Adam jerked awake with the sound of a truck’s horn—one quick toot. He blinked and looked around, struggling to find his place. That wasn’t me running. Not anymore. He’d been dozing, slumped over his duffel bag, a tree trunk at his back.
It was nearly dark, and the pickup waiting on the road a dozen yards away was using its headlights, which made it even harder to distinguish its color. Adam threw his bag over his shoulder and crept closer, until only an old farm fence and some brush separated them, but he still didn’t recognize the truck. Finally, the driver’s door opened and a head popped up, pale in the dark.
“Adam—you out there?” Harlan Miller’s voice was the kind of loud whisper you reserve for when you don’t want to be heard, but you need to be. “Goddamn, son! Are you waiting for an
