THE LAST ALIBI

The Long Way North

The pickup truck ate up the highway. North. Away from Baltimore. Away from the body in the warehouse.

Cole drove with both hands on the wheel. His eyes kept flicking to the rearview mirror. Headlights behind them. Always there. Never close enough to identify.

Clark sat in the passenger seat. His hands were in his lap. Clean now. But he kept staring at them. The hands that had pulled the trigger.

Frankie lay in the back seat. His broken arm was wrapped in a makeshift sling. His face was swollen. But his eyes were alert.

Ava sat between Frankie and the door. She hadn't spoken since they left the warehouse. Her eyes were dry. But her body shook.

Petra was in the truck bed. Covered by a tarp. Watching the road behind them. A rifle across her knees.

“How far to the border?” Cole asked.

“Six hours,” Frankie said. “If we don't stop.”

“We need to stop. We need fuel. Food. Medicine for your arm.”

“There's a town twenty miles ahead. Small. No cameras. We can risk it.”

Cole nodded. The highway was dark. The trees were thick on both sides.

Clark spoke. His voice was hollow. “I killed him.”

“You saved us,” Cole said.

“I killed our father.”

“He stopped being our father a long time ago.”

Clark turned. Looked at Cole. “Does that make it easier? Telling yourself he wasn't family?”

“Nothing makes it easier.”

The truck fell silent. The engine hummed.

Twenty miles passed. The town appeared. A single gas station. A diner. A motel with a flickering sign.

Cole pulled into the gas station. Parked by the pumps.

“I'll fill the tank. Frankie, you get supplies. Clark, stay with Ava.”

Clark nodded. He didn't move.

Cole got out. The night air was cold. The gas pump clicked. He watched the numbers climb.

A car pulled in behind him. A sedan. Dark blue. Two men inside.

Cole's hand went to his pistol. But the men just got out. Walked into the convenience store. Bought coffee. Left.

Just travelers.

Cole finished fueling. Frankie came out with a plastic bag. Bandages. Antibiotics. Bottled water. Energy bars.

“They had a payphone inside,” Frankie said. “I called an old contact. He says the news is reporting that Charles Mathers was found dead in a warehouse. They're calling it a murder. They're looking for you.”

“How long until they trace the call?”

“Ten minutes. Maybe less.”

“Then we leave. Now.”

Cole got back in the truck. Started the engine. Pulled onto the highway.

The headlights behind them followed.

Not the sedan from the gas station. Different lights. SUV. Black.

Cole sped up. The SUV sped up.

“We have a tail,” he said.

Clark turned. Looked through the rear window. “Aegis. They found us.”

“How?”

“The phone call. They must be monitoring Frankie's contacts.”

Frankie cursed. “I'm sorry. I didn't think.”

“No time for sorry.” Cole pressed the accelerator. The truck lurched forward. “Hold on.”

The SUV gained. Its headlights filled the rearview.

Cole swerved onto an exit ramp. The SUV followed. Tires squealed.

The exit led to a two-lane road. Farms. Fields. Dark.

Cole killed his headlights. The road disappeared. He drove by memory. By feel.

The SUV's lights swept across the fields. Searching.

Cole turned onto a dirt road. The truck bounced. Rocks pinged against the undercarriage.

Behind them, the SUV's lights grew smaller. Then disappeared.

Cole drove another mile. Then stopped. Killed the engine.

Silence. Darkness.

They waited.

Five minutes. Ten.

No lights. No sounds.

“They lost us,” Frankie whispered.

“Or they're waiting,” Clark said. “For backup.”

Cole started the engine. Turned on the lights. Drove back to the highway.

The rest of the drive was quiet. No tails. No roadblocks.

At 4 AM, they reached the border. A small crossing. Closed for the night.

Frankie directed them to a logging road. Unmarked. Through the woods.

“This is how we cross,” he said. “No cameras. No guards. Just trees and mud.”

Cole drove onto the logging road. The truck slipped in the mud. The trees closed in.

An hour later, they emerged on a paved road. A sign in French.

Canada.

Cole pulled over. Killed the engine.

They were across.

But Evelyn was still in the cabin. On the other side of the border.

Cole looked at Clark. “We need to go back.”

“We can't. They're watching every crossing.”

“Then I go alone. I get mother. I bring her here.”

Clark shook his head. “That's suicide.”

“She's my mother. I'm not leaving her.”

Frankie spoke from the back. “There's another way. A safe house in Vermont. Near the border. We can hole up there. Plan the rescue from closer.”

“How far?”

“Three hours east.”

Cole looked at the sky. Gray was creeping over the trees. Dawn.

“Three hours. Then we plan.”

He drove.

The sun rose over the Canadian countryside. Farms. Forests. Small towns.

The safe house was a farmhouse. Old. Isolated. A barn in the back.

Frankie directed them up a long driveway. Cole parked behind the barn. Out of sight.

Inside, the farmhouse was dusty. But livable. Beds. A wood stove. Canned food in the pantry.

Ava collapsed on a couch. Asleep within seconds.

Petra covered her with a blanket. Sat beside her.

Clark stood by the window. Watching the driveway.

Frankie sat at the kitchen table. Cole cleaned his wounds. Set his broken arm with a splint.

“You've done this before,” Frankie said.

“Army training. We had to improvise.”

“Your father taught you?”

“My father taught me nothing. The army taught me everything.”

Frankie nodded. His face was pale. But steady.

“What's the plan for your mother?” he asked.

“I go back tonight. Alone. Cross the same logging road. Drive to the cabin. Get her. Come back.”

“That's two days of driving. Minimum. You'll be exhausted.”

“I don't have a choice.”

Clark turned from the window. “I'll go with you.”

“No. You stay here. Protect the others.”

“I'm the one who knows the cabin. The roads. The hiding spots.”

“You're also the one Aegis is looking for. Your face is as wanted as mine.”

Clark's jaw tightened. But he didn't argue.

Cole looked at his watch. 7 AM. He had been awake for over twenty-four hours.

“I need sleep. A few hours. Then I go.”

He lay down on the floor. Closed his eyes.

Sleep came fast. But not peacefully. He dreamed of Lauren. Of his father. Of the gun in his hand.

He woke at noon. Disoriented. The farmhouse was quiet.

Petra was in the kitchen. Making coffee.

“You slept four hours,” she said. “It's not enough.”

“It's all I get.”

He drank the coffee. Black. Bitter. It burned his throat.

Frankie had drawn a map on a piece of paper. The route to the cabin. The logging road. The hiding spots.

“Memorize this,” Frankie said. “Then burn it.”

Cole studied the map. Committed it to memory. Then threw it in the wood stove.

The fire caught. The paper curled. Turned to ash.

Clark walked to Cole. Held out a pistol. “Take this. Extra magazines.”

Cole took the weapon. Checked it. Loaded.

“I'll be back in two days,” Cole said. “If I'm not, don't come looking.”

“We'll come looking anyway,” Petra said.

Cole walked to the door. Then he stopped.

“Ava. Is she okay?”

“She's sleeping. She hasn't spoken. But she's safe.”

“Keep her that way.”

Cole left. The pickup truck was hidden behind the barn. He got in. Started the engine.

The driveway was long. He drove slowly. Watching for signs of pursuit.

The road was empty. He turned south. Toward the border.

The logging road was harder to find in daylight. But he found it. Muddy. Narrow.

He crossed into the United States at 3 PM.

Now he was back. Wanted. Hunted.

He drove toward the mountains. The cabin. His mother.

The sun was setting when he reached the base of the mountain. He parked the truck in the trees. Covered it with branches.

Then he climbed. On foot. The forest was dark. The path was steep.

His shoulder ached. His legs burned. But he kept moving.

The cabin appeared through the trees. Dark. Quiet.

Cole circled it. Watched. Listened.

No lights. No sounds. No guards.

He walked to the door. Unlocked it. Stepped inside.

The cabin was empty. The wood stove was cold. The bed was made.

Cole walked to the rug. Moved it. Opened the trapdoor.

The cellar was dark. He climbed down.

“Mom?”

Silence.

He felt along the wall. Found the emergency light. Flicked it on.

The cellar was empty.

His mother was gone.

Cole's heart stopped.

He climbed out of the cellar. Searched the cabin. The closet. The bathroom. The woods outside.

Nothing.

He found a note on the kitchen table. Weighed down by a coffee cup.

“Dear Cole,

I knew you'd come back for me. But I couldn't wait. Your father's men found the cabin yesterday. I heard them talking. They were going to use me to trap you. So I left.

I'm going to D.C. To find the reporter. Mira Vance. I'm going to tell my story. Before your father's people can stop me.

Don't follow me. Finish what you started.

Love, Mom.”

Cole read the note three times. His hands shook.

His mother was alone. Heading to D.C. Walking into the lion's den.

He pulled out his phone. No signal. He walked outside. Climbed a ridge.

One bar.

He dialed Dean's number.

“Cole? Where are you?”

“The cabin. My mother is gone. She's going to D.C. to find Mira Vance.”

“That's insane. She'll be killed.”

“I know. I'm going after her.”

“You can't. The roads are blocked. Aegis has checkpoints everywhere.”

“Then I go through the woods. On foot.”

“That's a hundred miles.”

“Then I have a hundred miles to walk.”

Dean was silent for a moment. “There's a train. From the next town over. It runs south. Stops near D.C. It's how Frankie's contact moves people.”

“When does it leave?”

“Midnight. You have three hours.”

Cole looked at the sky. Dark. Stars were starting to appear.

“I'll be there.”

“Cole. Your mother is brave. But she's also weak. She won't make it to D.C. without help.”

“That's why I'm going.”

Cole hung up. He ran down the mountain. Found the truck. Uncovered it.

He drove toward the town. The roads were empty. But he saw lights in the distance. Checkpoints.

He turned off the main road. Drove through fields. Through orchards. Staying in the dark.

The town was small. A train station. Abandoned.

Cole parked behind a grain silo. Walked to the station.

A man was waiting on the platform. Old. Gray beard. Overalls.

“You Cole?”

“Yes.”

“Dean sent me. The train comes at midnight. It doesn't stop long. You need to be ready.”

“I'm ready.”

The man looked at Cole's face. The bruises. The exhaustion.

“You look like hell.”

“I've been through hell.”

The train came. Slow. Quiet. Freight cars.

The man opened a door. Cole climbed inside. Dark. Smelled like hay.

“Good luck,” the man said. Closed the door.

The train moved. Cole sat on the floor. His body ached. His eyes burned.

But he couldn't sleep.

His mother was out there. Alone. Walking toward danger.

And he was riding a freight train. Hoping to catch her before it was too late.

The hours passed. The train clicked along the tracks.

Cole watched the darkness through the cracks in the door.

Somewhere ahead, D.C. waited.

And his mother.

And the truth.