***

The gas station Brooke found was deep in the Alabama back country. She hadn’t seen a single soul for almost fifteen miles, and the tank was running dangerously low. She didn’t want to risk pushing it much farther.

Both John and Emily had passed out from the rush of excitement from earlier. She wrapped her shemagh around her head, barely exposing her face. The gas attendant inside gave her an odd look but didn’t hesitate in taking the cash for her to fill up.

Brooke unscrewed the gas cap and shoved the nozzle inside and squeezed the trigger. The chug of the gas pump filled the air, and Brooke leaned back against the car’s side. She looked through the side window into the back seat and watched the steady rise and fall of her children’s chests.

A smile crept onto her face through the shemagh, but her attention was soon turned to a pair of headlights coming down the road. She eyed the fuel gauge, which was only half full. As the car moved closer, she noticed the red-and-blue lights on the top and the familiar black-and-white paint of a police vehicle.

Brooke immediately turned her back to the cop car. She closed her eyes. “Just pass by. Just pass by. Don’t stop. Don’t stop.”

The police car’s engine grew louder. Brooke’s hand started aching, and when she looked down, she realized the pressure she was applying might crush the pump with her bare hand. She loosened her grip.

The crunch of the police car’s wheels on the fuel station’s gravel caused her heart to skip a beat. The squeak of the brakes brought the policeman to a stop. The gas tank was three quarters full now. She turned her head to see the police officer step out of the vehicle.

The officer eyed the car, taking in the bullet holes and broken rear window. The fuel pump continued to chug. The officer pulled his radio to his mouth.

“Can I get a check on a blue Toyota Land Cruiser? License plate number Echo, Foxtrot, Charlie, Niner, X-ray, Seven.”

The pump clicked off, signaling that the tank was full. Brooke quickly set the pump back on its holder and jumped back into the driver’s seat. She looked over to see Eric with the revolver in his hand. Brooke shook her head at him, and he set it down.

Brooke looked into the rearview mirror and checked for the officer, who made eye contact with her as she peeled out of the gas station. She kept the cruiser at a normal speed until the curve of the road caused the station to disappear. Then she floored it.

“You think he’ll follow us?” Eric asked.

“He radioed the plate. Once it comes back that it was stolen, he’ll be on us fast. Stay on the lookout for any paths we can jump off on,” Brooke answered.

The cruiser fishtailed a bit as Brooke increased the speed. She kept checking the rearview mirror for the police cruiser. Maybe he would let her go. Maybe he was off duty. But the flash of red-and-blue lights that appeared a few hundred yards behind them dashed those hopes just as quickly as they had arisen. The police officer’s sirens wailed as the car gained on them.

“I need a path, Eric!” Brooke yelled.

John and Emily awoke in the back seat. Both of them had the groggy-eyed look of panic. “Mom?” Emily asked.

“It’s all right, honey,” Brooke answered.

“There!” Eric yelled.

A narrow dirt road opened up thirty yards ahead on the right. Brooke veered to the left for the turn, and just before they came up to the road access, she turned right sharply. The tires kicked up a spray of gravel behind them.

The road was in bad shape. The cruiser bounced over the terrain, its shocks absorbing the violent dips and mounds along the way.

The police car made the same sharp turn onto the road, but it wasn’t designed to handle the harsh terrain like Brooke’s cruiser was. After the first major bump it came across, the front bumper bent upward and crumpled the hood. Once that happened, the officer ceased his pursuit, but Brooke didn’t let up on the gas.

“Where’s this thing take us?” Brooke asked.

Eric was scanning the map frantically, running his fingers up and down, trying to find out where they were.

“Eric!” Brooke repeated.

“I’m trying!” Eric’s finger landed harshly on the portion of the map. “It turns into some farmland about a mile from here. After that it’s nothing but fields.”

“Are there any other major roads that lead into that area?”

“No.”

“They’ll have to call the choppers out if they want to catch us, then.”

Brooke wasn’t sure if the police would waste the resources of putting a bird in the air to find them. She was leaning toward no, but then again, catching an illegal who had made it as far as she had would make someone’s career look very good and help establish the precedent that the authorities had a hold on the border. That would be some positive press she knew Congress could use.

Eric was right about the path. One mile later, they were in farm country. Nothing but open fields and barns. The last time she had been in Alabama, she was just a little girl. A tractor plowed one of the fields in the distance, but Brooke didn’t think any of the farmers around here would be trouble. As long as she didn’t mess with any of their crops, they would most likely be able to pass through untouched.

Once they were past the farms, the terrain before them just opened up into grass fields. Brooke waited in the cover of the trees for a minute while they could still use it. She listened for the hum of any helicopters or planes overhead that the police might have sent out, but the only sound she heard was the tractor at the farm behind them.

Brooke pulled the cruiser into the open fields, and the grass flattened under the tires. They’d continue until it was dark and then camp for the night. She knew they’d still have to stop for gas at least one more time, but until then they’d be staying off the roads. The police might not have wanted to pursue her enough to put a plane in the air, but there was no doubt the officer who had called them in had alerted the authorities in the neighboring states. Brooke’s picture was now in front of every police officer in a two-hundred-mile radius.