As the morning dawned, Nico appeared more concerned than ever. He stopped halfway through his aikido routine to pace across the room again. “How did you sleep?” I asked, trying to draw him out of his panic. He didn’t reply, and I sighed.

Outside of our uncertain future, it was a beautiful morning. The ache of my injuries had dulled, and the temperature outside was pleasantly cool. I walked to the kitchen and popped open one of the cans that Nico had bought at the general store. Inside were sweet-smelling golden rings that dripped with juice. I turned over the can, checked the label, and saw the word ‘pineapple’ scrawled in loopy letters across its side.

I bit into one of the rings and closed my eyes, savoring it. It tasted like the candies I’d shared with my friends in Historical Amberasta. I ate the rest of the can quickly, but saved a few slices for Nico.

The room shook as the city gates ground open, signaling the beginning of the working day. Not long after, Nico rushed to the window, waiting for our ride to arrive. It appeared over the horizon–an odd, spider-like car with giant tires. He hurried back into the room, shouldering his pack and pulling on his mask and hood. Watching him, nervousness started to bubble up in my stomach again.

I left the room keys on the kitchen counter and joined him on the patio. “Stay out of sight,” he hissed. I slid behind one side of the doorway, where I could peer around at the interaction to come.

The vehicle was driven by the mechanic from the day before, confirming my theory that he was one of Nico’s informants. He dismounted and switched off the ignition, greeting Nico. I turned my gaze back to the vehicle: it was a combination between a car and a motorcycle, with a roof and no doors. It was painted the color of sand, perfect for camouflage in the wheat fields, and its huge tires had deep tread.

After exchanging a few words, Nico unchained the motorcycle from the window and walked it to the mechanic, completing the trade-off. “Is it filled up?” he asked, pointing to a large gas tank in the back of the vehicle.

“Yes. There’s enough for 400 miles. Probably enough to reach… wherever you’re going.”

Nico’s shoulders seemed to tense. “We’re going to Macobe. To care for my brother.”

“Right,” the mechanic replied. Nico hesitated, then seemed to shake off his words.

“We’ll set off right away. There’s no use wasting daylight.” The mechanic nodded, then turned and set off back toward the city with the bike. Once he disappeared from view, I emerged from behind the door frame. I couldn’t shake the feeling that the mechanic had been exceedingly suspicious.

Nico’s expression was dark. “Let’s hurry.”

I nodded, and we loaded the vehicle. I clambered in while Nico figured out the ignition. He twisted the key, and the vehicle leapt out of the grass with a spray of debris. It was slower and heavier than the bike, but very solid. I glanced at the ground speeding by. Each time we hit a bump, the large wheels and suspension absorbed the impact.

“What is this vehicle called?” I asked.

“It’s an old UTV, a Utility Terrain Vehicle. They use them on the farms to haul equipment up and down the hills. It doesn’t go more than 40 miles per hour, though.”

We drove back onto the main road, where Nico took the first turn away from Westborren. A narrow, paved road led us southeast through the cropland, and I watched as the gates of the city grew smaller and finally disappeared over the horizon. It was a bittersweet departure–although I wanted to continue our journey, Westborren had been lively and enchanting.

“Wait,” Nico said suddenly.

“What is it?”

“What is it that he said? ‘Wherever you’re going?’”

“Yeah…” I replied, my eyebrows pinching together.

“Damn it!” Nico veered left, pulling off of the road. He unbuckled and laid in the grass, putting his head under the bottom of the car. I climbed out of the passenger seat, worried by his urgency. “What are you doing?”

Nico stood, dusting himself off. In his right hand, black with soot, he held a rectangular device about the size of a can. He pulled open its top, revealing a green circuit board.

“A tracker,” he said, holding it between two fingers like it might explode. “I had a feeling.” I stared at the device, too shocked to respond.

He crawled back under the vehicle and continued searching. Several minutes passed in suspense before he emerged empty handed. “I think we’re clear,” he said, gripping the tracker and hurling it over the cornfields. “Let them find it.”

I shivered. “Why would he install a tracker on our car?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Nico asked venomously. “He betrayed us. He wants to collect the reward and keep Westborren under the king’s radar.”

My eyes narrowed. “How much does he know?”

“Almost nothing. The resistance keeps its secrets well.”

I nodded, feeling a little relieved. Nico had been adamant about the importance of protecting the HQ. Still, when I looked over at him, he was driving with both hands on the wheel with white knuckles. This can’t be good, I thought. Why is he so afraid?

It was only a moment before I realized. Whoever was monitoring the tracker would’ve noticed that we were going south, not toward Macobe. And now they’ll see that the tracker isn’t moving at all… confirming their suspicions about us.

My anxiety grew as we drove in silence. The narrow road was completely deserted, but I couldn’t help but imagine that someone was lying in wait behind the rolling hills. From the crests, I could see tanker trucks in the distance, following a flatter path that cut through the landscape. It seemed that Nico was trying to completely avoid being seen.

The UTV climbed a particularly steep hill. The view cleared at the top, and I twisted around to look below. The valley was filled with tall grasses and bush-like evergreens, and yellow and purple wildflowers bloomed along the road.

But something was terribly wrong.

My eyes caught movement along the road. In the distance, a black truck was nearing the crest of a hill. I watched, transfixed, as it kicked up dirt and began to descend. “Nico,” I choked.

“Yeah?”

“There’s someone following us.”

Nico cursed. “What do they look like?”

I tried to focus through my fear. “It’s a large black truck with a brown top. Still pretty far away, but catching up fast.” Nico nodded grimly. He pressed harder on the gas, and I held on tightly to the sides of the UTV as it sped downwards. I twisted around in my seat to update Nico on the truck’s whereabouts.

“What are the chances it's just traveling the same direction as us?” I asked.

“None.” His face was strained, and sweat dripped over his forehead. Within fifteen minutes, the truck was noticeably closer. I could see the driver’s camouflage uniform, the same as the soldiers in Westborren. My heart pounded frantically. Nico gritted his teeth and turned off of the road onto a dirt trail. It was tight and winding–Nico was trying to use the truck’s bulk against it.

The soldier drove recklessly, taking the turns just as fast as the UTV. The truck drew closer and closer, and the soldier in the passenger seat leaned out of the window. “Stop now, or we will shoot!”

Nico grimaced and pumped the gas again. “Get down,” he warned. I clutched the dashboard and forced my head between my knees. The UTV jostled as it fought to climb higher.

The first gunshots sliced the air with a POP. I flinched. “Hold on!” Nico said, his voice hard with determination. He wrenched the wheel to the right and sent the UTV careening off the trail and into the brush. I gasped as we smashed through brambles, jostling me. Sparks flew as metal crunched against rock.

Our movement stopped suddenly and my head whipped back against the headrest. The UTV groaned as it settled into its position, propped against an outcropping of rock and a small tree. I was held in place by the seatbelt at a forty-five degree angle. I coughed up the dust from my lungs and tried to shift in place.

I heard a horrible screeching noise from above. I unbuckled my seatbelt and climbed out of the UTV, leaning on the wheel for support. On top of the hill, the truck was beginning to turn. The driver seemed to have second thoughts, and the vehicle slowed. It hung for a moment with the back wheels still on the edge of the road. Without the agility of the UTV, it teetered back and forth. The soldier in the passenger seat tried to pry the door open, but it was too late.

I watched, as if in slow motion, as the wheels skidded sideways. The truck started to slide down the hill, descending a few meters at a time before the earth gave way under its weight. It wobbled, then picked up momentum and started a rolling descent, colliding against each outcropping with a crunch. A blood curdling scream rose above the smashing, so terrible that I covered my ears with my hands.

An eerie silence descended as the truck came to a stop. I twisted back inside of the UTV. “Nico,” I began to say, “I think-”

I froze in shock. Nico was slumped in the driver’s chair with a trickle of blood running from an injury over his eye. “Shit!” I shouted, “No, no, no!”