Blair didn't know how long he'd been running; it seemed like forever. His lungs burned with the effort and his calves were cramping from the
prolonged, frantic exercise. Past the stomping of his feet on the
railroad tracks, he strained to hear anything that might indicate Parkman was
following him, but his heart beat so loudly in his ears, he could
discern nothing else.
He yelped in frightened surprise, as he tripped on some ballast between
the tracks and stumbled, slamming to his knees with a jolt, his hands
stretched out to break his fall. One wrist buckled painfully beneath his
weight and fire shredded up his arm.
Exhausted, in pain and scared out of his wits, he struggled to get back
on his feet but all his adrenaline appeared to be spent and his
trembling body collapsed back onto the ground.
Wheezing, he tried to slow his breathing and suck in a couple of slow
lungfuls of air but his chest only tightened further and he realized he
was on the verge of a panic attack.
His fingers began to tingle and he realized he would be in real trouble
soon if he didn't pull it together. He could imagine Parkman, gun in
hand, finding him passed out on the tracks, making the drug dealer's job
of eliminating him a piece of cake. One bullet to the head, and Blair
would be incapable of stopping him.
Shuddering, he managed to sit up and rested his aching head on his
pulled up, trembling knees. He'd truly believed Parkman would have had no
qualms about shooting him back at the rest stop. Once Parkman had
realized he couldn't use Blair as a negotiating chip, Blair was convinced
Artie had only re-entered the bathroom in order to silence him once and
for all. The memory of the gun pressed to his throat made Blair suddenly
nauseous and he staggered to his knees before retching dryly. There was
nothing in his stomach to throw up.
His throat was dry, his mouth parched; he couldn't remember the last
time he'd had something to drink. Most of his memories were spotty as
though his dazed mind refused to put them together.
Lifting his head, he wiped his mouth on the hem of his shirt and gazed
around. Now that he'd rested a moment, his heart rate had at least
slowed and he listened carefully for any sound of pursuit but there was
none. A notion of where exactly he was finally filtered into his brain and
he stood quickly if shakily. The railroad track looked somewhat
unkempt, but Blair knew it was still in use.
Shading his eyes against the afternoon sun, he squinted into the
distance. Nothing. He needed to get to a road, to get to help. Jim would be
looking for him, he hoped, but Blair knew he had a better chance of
escaping and getting back to Cascade in one piece if he could get to the
road.
His eyes scanned his surroundings. Which way? His sense of direction
had never been great but coupled with almost overwhelming fear for his
life, exhaustion and shock, he couldn't even seem to get a handle on
which way was up.
A scrabbling in the bushes and the snap of a twig made his decision for
him and he was off again, almost sprawling several times when his legs
seemed determined not to hold him up, his eyes searching for the road,
not bothering to watch where he was going.
He almost missed it. A strip of sun-grayed bitumen almost hidden by a
stand of straggly bushes. With a hoarse yip of success, Blair staggered
off the railroad line and ran for the road. His hopes rose as a semi
came barreling straight at him, its horn blaring deafeningly. Blair held
up both hands in the universal gesture for stop and only just barely
managed to jump to one side when the rig rumbled past him, the driver
raising a hand in a one-fingered salute.
"Whoa! No! No!" Blair stood in the middle of the road, staring
dejectedly at his rapidly disappearing salvation. He scuffed the bitumen with
the toe of one battered sneaker. Where the fuck are you, Jim? Are you
looking for me? Do you even know how much shit I'm in this time?
Blair turned, determined that the next vehicle would not pass him by,
even if it had to run over him.
Green.
Before he had time to react, the vehicle slowed then stopped and the
man behind the steering wheel of Blair's beloved Volvo smiled up at him.
"Great car, dude."
Blair looked up over the roof of the car to see Iris. Gripped in her
unshaking hand was a large handgun. "Get in the car, Blair."
Blair closed his eyes briefly, feeling despair rise up to choke him.
Shit!
END