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“Are you going to tell me your grand plan?” he huffed.
The engines were getting louder and closer to the cabin.
“Just trust me. I’ll get us out of here.”
“Are you sure your job as a kindergarten teacher isn’t a cover for your real job with the FBI or CIA or some other alphabet acronym?”
Chapter Sixteen
They were 15 minutes away from the cabin when they heard the engines stop. Their eyes sought each other’s as they strained to listen. Silence. Bash was worried they would be followed, but Morgan assured him the dried leaves and pine needles would cover their tracks enough for the average person. At her Pops’ insistence, all their hiking trails led from the front of the house. Morgan’s grandfather had preplanned the escape route behind the house years ago. That was why the path remained mostly untouched.
They traveled along the top of the mountain until they reached a cluster of boulders. Morgan counted off 100 paces and headed down the mountain in a zigzagged pattern.
“I still can’t hear anything,” Bash said.
“That’s good. We need to keep moving,” Morgan insisted.
“You actually know where we’re going, right?”
“Of course. Pops and I have made this trip enough times that I could find my way at night without a flashlight.”
“Again. That never seemed strange to you? I think if my mom had done that, I would have had her committed as soon as I turned 21.”
“Maybe yes. Maybe no. Depends on how much you trusted her.”
He thought about that. His mom would have done anything to protect him, so he probably would have indulged her weirdness, too. But his mom didn’t have a stash of guns to rival the local police force, either. Another ten minutes, and they reached a 25’ wide stream at the bottom of the mountain. Morgan grabbed a small branch and began testing the depths. Bash assumed he was going to be getting his feet wet.
After a few minutes, Morgan threw down the stick. “Guess you figured out we’re going across.”
“Yep.”
“We got lucky. This gets deep in the rainy seasons.”
“How much farther once we get to the other side?”
“We follow the stream north around this adjacent mountain for about 30 minutes. A short walk up another mountain, and we should be right below County Road 1414. Even if those guys figured out which way we went, and trust me, they won’t, it would take them at least an hour to get here on their bikes. We’ll be long gone.”
“Are we going to hitchhike?” he asked warily.
“You’ll see.”
The last few days, Bash had felt he was walking blindly into every situation. It wasn’t comfortable for him, but he had to trust that Morgan had her reasons.
A while later, they were trudging up another mountain, and his feet were killing him. The two bags he carried were heavy, the weapon in the back of his pants was rubbing a raw place, and the bouncing ledger against his abdomen was chafing.
“There it is!” Morgan said excitedly, speeding her pace.
Bash tried to spot what had inspired her sudden exuberance, but all he saw was a metal shed a hundred feet away. When they reached the faded-gray shed, Morgan fished in her backpack and pulled out a key. She unlocked the padlock dangling from a heavy-duty chain on the door and grabbed the handle.
“You own this property too?” Bash asked, hoping what they were about to do was legal.
“We don’t. Pops rented the land and constructed the shed about five years ago.”
“And the owner wasn’t suspicious of why your grandfather would want to construct a shed in the middle of nowhere?”
Morgan side-eyed him. “You are in the Appalachian Mountains, city boy. People don’t stick their noses in other folk’s business. You take your money and keep your mouth shut. It could be full of moonshine for all they know or care. There are probably 20 more sheds out here with a lot worse.”
“Drugs?” he whispered.
