Night was falling.

Dylan found it harder and harder to stay upright. He’d chosen to stick to the woods rather than hitting the highway. With his luck, the first car he’d flag down would be that bastard Eli.

In a little while, he’d break cover and take his chances.

That was if he didn’t pass out first.

It’d been too long since he’d last eaten. His blood sugar was tanking by the minute. Blinking hard, he refocused on the large hickory tree ahead. That was how he’d made it this far. Chopping the miles of forest into smaller, achievable chunks. With the onset of night, his chunks got smaller and smaller.

A few feet.

He reached out to steady himself against the hickory, but his vision wavered, causing him to misjudge the distance. His face slammed into the rough, flaky bark. Something cracked, and his eyes teared up. His legs buckled. In the next second, he sprawled on his back, staring up at the darkened canopy.

Minutes passed without him moving. His dazed mind screamed for him to get to his feet. But his injured and dehydrated body began the slow process of shutting down.

He wanted to give into the temptation to rest, to sleep.

But Deke was in danger.

Rolling onto his side, he ignored the throbbing in his broken nose and braced himself for the physical challenge ahead. A large, oval yellow-brown pod lying a few feet away caught his attention. The near darkness made it hard to identify, though the sight triggered something in his subconscious. A memory. Faded with age. Dull around the edges. But there. Just there…out of…reach.

Saliva drenched his mouth as he caught a double-decade-old image of him, Deke, and Dara traipsing through the woodlands. Stopping to investigate the pint-size torpedoes, flinging them against tree trunks to reveal their fruity center.

He squinted at the branches, losing his equilibrium at the odd angle. He pinpointed the large, teardrop-shaped leaves clustered together in sets of six, hearing his big brother’s long ago voice identifying the small understory tree.

Pawpaw.

Fruit. Food.

On hands and knees, he crawled to the energy-boosting pod. He attacked it like a dog that had gone too long without food. The sweet custardy flavors of banana, mango, and cantaloupe overwhelmed his taste buds. Bite by bite, his cells came back to life and his lightheadedness dissipated.

Licking the juice from his fingers, he scooped up more pawpaws and hiked another two miles before emerging from the woodland. The thick tree cover and lack of moon made the journey treacherous, even with a country road to guide him.

An hour later, he made it to a main intersection and veered toward town. The rumble of a vehicle in need of a new muffler approached him from behind. He moved to the edge of the shoulder, knowing the driver couldn’t see him. An old rusted-out Ford F-150 toddled past him. Brake lights flashed, illuminating the road until the truck stopped.

He’d done a lot of stupid things in his lifetime, but hitchhiking wasn’t one of his misdemeanors. He closed in on the truck, cautious.

“Need a lift?” asked a bearded young man, sporting a button-down plaid shirt and John Deere ball cap.

“Don’t want to put you out. But if you have a cell phone, I’d appreciate using it to make a phone call.”

“Can’t help you there. All I can offer is a ride into town.”

The driver’s indifferent expression conveyed that he’d drive away without a second thought.

“Then I’ll take the ride.” He jumped into the passenger side, and the truck crept forward.

Crept.

After several miles of going ten below the speed limit, he began to wonder if he could’ve walked to civilization faster.

“Looks like you got into a bit of trouble.”

His nose throbbed and his cheek hurt. Dried blood lined his arms, and his rumpled, dirty, cut-up clothing had seen better days. He finger combed his hair, though he doubted the gesture had much affect.

A dry chuckle escaped between his lips. “Yeah.”

For a second, he considered sharing his ordeal with his escort. But everyone knew everyone—or, at least, knew of everyone—in this area. Harwoods enjoyed a lot of power in Creede. And that power extended to neighboring towns.

Would his driver relay every word back to one of the Harwoods? Or would he help him get to safety?

His escort hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “There’s a cooler in the cab. Grab a water.”

Every cell in his body clenched at the thought of water nearby. He twisted around and dug into the cooler. “Would you like one?”

“Nah.”

Shifting back around, he broke the cap’s seal with trembling fingers. Shooting a sidelong glance at his driver, he couldn’t get a read on the guy. He appeared fresh out of high school, though the lines flaring out from the corner of his eyes indicated an age closer to his.

“You from around these parts?” the driver asked.

He took a long swallow of water. The cool liquid against his parched mouth created a pleasure-pain sensation. Not wanting to draw attention to how long it’d been since he’d had water, he forced the bottle away from his lips.

“Got lost in the woods for a few hours. Had a hard time seeing three feet in front of me once the sun dipped below the ridge.”

“What business you got in them woods?”

“My vehicle broke down, and I thought cutting through the woods would save me some time.”

“Guess that didn’t work out too well, huh?”

Something about the driver’s attitude sanded his nerves. Every question had a condescending quality that didn’t set so well. But the driver gave him water when he didn’t have to, so he did his best to let go of his irritation.

“Not really. You live around here?”

“Just passing through.”

“I noticed your John Deere hat. You a farmer?”

“Hell, no.”

“Don’t care much for the profession, then?”

“My family’s built a good living off the land. Not my path, though.”

“What kind of work do you do?”

A heavy silence followed his question. He wished this pile of metal went faster than twenty-five miles per hour.

He waved his hand between them. “Didn’t mean to pry. Just filling time with small talk.”

“I take on odd jobs that need taking on.”

Time to move their conversation to a less charged topic. “Town’s much farther away than I realized. You saved me a good hour’s hike, Mr. —”

His escort angled his head around to meet Dylan’s gaze. “Cleamer. Frank Cleamer.”