. That is why I was in such a rush to get out. I was buying gift cards with my CIA credit cards at the furthest gas station I could reasonably get to before my Dad knew I was gone and would start tracking every purchase. You were physically in the way and I had to get out," I am breathing hard now, too hard to continue.
"And you're sensitive about being touched," Alex finishes my sentence.
"This falls under 'things I do not want to talk about because they are not pertinent to the situation at hand.'"
"Can I say something?" I toss him the pillow. "This has already affected the mission multiple times today, so I would argue it's pertinent. Did something happen to you?"
"Pillow," I command, and he tosses it back, "Nothing happened to me, but I will not speak about it further. I just don't want to be grabbed at and I'm dropping this topic right now." I clear my throat. "Yuri and I were gone for so long because we were getting the gift cards and took a detoured way back to be confident no one was following us home. Does this answer all of your questions?" I throw the pillow at his shoulder.
"It answers the three I asked. Are you seriously not going to tell me about this incident?" He returns the favor by sending the pillow soaring back.
"It's family stuff. Please don't ask me again."
"Okay. I'm sorry for grabbing your wrist. I was trying to get you to talk to me about the phone call, but you were running away and I reacted without thinking. I am sorry, Ella."
"Thanks," I nod, "But unfortunately the apology does not count because I was holding the pillow. For your next attempt, I take apologies in the form of $50 bills."
Alex rolls his eyes. "Pillow, please." I throw it back to him. "Are we good?"
I swallow the ball of nerves at the back of my throat as I get hit in the abdomen with that godforsaken pillow. "We're good." I look up at my friend, "Alex, I know you've had a rough day, what with learning a high-ranking CIA official wants you dead. I will do my best to accommodate that. However, I need you to respect that this has also been one of the worst days of my life and I need a little compassion too. I will not be anybody's punching bag."
"I promise to be less of an ass."
"It's just that, we're both insanely stressed out right now. We need to be a team and a united front if we want to get back to England unscathed. Also, I'm just going to hold onto this pillow because this conversation was actually pretty civil."
"Okay, Ella." Alex pauses for a moment. "I promise to be a team player. So what now?"
"We sleep here and get to Hyattsville by noon tomorrow. Once we get the car, I want to stop at a Walmart to pick up some supplies. From there, we belong to the road til we get to Maine. Yuri is making us, Megan and Beckett, fake IDs as we speak, and my friend in Bar Harbor will make us passports."
"Yuri knows how to make fake IDs?"
"Of course he does," I shrug, "I do too. I just never had time to learn how to fake passports, so it's genuinely faster to drive to Maine. Besides, it's better for us to be on the move anyway." Alex nods.
"I may think that you Americans and your coffee is deplorable, but can I request we stop for some after Walmart tomorrow? I am preemptively exhausted."
"Oh, Alex, a coffee break was assumed," I grin. "Friends?" I ask.
"Friends." He smiles back. We're interrupted by a turn of the door handle.
"Hey Elsje?" Yuri opens the door, "Oliver is on speaker."
Oliver's voice is tinny through Yuri's flip phone. "Ellie, I don't know what the hell is going on with you, but I need you to listen up. I'm in the bathroom with the sink on and I only have a couple of seconds. Your dad knows you've escaped, presumably to find Alex. He also saw a video of you getting jumped in a Wawa and is currently trying to track you down." He pauses to catch his breath. "He's not having any luck yet, but we all know it's only a matter of time. If you want my advice, it's that you need to get the fuck out of Washington."
"Damnit!" I exclaim, "We're stuck here until noon tomorrow because that's when Joe promised our new car and documents would be ready."
Oliver sighs over the phone. "I'll deal with Joe. Have Yuri drive you over to his garage and then get the hell out of town." The line disconnects and Yuri, Alex, and I stand in silence for a moment.
"Well, grab your things, kids," Yuri finally breaks the silence, "Car leaves in 10."
Ten minutes later, I'm sitting in the passenger seat of Yuri's car. My backpack is filled to the brim with odds and ends that I grabbed blindly. We still need to stop at Walmart to get food and supplies, but we have pretty much everything to change an identity.
Yuri hands Alex and me our fake IDs–two copies of each. Megan Wilson and Beckett Page now each have two driver's licenses and 2 University of Virginia student IDs. The backups are a good idea and I give Yuri a side hug.
"You kids try to close your eyes. It's a 40-minute drive and every bit of sleep will help."
I do manage to get a few minutes of sleep in. When I wake up, my eyes are cloudy with sleep, and my breath reeks of Pirozhki.
A knock on the window startles me. Joe.
Yuri rolls down my window. "Hello?"
"Bella York, you're back early," Joe comments.
"I assume you heard from Oliver?"
Joe sighs. "Yes, my nephew is at his most lovely when he's demanding I get out of bed at 11pm to get back to work and meet you miscreants."
"Good word, Joe," I respond. I pull a wad of cash out of my hoodie pocket. "Here is the $1500 I owe you, and here," I say, pulling a piece of paper from the center console, "Is printed proof your criminal record is gone."
Joe pockets the money and glances at the sheet of paper. "You left on a speeding ticket and three parking tickets?"
"Needed to be realistic," Yuri responds, his Russian accent seeping into his words a little.
Joe shrugs. "Can't win 'em all."
"It's okay, Joe, I've also been drunk in the Reflecting Pool," I reply.
Joe's eyes light up. "Bella York, that's why you're one of the good ones." I salute him.
A few moments later, I'm sitting in the driver's seat of the Lincoln Continental. Joe had expertly stashed the two extra license plates under the backseats, and Alex held onto our backpacks. It had taken a little convincing to get Yuri to leave, but this isn't his fight. It's mine and Alex's and nobody else's.
"You ready for a zany off-grid adventure?" I repeat Alex's words back to him with a crazed grin.
"Ready as I'll ever be," Alex sighs and we're off.
Our first stop is Walmart. Any satellite maps are completely out of the question, so we asked Joe for directions. Luckily for us, the nearest Walmart is under four miles away and open 24 hours.
"Alex, can you please open my backpack?"
"Of course."
"In the front pocket, there's a pen. In the side pocket, there should be the receipt from Wawa. Get those please."
"Not sure how you knew that but got them."
"Great, okay. I'm making a mental list of what we need to buy. Can you write them while I dictate?"
"Of course."
"Okay," I take a deep breath and the world's most suspicious grocery list comes tumbling out, "A road map. Jumper cables. As much water as we can fit in the trunk. Four flip phones. Aluminum foil. A pack of lighters. Two headlamps. Two flashlights. Batteries of all sizes. A tent. A tarp. Two sleeping bags. Two ponchos. Those hand warmers. Coats are probably a good idea. Fresh underwear and socks for both of us–trust me. Deodorant. Body powder. Lemon juice. Hand sanitizer. Paper towels. Toilet paper. Any toiletries. I have a first aid kit, so we don't need that. At least four rolls of duct tape. A multi-tool. Pocket knives and any other small handheld weapons we can find. Bungee cords. A hose. Red Bull, canned coffee, and Pixy Sticks. A thing of multivitamins. A few new boxes of hair dye. Fake glasses. I have everything else to change our appearances. Tons of non-perishable food, obviously. A large bucket. Baby wipes." I pause for a second.
"Yeah we're definitely getting arrested," Alex shook his head, "This grocery list screams 'We're doing something illegal.'"
"We've done nothing illegal. Oh, add pepper spray to the list," Alex chuckles at the newest addition.
"You literally deleted a man's criminal record and we're driving to your falsified passport guy."
"Girl," I correct, "And Yuri did the deleting," I say with a smirk. "Add as many packs of Firestarter that we can legally buy."
"Good lord," Alex sighs, noting the last item on the list.
"There's more. A handheld radio with an additional ton of batteries. A magnifying glass and a handheld mirror. Walkie-talkies. Electrolyte tablets. A deck of cards. As many decent CDs as we can get our hands on. That's all I can think of," I declare as we pull into the Walmart parking lot.
"And you're sure we can get all of this stuff in one store?"
"Oh, Alex. It's Walmart," I say with a twinkle in my eyes.
Alex is pushing the cart while I grab each item on our list. "Ella, do you anticipate us sleeping outside?" He asks as I grab a tent and two sleeping bags.
"Crazier things have happened," I reply. I pause for a second. "Ideally, we drive the whole thing straight through, but I just want to be prepared." Alex nods. "Oh, can you grab that camping stove?" I point to a shelf behind him.
"Can I help you folks with anything?" a boisterous voice interrupts us. I turn around, a hatchet in each of my hands. The voice belongs to a girl maybe a couple years older than me with short brown hair and a septum piercing. "Woah, never mind, you seem to have this covered," she laughs and walks away.
"Ella, did we just walk past a rack of guns? In a supermarket?" Alex stops in his tracks.
"Why yes we did. I have a gun guy, though. He's way more unethical than Walmart," I say under my breath, still walking forward.
"There are some things I will never understand about your country," he shakes his head and jogs to catch up.
The first cart is bursting at the seams before we get to the food, so I make Alex grab a second one. I grab everything I can think of that we won't need to refrigerate: bagels, bread, tortillas, microwavable rice, honey, the biggest jar of peanut butter I've ever seen, Nutella, raisins, a bunch of bags of dried fruit, nuts, tons of canned soup and beans, powdered milk, a few boxes of cereal, oatmeal, cinnamon, sunflower seeds, beef jerky, PopTarts, and a heinous amount of snacks and granola bars. It's Alex who thinks to pick up paper plates and plasticware.
"Jesus, Ella, this could feed an army," Alex clicks his tongue.
"We'll donate anything we don't eat," I promise, "It's easier and cheaper this way."
When we walk past the candy aisle, Alex is positively enamored. "Ella, look at all the options," his eyes are saucers.
I shake my head. "Talk all you want about my country, but remember this feeling."
"Can we get some? I've never even seen most of these before. What is a Jolly Rancher anyways?" he asks, reading a label.
"Dyed corn syrup, aka God's gift to this planet. Grab them, the Twizzlers, and the Pixy Stix, and let's go."
We finally make it to checkout when I spy the last thing we need. I slide Alex $40. "Go buy as many cigarettes as you can," I hiss, "And remember that you're 21 years old."
"Gross," he shakes his head.
"We're not smoking. Just trust me? Please?" Alex nods.
The next part is the scariest. Walmart always has a ton of personnel around to try and limit theft, but sometimes a girl needs to buy knives and burner phones without attracting any unwanted attention. I scan the available cashiers and zero in on my target. I see a girl in her early twenties at the end of the store clearly typing on her phone. I walk up to her line–I'm the only one there–pushing one cart and pulling the other.
"God, that's a lot of stuff," she mumbles under her breath.
"I'll scan it myself while you keep texting," I offer. "Seriously."
"Tweeting," she corrects me. "And you're an angel."
"Not a problem," I smile, "I'm buying half your store anyways."
"Yeah, yeah," she mumbles, looking back down at her phone. I scan everything myself while Alex bags the groceries. The girl barely looks up from her phone and that's just fine by me.
It's far too late to use my CIA credit card, and we pay in a hideous combination of cash and a few Visa gift cards, much to the girl's chagrin.
We're able to purchase everything without drawing any more attention to ourselves. Alex and I each push a cart out to the car, careful not to make eye contact with anybody.
Out in the parking lot, we take care to pack the car so that we both know where everything is, as everything just resembles Tetris blocks now.
There's one last thing to do before we leave, and it involves a pair of scissors, a trash can, and a lighter. I motion Alex over to one of the metal trash cans in the parking lot. I hold my CIA-funded credit card. I'll miss my AmEx black card in all of its glory. "To the last vestige of Ella Cornell," I say somberly, snapping the card in half unceremoniously. I cut the halves into even smaller shards using the scissors, and sprinkle the remains into the trash can.
I take both receipts–the one we just got from Walmart and the Wawa one with Alex's handwriting–and hand Alex one of the Bic lighters we just bought.
"Come on, baby, light my fire," I say, dangling a receipt in each hand above the trash can.
Alex lights the bottom of the Walmart one first, the longer of the two, and then the Wawa one. "And where two raging fires meet together, they do consume the thing that feeds their fury," he says as the flames envelop the papers.
I wait until they're nearly burned up, the flames warming the tips of my fingers, before dropping them onto the asphalt below me. Alex and I watch on as they blacken and curl up before being reduced to ash. Once the fire has nothing left to burn, everything goes quiet and I crush the remains with the heel of my shoe.
"You're still sure about all of this?" I ask him as we walk back to the car.
"The time to hesitate is through," he says solemnly, continuing my song from before. I stop in my tracks, thoroughly charmed. I'm standing in the parking lot, now two steps behind Alex with a stupid grin on my face.
"You know the song," I say, unable to hide my smile.
"Of course, I know that song," he says, and now we're just two idiots smiling in the middle of a parking lot.
I rack my brain for something even moderately smooth to say, but I'm literally saved by the bell (as long as you consider a red pickup truck honking at us to stop standing in the middle of the parking lot to literally be a bell).
Hour Zero:
Walmart Parking Lot in Landover Hills, Maryland
"So where is this gun guy?" Alex asks, opening up the road map we just purchased.
"Well, he's a little out of the way. It's worth the detour though," I say quickly, "He and I have a working relationship and unlike Walmart, he won't put our names on any sort of gun registry."
"Sounds like a real stand-up guy," he comments.
"Well, unfortunately, you've met my most stand-up friends already. Johannes, Yuri, Oliver, and Noa are for sure my top four."
"I'm way more ethical than all of those people," Alex counters.
"Not Johannes," I correct, "But in terms of non-cousins and non-siblings, you are my most ethical friend."
"I'll take it," he considers, "Now seriously, where does this guy live?"
"It's a tiny mountain town called Mill Creek, West Virginia."
"Western Virginia, okay," Alex says, tracing his hand directly west from DC, just skimming the top of the great state of Virginia.
"Oh, honey, no," I say, moving his finger about two hours deeper into the map, "West Virginia is its own state–Civil War Era break-up, don't ask–and you are going to get to see its forests."
"And this is the only gun guy you know?"
"The only one I'm certain my Dad doesn't," I shoot back, "Besides, I don't know where he is going to be expecting us to go, but it sure as hell is not the state forests of West Virginia. The two obvious ways out of DC are North and South. To the north, you have a ton of big cities all fairly close together: Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, Boston," I trace up the map with my index finger to show him. "The south would be a further drive, but you have Richmond, Raleigh, Charlotte, Atlanta, and all of Florida," I trace the lines up the map down south this time, "Both of those routes have a ton of international airports. My Dad and I both know that we're not staying in DC because it would be way too easy to find me. There are cameras everywhere, and he could mobilize everyone in the city at a moment's notice. North is the easier option because everything's a little closer together, so I bet he assumes we take the southern route to fly out of Charlotte, or Atlanta, or Miami, or even maybe drive out to Texas. If we operate under the assumption that he thinks we're going South, those cities are much further apart and he will not have backup easily available. He is probably going to put most of his resources in the big Southern cities with a fair number scattered about the South. There will definitely be manpower up the northern East Coast, but there will be less. The trouble is, that all the major population points will be really close together and could back each other up without issue. Because of all the issues of going both North and South," I breathe twice, "We will head West into the Appalachian Mountains. He's not going to waste precious resources–because he will be commanding most of these people illegally in the first place–to a bunch of rural mountain towns west of here. We will avoid major cities and drive it as straight-through as we can."
"That was equal parts genius and insane," is all Alex says.
"Thank you," I grin.
"No seriously, why didn't they appoint you general during the Civil War?"
"I totally could have won the Civil War," I say with my chest, "I actually had a great-great-great grandfather who was a general in the Civil War. Don't ask me which side, though, because I'm from Virginia…" I trail off awkwardly, "He was more of a 'good old southern boy' than a slave owner, but still…Anyway, I personally wouldn't be on the losing side," I wink.
"So if the North is out, then how are we getting from West Virginia to Maine?" Alex asks, studying the map.
"Great question. It is my assumption that he will be more focused on the cities on the coast. If we basically drive along the Appalachian trail up to Maine and avoid any major cities and military bases, I think we're going to be okay. Once we get the passports, however, I want to drive across the Canadian border. It will give us a lower-stakes opportunity to use the passports and then we fly out of Montreal or Quebec."
"Yeah, this is just insane, I'm sorry," Alex replies, a biting tone in his voice.
"Woah, what's up?" I'm taken aback.
He takes a deep breath, his voice more steady this time. "Ella, I'm not yelling at you, but this whole trip just keeps getting messier and more confusing. Do you actually think this is going to work, or are we going to fucking die in the mountains in one of the many Virginias?"
"I don't know, Alex. I can't predict the future. What I can do is try to be a few steps ahead of my father. I have the skills to survive and I'm sure that you do too." He nods, slowly. "I'm betting on Alex and Ella. This plan is certainly not fast or perfect, but it's the best I got. And unless you have a better idea, this is how we're going to get home. Are you on board, or am I leaving you with a jug of water at this Walmart?"
Alex sighs. "I'm on board."
"Good, because there's no time to wallow in the mire and I could really use someone to help me stay awake."
"How do you know all of this stuff anyway?" He says after a pause, "The going off-grid, military strategist stuff?"
"Well, my Uncles on both sides are high-ranking in the military, and so are most of the parents of most of my elusive friends. I grew up all around the strategy and my uncles and dad simulated military attacks all the time. I believe it was what you public school kids called history class," Alex smiles, "As for the off-grid stuff, that was definitely a unit in the John Cornell School of Normal Childhood Lessons. I've also done smaller-scale versions of this with Oliver, and I've been sneaking out to party since I was 14. I think I've got this."
"I feel like I need to go to the Ella Cornell School of Humility," Alex remarks. I bump his bicep with my fist and buckle my seat belt.
"It would be an honor for you."
Not five minutes after crossing the border into Virginia, I get a call on the burner phone Uncle Johannes gave me. "Put it on speaker, please," I direct Alex.
"Ella, it's Noa. Oliver smashed the phone he called you with earlier and I'm using Fenna's burner. I just wanted to let you know that your Dad just closed the borders between DC, Maryland, Virginia, Pennsylvania, and North Carolina. I don't know where you are, but get the hell out of that area and find a different way out. I'm flushing this phone down the toilet now and this call never happened. I love you, bye." The line clicks dead.
"I fucking told you so," I flash Alex my toothiest grin, for I am a goddamn genius.
"And how do we know your dad isn't holding her hostage or anything."
"Oh, we've discussed that before. If she had been in danger, she would have said: 'Ella, this is Noa Yaron' instead of whatever she actually said. No last name, so we're solid," I give him two thumbs up.
"Well as long as you have a system," he shakes his head incredulously.
"I didn't go to real school. What do you think I did for eighteen years? I trained for and thought about situations."
"You lied to me earlier," Alex remarks out of the blue.
"Excuse me?" I take my eyes off the road to look at him.
"About your family camping trip. You said it was just your family and Johannes's, but Oliver, Noa, and apparently Fenna are there too."
Fuck, he's good. "Nothing gets past you," I say honestly to counteract my next lie, "Oliver is there too because he's basically family, and Fenna and Noa are still together in the Hague. Oliver or Johannes must still be in contact with them." Lying about Piper feels weird and icky, but I have too much on my plate right now to explain to Alex that our moms used to be friends and we actually met once before we were eighteen.
"Got it," Alex says and reaches down. He pulls out the few CDs we were able to salvage from Walmart, "Now, even more importantly, do you want Elvis Presley: The Classic Christmas Album, the soundtrack from Grease, or Millenium by the Backstreet Boys?"
"Sophie's Fucking Choice," I mumble, "I guess give me Elvis." Alex obliges and I hear the first few notes of "I'll Be Home For Christmas."
Hour 1:
Marshall, Virginia
A Classic Elvis Christmas in August, I've decided, is more charming than one would expect.
As I cruise at exactly 55 mph, the NOVA town names I recognize begin to slip away.
Alex and I have been pretty quiet so far, but I begin to feel a heaviness behind my eyes and need something besides "O Little Town of Bethlehem."
"So, Alex, what kind of music do you like?" I ask, thinking back to our conversation in the parking lot.
"Well, my Uncle was obsessed with Oasis and Blur, so I grew up on them. As for more modern stuff, probably Coldplay, Mumford & Sons, and The Killers.
"Basic," I snort.
"Oh yeah?" he raises his eyebrows, "What do you like? Really cool indie records no one has ever heard of?"
"Dude, do you know me at all? I fully have the music taste of a middle-aged man. Give me the Beatles, the Who, Pink Floyd, Queen, Bowie, The Velvet Underground, Tom Petty, and basically anything 60s folk, classic rock, or Motown."
"That's a lot of British groups," he notes.
"I will concede that music is the one thing you guys do better. Culturally, that is. And Oasis is good," I concede.
"Finally we're getting somewhere," he grins.
Hour 2:
5 Miles from the West Virginia Border
"Ella, we should be coming up on the border of West Virginia. Are we going to need to show ID?"
"Normally no. US states are like the EU in that way. John Cornell might have fucked that up for us, though. We're luckily going in a weird direction and coming in through the woods, so I don't think there will be anything more than a sign. There's a million roads out of Maryland and Virginia, and there's no way my dad has people at all of them within two hours."
"Got it."
"So which states have you been to before?" I ask, trying to blow oxygen into the dying flame of our conversation. The trip has been nearly silent, a still awkwardness filling up this car and boxing me in.
"DC," he begins.
"Not a state," I correct.
"This is why I try not to think about your country," he chuckles, "Anyways, California, Florida, Colorado, then Virginia and Maryland with you, and I've been to New York City."
"Six states isn't bad for a dirty foreigner," I tease, "And by the end of this trip you'll be a bona fide US traveler."
"Finally, something to brag about," he smiles.
"Wait, Alex, before we cross the border, could you grab the radio we bought, please?"
Alex unbuckles his seatbelt and twists so he can reach into the backseat. I fight to keep my eyes on the road. After a moment, he resurfaces, radio in hand. He inserts the batteries and powers it on.
We click through the different stations until we finally get to the police scanner.
"We've got a 10-54," a voice alerts us through the radio.
"Are we screwed?" Alex clutches the radio.
"There's a guide in my backpack," I instruct. "Front pocket, tucked behind the first aid kit."
"Got it," Alex declares, flipping through the pages frantically. "God," he laughs.
"What, what is it?" I take my eyes off the road to look over at him.
"Livestock on the road," he reads, and we descend into laughter, the mood of the car finally lightening up like humidity after some cool, cool rain.
We are able to cross the border into West Virginia without issue. Alex and I release a collective sigh as we roll past the "Wild and Wonderful" Sign unscathed. It's late, nearly 2am, and by my estimates, we have nearly 3 hours to go until we get to Derek's.
Another mile or two down the road, I feel another shooting pain in my lower abdomen. I reach for the Ibuprofen I stashed in my hoodie pocket in anticipation the pains would return, and I swallow a handful of them dry. I do not remember my last implant giving me cramps this bad, but that must be what this is.
I slow the car down to five below the speed limit, my hands shaking. The thrumming pain makes my entire lower abdomen feel like it's on fire, and the next time the pain increases I have to shut my eyes, causing me to swerve the car.
"Bloody hell, Ella, stop driving!" Alex exclaims.
"I'm sorry," I rasp, pulling over into the shoulder. I brake harder than I should and somehow am able to put the car in park. I'm hunched over the steering wheel in pain–thankfully there's no one else on the road.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Alex exclaims, "I thought you were done with those bloody pills! I guess this was just another lie because here we are in the middle of fucking nowhere and you're high behind the steering wheel again!"
"I'm not high," I say, my voice scratchy, "I'm in a lot of pain."
"Is that really the angle you're taking here?" his voice elevates, "I can't believe that after all this time you're still just on pills."
"Alex!" I exclaim, "Please stop yelling." I'm fighting tears in the corners of my eyes. "I had a procedure done yesterday and I just started getting shooting pains. All I took was Ibuprofen just now."
"I'm calling bullshit."
"I said I wouldn't lie to you," I say, clutching my stomach.
He leans over to look me in the eyes. "What procedure did you have?"
"That's personal."
"Yeah, there's no way," he shakes his head.
"Okay!" I exclaim, "Like 36 hours ago I had the birth control implant in my arm exchanged and then the doctor stuck something metal inside of my vagina so he could swab it to make sure I don't have cancer. Now, some combination of those two events has been giving me horrible cramps on and off since then. Happy?" I snap.
Alex's eyes widen. "That was personal," he mumbles. He clears his throat. "I'm sorry for assuming the worst, Ella."
"Just be nice to me for a few minutes, please. And could you maybe drive?"
"I guess so, but I've never really driven in the US before."
"Just for a few minutes while I wait for this pain to subside? Please?"
"Ella, maybe we should just stop for the night. It's dark and creepy here, and you can barely move. Look," he points at a sign maybe 200 feet ahead, "There's something called 'Lost River Campground' up ahead. We can sleep there for the night. It's only 10 miles away. That's, fuck, how many kilometers?"
"Like 16," I rasp, "And we are definitely getting murdered there."
"Okay, I can handle 16 kilometers," he takes a deep breath, "And the campsite is probably lower profile than a hotel. 'Sides, it's the only lodging anywhere near here and we don't have GPS."
"Look who's finally learning," I smile. I get out of the driver's seat slowly and trade places with Alex. Sure, we're in the middle of Appalachian nowhere, but it's still a miracle that no cars have gone by.
Hour 2.5:
McCauley, West Virginia
"You look really pale," Alex notes as he clicks his seatbelt.
"Yeah, kind of dying over here."
"Anything I can do?"
"Please just drive. I need to get the hell out of this car."
I spend the next 15 minutes curled into a ball in the passenger seat. The pain is coming at me in waves and I make a mental note to Google this once I have access to the internet again.
"Hello, folks! Do you have a reservation with us?" a voice so chipper it's hostile asks as Alex rolls to a stop on the dirt road entrance.
"No, Sir, sorry about that," Alex replies, to the Park Ranger sans-British accent, "My girlfriend and I were driving and got too tired to continue. We were hoping to stay here for the night in our tent."
"Well, here at Lost River Campground, we have a strict reservations-only policy, especially in the summer."
"We're from Maryland, so we didn't know. I'm very sorry, Sir," Alex replies, "Normally we would never ask, but we're too tired to drive another kilo–MILE," Alex corrects himself. "We were hoping a stranger might show us a little kindness tonight? We'll be out of your hair by the morning."
The Park Ranger pauses. It's dark and I can't get a good look at his face. "I really shouldn't," he starts.
"We'll pay double," I say quickly, glancing at the 'rates' sign next to him, "That's what, $50 for the night?"
"Ma'am, it is extremely inappropriate for you to try and bribe me," he says sternly. Shit.
"Don't think of it like a bribe," I soften my voice, "Think of it as a donation to the campsite. I'm sure there's some equipment that needed to be replaced ages ago, but it just hasn't been in the budget." I see Alex nod his head almost imperceptibly.
"Well, now that you mention it, I've been trying to get the boss to install a tetherball court for years. Think about how much fun it would be for the kiddos."
"That's so great," I cut him off. I pull three $20 bills from my wallet. "Here, keep the change. For tetherball," I smile.
His eyes light up. "Why thank you, Ma'am. You folks will be at site #21 just down the road," he points, "And here is a list of our amenities and a list of our rules. Check-out is at noon tomorrow!"
"Thanks, Ricky," Alex reads the Park Ranger's nameplate, "Have a good one, and enjoy the tetherball." Alex guns it, presumably by accident, but I laugh anyway. "Ella, as soon as you feel better, we're finding an open lot and you're teaching me how to drive this beast."
"Hey, don't speak about her like that. My girl Rikki has gotten us through some tough times already."
"Did you name the car after the park ranger you bribed?" Alex snorts.
"Yes. Spelled R-I-K-K-I. She's a classy gal. And I didn't bribe him, Alex, I started his tetherball fund."
"What is a tetherball anyway?"
"It's a tall pole with a volleyball attached to the top by a string. The goal is to hit the ball over your opponent's head until the entire string wraps around the pole."
"And this was Human Ricky's lifelong dream that he compromised his morals to accept a bribe for?" Alex looks unimpressed.
I hide a laugh. "Hey, it got us a place to sleep for the night."
Interlude #1
Lost River Campgrounds
Lost City, West Virginia
We pull into the parking lot with maybe 20 other cars. It's pitch black and I beg Alex to drive slow so we don't hit a deer or a toddler or something.
I'm still doubled over in pain, clutching my stomach while Alex reads the map. "Looks like the campsite is seven minutes from here. You okay to walk?"
"Not yet. I'm going to sit here and wait for the Ibuprofen to kick in."
"Honestly, Ella? I'm grateful for the place to sleep for the night, but the idea of unpacking the whole car just for a few hours makes me want to weep. It's warm enough outside. Can't we just sleep in the car?"
"I'm definitely more comfortable with that. No one can steal from us, and we can leave immediately if things go awry."
Alex nods. "I'm going to grab a sleeping bag and a bottle of water for myself. Can I get you the same?"
"Please," I reply, "Oh, and can you find those pocket hand warmers? I think applying heat to my whole situation might help."
"If that's what you're calling it now," Alex jokes and exits the car.
"Ew," I shake my head and try to will the medicine into acting.
A few minutes later, I angle my seat back and slip into my sleeping bag. I'm using a folded-up hoodie as a pillow. It's not the Ritz or anything, but it could be a lot worse. I have a few hand warmers on my lower abdomen and they are doing alright at alleviating the pain.
Alex hands me a plastic water bottle and clinks his own against it. "To our first night on the run," he toasts. I nod. "Seriously, are you alright? I'm sorry, again, for assuming the worst."
"I get why you did," I reply, "But seriously, I'm clean," I pause, "Well, except for a lot of weed and alcohol last night but I digress." Alex smiles and shakes his head. "What, are you going to hate me for that too? It was social."
"No, I was going to ask if you had anything. We are on the run from a foreign government and sleeping in a car in the middle of the woods. It might help me sleep," he shrugs.
"You've come to the right place," I grin. I pull a tube of what appears to be chapstick out of my backpack from Camp David. I remove the cap, tip the tube upside down, and a joint falls into my hand. "Nature's painkiller," I say as I place it between my lips.
Alex takes a Bic lighter from the center console and lazily flicks it on. I jut my chin towards him and he meets me in the middle. I feel the warmth of the flame on my cheek as he lights the joint in my mouth. I inhale deeply and let my lungs fill up with smoke. Keeping the joint between my teeth, I crack open the window and exhale completely, the world already feeling a little softer.
"You smoke often?" I ask, handing him the J, still staring out the window.
"This will actually be my first time," he says, taking it from me so awkwardly.
"Wait, seriously?" I turn to face him.
"My youth wasn't quite as troubled as yours, and I was raised thinking that drugs were bad."
"Um, my Dad works for the CIA. So was I. I just chose to have fun," I smirk.
Alex shakes his head. "Show me." I take J and hold it between my thumb and index fingers. I take a quick drag and blow the smoke towards him this time.
"Don't inhale for too long. Seriously, two seconds will do." My fingers brush against his as I hand him back the joint. He grips it between his fingers, just like I did, and holds the end up to his lips. "Now sort of suck on it," I instruct, "But not for too long or you'll cough up a lung." He listens and purses his lips against the paper. He inhales for maybe half a second before sputtering and choking. I steal it back and hand him his water bottle. "Hey, that was a good start. Now take a sip of water and try it again." I take a slow hit and blow it out the window. After maybe thirty seconds Alex has stopped coughing. "That was one of the more impressive first tries I've ever seen," I grin, "For mine, I coughed for twenty minutes and my sister had to take me home."
"The student becomes the master," he grins.
"Not so fast," I shake my head. I hold the joint up to his lips and he takes another hit. His top lip grazes against my finger but I don't pull away and I don't know why. "I'm proud of you," I say when he only coughs twice this time. He grins and does it again.
"Think I'm good," he says and I agree. I open the door and put out the joint gently, before dropping the bottom half of it back into my fake chapstick tube. "What do we do now?"
"Well normally I'd put on some music, but I may just lose it if I have to listen to the Backstreet Boys. Just look out the window at the stars," I exhale. Jokes aside, the weed did alleviate some of the pain in my lower abdomen and I'm finally able to move around and get more comfortable.
"It's nice you can actually see stars here," he remarks, "There's nothing like this in London."
"Or in DC," I reply, thinking back to stargazing with Noa last night. The past 24 hours feel like a lifetime.
"Isn't time strange?" I ask.
"Every song ever written started as silence," Alex says at the exact same time.
"Woah," I reply, "That's heavy."
Alex sighs deeply as if he is Atlas holding onto that thought. "So is time," he nods. We're silent for a while longer–I don't look at the clocks–before he speaks again. "Ella?"
"Yeah, Alex?" I yawn into my fist.
"Do you believe in good and evil?"
I turn back to face him again. "Not in a 'black and white' sense. I believe that everything in the whole universe," I gesture across the car, "Is a different shade of gray. Some grays are lighter or darker than others, but mostly we're all just gray."
"That's depressing."
"It's called nuance. Just because I've saved lives doesn't make me Wonder Woman. Just because I've killed doesn't make me Lex Luthor. I'm just Ella," I consider, "And also Elsje and Megan and Bella and Eloise and everybody else," I chuckle, "But mostly just Ella."
Alex nods. "It's easier to believe in pure evil, I think, because I need to distance myself from the real monsters I've met in the field. I'm not perfect, but I'm not them." I watch his lips move slowly in time with his voice, mesmerized by their movement.
"Oh, well, a touch of grey/Kind of suits you anyway," I sing back to him after a second. "And you are perfect, Alex. There's no one else I'd rather be in this car with right now. It's perfect that you're here."
"You wouldn't rather Noa or Oliver here instead?" He raises an eyebrow.
"Oliver would be so high-strung about this that he wouldn't let me have a say in anything. And Noa is my best friend in this whole gray world but this still feels more right to me," I reply, "I don't know why."
"Some people were just meant to meet, I guess," he says after a moment. I turn that sentence over and over in my mind like a piece of broken glass in the ocean until it's polished.
"Sometimes the universe gets things right," I consider, "But only sometimes."
"Yeah," he agrees, "It feels like I should have either met you fifteen years ago or five years in the future. Maybe the universe got that wrong too."
"How do you figure?" I ask, suddenly become very aware of what I'm saying.
"Because we're so similar. And not just because of our um, professions. I just understand you," he says, making some pretty serious eye contact.
"Well, I promise to reintroduce myself in five years' time," I say, quickly changing the subject, "Maybe you'll find me in a different city instead of Den Haag. Who knows what version of my name I'll be going by then."
Alex smiles, still maintaining eye contact. "Don't wait so long," he says and the words cut into me.
I want to ask him what he means. How he feels. Why both five years, and shorter. But something about the weed, the heating packs, and the cool West Virginia summer breeze coming in through the windows has other plans for me.
I fall asleep to the wind and to Alex's measured breathing beside me.
I wake up with the sun, feeling surprisingly refreshed. It's just before 7:00 in the morning and the sun is poking out over the mountains and streaming in through the front of the car. The campground is peaceful: the only noises I hear are the light breeze outside and Alex's relaxed breathing from next to me.
All of my pain has subsided, and I feel the immediate need to stretch my legs. I grab my backpack and slowly open the car door, careful not to wake him up.
The outside air is already warm and wraps around me like a blanket. I breathe in the mountain air and cross the street towards the bathrooms.
I use the bathroom, brush my teeth, and slather on some more deodorant while staring at my reflection in the mirror. I study the scar reaching from my cheekbone to my temple that I gave myself last year in Switzerland. I'm lucky it was only superficial and send a silent thanks over to the plastic surgeon in France who made that possible.
I have another scar, at the end of my left eyebrow. It's barely visible, but if you look closely enough you can see my eyebrow get a little patchy and tufted at the end. This one was actually the fault of a poorly placed coffee table and a three-year-old Ella.
All in all, it's impressive I've been able to keep my face this free of bumps and bruises and scars. My arms and legs are another story, but I try not to think about them too much.
I stare into my eyes. I currently have brown contacts covering up my green irises. They feel a little dry, so I remove them and exchange them for blue ones. The blue contacts bring my reflection a little closer to what I'm used to.
I run my fingers through my hair. For once, it's my natural light brown color, resting just above my shoulders. I have to admit, I did a pretty good job of cutting it evenly in DC Alex's bathroom.
I'm lucky not to be interrupted, and when I leave the bathroom my eyes land on the most beautiful thing in this entire campground: signs for showers. I'm not sure when my next opportunity will be, and I'd prefer not to be completely disgusting for the next few days.
Alex is still asleep when I get back to the car in search of a change of clothes. We don't have towels, so I find a second T-shirt that will do the job. Alex and I had bought one bottle of 3-in-1 shampoo, conditioner, and body wash (I swear I'm usually better than this, but we are very short on space, and cutting back on two additional bottles was necessary) that I stack onto my pile of clothes and put everything into a plastic Walmart bag.
The stream of water is slow and a little cold, but it's healing. A day's worth of being in the car and traipsing around DC Public Transport washes down the drain as I scrub my skin raw.
I dry myself off with an old sleep shirt and change into a sky blue Shenandoah National Park t-shirt and heather gray athletic shorts. My wet hair clings to the back of my neck as I step back into the sun.
Alex is leaning against the hood of the car, talking to Ricky of all people. "Megan!" he exclaims when he sees me, "There you are. I think it's time we get back on the road." His face looks pained. Freaking Ricky. He tosses me the keys and I get back into the driver's seat. "Well, Champ, looks like my girl is ready to get out of here," he says, standing up straight, "Thanks again for your generosity." He gets into the passenger seat quickly and mumbles at me to "Just start driving" before his seat belt even clicks.
Hour 3:
Lost City, West Virginia (But on the move this time)
I blow Ricky a kiss as I back the car out of the parking lot. "Champ?" I giggle once we make it onto the real road.
"Ells, you have no idea what I've been through in the past five minutes. He came up next to me at the urinal and followed me back to the car. He was telling me that he still felt guilty about taking the extra money from us, but was glad that it would go right back to the kids, which was helping him get over the guilt," Alex shakes his head.
"It's over," I reassure him. "And for the record, no one below age 40 calls anybody 'champ,'" I tease, "This isn't Gatsby, Old Sport."
"Excuse me?"
"Ever read a book?" I ask.
"Honestly, no. I didn't go to school for like two straight years."
"I didn't go to school at all except for a few missions. I guess I went to kindergarten and first grade to 'learn how to interact with real human children' but got pulled out and homeschooled after that."
"Sucks," Alex remarks.
"Honestly? I probably would have hated public school. I liked learning at my own pace and actually getting to experience what I was being taught. I'm not saying it was perfect, but I think that living in France for 6 months was much more valuable to my learning French than a classroom would have been."
"You lived in France?"
"Yep. Spent half a year in Normandy when I was nine. I'm sure my Dad was on some type of mission, but I went with him to immerse myself in the language."
"You were absolutely just a part of his cover," Alex notes.
"Shit, Rider, you're probably right," I shake my head like an etch-a-sketch to clear the thought, "Anyways, how are you feeling this morning, Human Ricky excluded?"
Alex nods. "Yeah, I'm alright. I fell asleep pretty soon after you did and I feel surprisingly well rested."
"I'm glad," I smile, "Would you be able to grab my phone for me please?" Alex had activated two of those Walmart burners during the drive yesterday. He opens the glove compartment and takes out one of the phones. "Great, thank you. Dial 304-439-0116 and put it on speaker, please."
"I do love being your secretary," Alex remarks.
"Would you rather drive, Mr. Kilometers?" I challenge him.
"Just joking," he shakes his head and after a few seconds, I hear the phone ringing.
"Who is this?" a voice on the other end of the phone demands the second the call connects.
"Derek! This is Eliza Hansen. How the hell are you?"
"Eliza?" Derek clears his throat, "I-I'm good. What's up with you?"
"Your location is the same?" I ask.
"Yep."
"I'll see you in two-and-a-half hours," I reply. "Hang up," I mouth to Alex.
Alex closes the phone. "How many fucking pseudonyms do you have, and how do you remember them all?" Alex asks incredulously.
"There's a method to my madness. I usually pick between the names 'Bella,' 'Eliza,' and 'Isla,' if I'm in the US. Abroad it depends, but I'm usually 'Elsje' or 'Elizabeth' or maybe a more local version of my name. Just need to remember which one I use with which people, but it helps to visualize either them saying my name or how I met them. Derek is my gun guy. That reminds me of the name 'Gunnar' so I match my last name to the only 'Gunnar' I know–Gunnar Hansen better known as Leatherface from the Texas Chainsaw Massacre."
"You're insane."
"Thanks," I smile.
"How do I even know your name is actually Ella Cornell?"
"You don't," I consider, "But I swear it is. You're a stand-up guy and deserve real name privileges."
"What an honor," Alex shakes his head. "So what makes someone 'real name worthy?'"
"Family, both blood and chosen; Mrs. Jones and crew; a few CIA people; and everybody at Oxford knows me as Ella."
"And what category am I?"
"Well, you started out as 'Mrs. Jones and crew,' but I like to think we're more than just MI6 colleagues. I mean, we've stolen a laptop, shared a bottle of Jenever, and then I came to save your ass from my own government. Clearly, you're more to me than just some British boy who works at MI6."
"So what am I?" he presses on.
I choose to deflect. "I would say my chicken fight partner, but we lost miserably to Noa and Yuri, so I'm actively looking for your replacement."
"I think we lost miserably to the bottle of Jenever," he cracks.
"Details, details," I laugh as I continue down the road.
Hour 6:
Mill Creek, West Virginia
"Alex, wake up," I hiss. He had fallen asleep quickly into the drive, leaving The King and I alone. I don't care what anyone says: I will not be listening to the Grease soundtrack unless it's being used to torture me for information.
"How are we still in the woods?" he mumbles.
"Wake up, City Boy, we're here." I nudge his arm. We're parked in front of a very inconspicuous log cabin right on the edge of the Monongahela National Forest.
"Can't you get your off-the-grid guns by yourself?" he asks.
"So I have to drive, I have to navigate with a paper map, and I also have to negotiate buying guns?" I deadpan, "You're not a damsel in distress. Get up."
"Fair enough," he replies with a yawn, "Give me one sec."
Interlude #2
A Very Inconspicuous Log Cabin Right On The Edge Of The Monongahela National Forest
Mill Creek, West Virginia
"How do you know this guy again?" Alex wondered. His leg (which was still sore from when Ella kicked him) was asleep from his nap in the car and he was buying as much time for himself as possible.
"He used to sell me weed back home. He had to relocate after a few run-ins with the police. He was kicked out of the army and started 3D-printing his own guns. They're completely untraceable."
"You can 3D-print a gun?" Alex asked. "That feels," he paused, "Like dystopian levels of evil."
Ella nodded. "Oh, it is. You can sneak them onto planes so easily and they're utterly untraceable."
"I'm not sure how comfortable I am with this," Alex hesitated.
"Look at me," Ella commanded, "We hope for the best but prepare for the worst. With luck, we won't need them at all. Best case scenario, we will have wasted a few hours and a few hundred bucks. However," she drew out the word, "I know you are more realistic than that. We're on the run from the CIA. They're not exactly going to use Nerf guns."
Alex nodded. "I'm only shooting as a last resort," he promised Ella, but mostly himself, "I'm not like your other friends. I won't kill unless there is a real threat against one of our lives.
"Alex, why do you think I've made myself the languages and negotiations person?" Ella said slowly. "I've worked hard on those skills for years so that it's never a question what my role is. I don't want to be the muscle, and I'm not the brains, so I made sure to become the face…and the voice, I guess. I'm not too keen on 'shooting first and asking questions later' either."
Alex nodded. "I see what you mean. And for the record, you could absolutely be the brains. You're more than just a face."
Ella sobered. "Not sure if I believe it, but I appreciate it."
"Ella, are you kidding me?" Alex was genuinely shocked. "You drafted up an entire military-type strategy on how to evade the CIA–off the cuff, in a parking lot, might I add–and were right about it. You make up pseudonyms with the most impressive associations. Hell, you even brought a police signal guidebook on the run with us. You could absolutely be the brains if you wanted to."
She smiled softly. "That's really nice of you to say," she paused, "But I think I suffer from a lack of a frontal cortex sometimes and I don't know why."
"Because you're nineteen, have insane friends, and basically live your life by James Bond movie rules," Alex suggested.
"You're a lot more forgiving of me than I am," Ella remarked.
Alex shrugged. "I just have a different perspective, I guess."
Ella took a deep breath. "Then I would really hope you retain your perspectives and forgiveness when you hear what I'm about to ask you," she said quickly. Alex furrowed his brow and frowned. "Would you please pretend to be my boyfriend while we're inside? Nothing crazy, I just don't want Derek to hit on me."
"Um."
Ella continued. "We were never together. We made out once when I was a lot younger and a lot dumber. Now he kind of weirds me out and I just want to get out as soon as possible. Just like, put your arm around my shoulder when he first opens the door."
"Yeah, I can do that," Alex nodded, "You sure you're okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, everything's great," she whispered.
A moment later, Alex and Ella were standing on the front porch of the cabin. Ella knocked on the door sharply, and it was answered almost immediately. The man behind the door looked to be a few years older than Alex himself. He wore khakis and a crisp navy blue polo. This clean-pressed, professional-looking guy was not at all what Alex had expected.
"Eliza," he greeted Ella, his eyes flicking from her head to her toes and back up again.
"Hi, Derek."
"Who's this?" he glanced over at Alex.
"Her boyfriend," Alex jumped in, putting his arm around her shoulder, "Been 6 months now. I'm Tom."
"Boyfriend," Derek's voice is strained, "Great. Why don't you both come in?" he gestured. "Want anything to drink?" he asked as the trio stood really close together in the entryway.
"No thanks, Derek, we're here strictly for business reasons," Ella declared.
"Sorry for trying to be a good host," he mumbled.
"We're looking for something 3D-printed," Ella continued.
"It's just a little rude to bring over a guest to someone's house without telling them," Derek said, the two of them having completely different conversations. Alex tightened his grip on Ella's shoulder, "I just feel like you maybe should have asked first. I run a sensitive business, you know."
"I am very aware of your business which is the whole reason I'm here. Could you please show me what you've printed recently?"
"C'mon, Eliza, no need to be that way. It's just me. Why don't you give me a hug and we'll start over."
Alex took a step forward, putting himself in between Derek and Ella. "I think the lady here was looking to purchase something here, Mate," he said, his English accent weaving its way back in just a little.
"Hey, man, we're all cool here." Derek took a step back and put his hands up towards his face.
"I'm glad to hear it because if we weren't, I'd pick you up by your neck while she searched your place and took whatever she wanted." Alex stood about 6 inches taller than Derek, and he made sure the other man knew it.
"Of course, man. No problems here at all. You two stay here and I'll be right back." He makes a move to leave.
"Don't try anything funny or I'm leaving here with your left ear," Alex called back.
"You're the best fake boyfriend I've ever had," Ella whispered into Alex's (still attached) left ear.
Alex blushed at her words, hard. "You're not so bad yourself, for a fake girlfriend," he whispered, patting her shoulder. He and Ella made eye contact and held it for a moment. He noticed her eyes were blue now and found himself being quite drawn to them. Alex racked his brain for something–anything–to say right now, but his mind was inexplicably blank. He used his free hand, the one not currently on Ella's shoulder, to tuck a flyaway piece of hair behind her ear. He heard Ella's breath get caught in her throat. Alex's mind began to bend as he kept staring into those pale blue eyes and was almost thankful when he saw Derek coming back into the room. Almost.
Alex finally broke eye contact with Ella, but the room was thick with tension. Something was going to happen, and Alex wanted to be the one who acted first. He leaned in towards Ella, held the side of her head with his left hand, and gave her a kiss on the temple, all while making eye contact with Derek. Her skin was so soft against his lips that he almost melted then and there.
How Alex was able to maintain his composure, he did not know. He and Ella paid for the guns–these two 3D-printed pistols that looked too much like a child's toy–and some ammunition and got out of the hell out of the cabin as fast as they could.
Hour 6.1:
Mill Creek, West Virginia
On The Road Again
Is it possible to black out after an interaction? Because I swear that's what just happened to me. After Alex pulled me in for that kiss–and it was just on the side of my head–my neurons stopped firing normally. Instead of paying any attention to Derek (Okay, I was just aware enough to select the guns I wanted) all I could think about was the warmth of his lips against my skin.
We race back to the car, only making conversation about which roads to avoid. The curriculum from the John Cornell School of Teaching Military Tactics to Children is very much coming in handy right now. Who knew being forced to memorize the locations of every military base in the United States would be so applicable to my life?
We do our best to avoid the ones I can remember: Alex reads me town names and we elect to take the country back roads up north towards the Pennsylvania border. We stay off most major highways and choose to stay in interior West Virginia to keep our distance from Maryland and Camp David.
We say nothing about Derek, nothing about the kiss, and nothing at all besides directions.
During our silences, I listen to Elvis and think about what Alex said to me earlier. How he said he only would shoot if someone's life was in peril. When he shot the Scorpia guy for kissing me, I was definitely uncomfortable, but clearly not in any mortal danger. Why did he change his rules for me?
Why was he almost too good at being my fake boyfriend in front of Derek? He was protective, stood up for me, and definitely made him jealous with that kiss. Would he have shot Derek if he went any further?
That kiss! That damn kiss. I swear the skin on my temple is still burning bright and hot from his touch. There was absolutely nothing fake about that kiss. But what does that mean? What does any of it mean?
I would give anything to be able to talk to a girl right now. I'd subtract a year off my life to have Noa or Fenna or even Ava in the car with me right now. Instead, I'm stuck alone with my thoughts, the boy who just kissed my forehead, and the crooning of Elvis Fucking Presley.
All in all, it takes us nearly three hours to get to Morgantown, right on the Pennsylvania border.
Hour 9:
Morgantown, West Virginia
A Classic Elvis Christmas in August, I've decided, needs to be thrown out the window and crushed with my tires. "Here Comes Santa Claus" really loses its charm after the sixth time of hearing it.
I've made no progress on the whole forehead kiss issue, but the silence is becoming unbearable. "So, Alex, Morgantown is actually civilization. I was thinking we might pick up some lunch or something and take a little break from driving. It's nearly three and I haven't anything besides a Pop Tart and I can't stop thinking about hot food." Sure. Yes, okay. It's hot food that I haven't stopped thinking about.
"That sounds good to me," Alex nods, "A real meal sounds perfect." No. You sound perfect. Shit. Pull yourself together, Cornell.
I spy a Popeye's along the road and pull into a parking spot. Alex and I each pull on a hoodie, ballcap, and sunglasses before we walk inside. I order for the both of us while he uses the restroom, and then we switch.
If you had told me a month ago–no, 48 hours ago–that I would be eating Popeye's with Alex Rider in a neighborhood park in Morgantown, West Virginia, I would have called you insane. If you had upped the ante and said he'd kissed me, I would have told you to stop conflating my life with a romance novel.
We finish up our chicken and biscuits, and I take out the guns and begin examining them. Alex and I each practice loading them and holding them, though we don't pull the triggers.
Our laps are covered with ghost guns and a pile of ammunition when a police vehicle pulls up behind us, illuminating our entire car. "Oh holy shit," I exclaim. This is not good. Alex and I exchanged a panicked glance. I scramble, knowing it's unlikely we're getting out of this without getting arrested.
"That can't be good," his voice is shaky.
I hear the door shut from the car behind us. Footsteps are approaching us and I do the only thing I can think of.
Instinct takes over and I climb out of the driver's seat and onto the passenger seat, gun in my hand. Bullets fly off of my legs and spill all over the car. I straddle Alex's lap, put the two guns in the very narrow chasm between our bodies and slip them under his shirt. I press my body against his and kiss his chin softly. "Don't enjoy this," I breathe as I lean in to kiss him again–for real this time. He looks surprised at first but then his hands are in my hair and we're both breathing heavily and we're interrupted by a sharp knock on the window.
I reach over to roll down the car's window and see a police officer staring back at me. Alex has his hand on my other arm, steadying me, and I easily sink back into his lap. "I know, get a room," I chuckle awkwardly, "We're moving on, don't worry."
"License and registration please," the officer is not amused.
"I'm sorry, officer, have we done something wrong?" Alex asks in a very passable Mid-Atlantic American accent and I kiss him on the corner of his mouth. To keep up appearances, obviously. "I'm sorry–both of our roommates are home and we were looking for somewhere a little more private." Alex lying to cops is perhaps the most attractive thing about him yet. I wrap my arms around his neck, press my body against his, and look over at the officer.
"We can go home though, if you'd prefer. Maybe it's best we just watch a movie," I plead to the officer.
"License and registration please," he repeats himself. I hesitate for a moment before pulling out my ID from my back pocket. "Megan Wilson?" he asks and I nod. I reach into the glove compartment and send a quick mental thank you to Joe as my hands graze the registration papers at the top. The officer lingers, looking around the car. "Ma'am, are those bullets on the floor of your car?"
"No, but I sure am sweating bullets," I reply for some reason.
"Yeah, you two will have to wait right here while I check these," he commands and walks back to his vehicle. I swallow. I am sure this vehicle has already been reported and we are screwed. Why were we messing around with the guns out in the open like this? During daylight? At absolute best, we are going to have to switch out the license plates two states into this mess of a journey. At worst, I'm recognized, arrested, and not allowed to leave the country on my own terms, and Alex is maimed and possibly deported. I look over Alex's shoulder and notice that the officer is the only one in the car and already I'm forming a new plan.
"I'm sorry about this," I say to Alex, gesturing towards our bodies, "It was the only thing I could think of to give us a reason unrelated to illegal guns and running from the government for being out here. If they arrest us for anything, we'll be turned over immediately."
"It's okay," Alex breathes. I begin climbing off of his lap but he pulls me back down. I wince. "Ella, wait. I never got to kiss you back." I stare at him, speechless. His hands are back in my hair, and I'm leaning in, and our lips are touching, and his tongue is brushing my gums. I close my eyes and kiss him 'til I run out of air.
AN: ! ! ! ! ! !
I've had the closing scene written for literal months and it took forever to get the rest of this chapter up to snuff. (The inspiration came from the scene(Google this and click on the first result): andy and nancy kissing at the border weeds scene). The video is called Weeds; Andy and Nancy.
Ella is my one step forwards, two steps backwards queen.
I'm becoming active again on Tumblr and have begun posting about I Spy. Follow me at flowersforzoe11 !