Free Rebel, Bully, Geek, Pariah by Erin Jade Lange Page A

street. York opened the compartment and gingerly lifted out the walkie-talkie Boston had found. It was crackling with life now.
    He turned it over in his hands, then pressed a button on the side and spoke tentatively.
    â€œHello?”
    My hat was off my head and whipping him on the shoulder before he’d even released the button. Andi came at him from the other side with a hard slap to the head.
    â€œDon’t talk to it!” I said.
    Maybe he was still drunk.
    York hunched his shoulders, looking ashamed, but the damage was done. The voice knew we’d heard it.
    â€œDo you know what happens to cop killers in this town?” It was a man’s voice, low and threatening.
    â€œYeah,” I muttered to myself. “They go to prison.”
    â€œThey don’t get arrested,” the voice said, almost as though he had heard me. “They get dead.”
    I swallowed hard and heard Andi whisper “Fuck” beside me.
    â€œIt’s the police,” Boston said. “The ones who—”
    â€œWho shot at us,” York finished.
    â€œCop killers don’t make it to jail,” the voice said. It was cold, emotionless.
    â€œThat’s not true,” I said aloud. “He’s trying to scare us.”
    â€œIt’s working,” Boston breathed.
    Well, that much I couldn’t argue with.
    â€œBut there’s no need for that,” the voice said. “It was an accident.”
    Here it comes. The part where they try to reason with us—to lure us out.
    I wouldn’t take much convincing. I figured we were going to end up in a police station one way or another. At least this way we could talk to the cops before they cuffed us.
    The voice spoke again. “You’ll be safe if you just tell us where you are.”
    â€œHe’s offering to help us,” Boston piped up hopefully.
    â€œSounds more like a threat to me,” I countered.
    Boston pouted and steered the SUV down a narrow alley. “Police don’t threaten you.”
    I rolled my eyes. “Except they just did.”
    It must have been nice for him, to live in his little bubble where all police were good guys and everyone behind bars was a bad guy. How conveniently black and white.
    â€œYou have two options.” The voice paused as if waiting for a reply, but we all just stared at the walkie-talkie until it spoke again. “Door number one: you tell us where you are. Door number two: you run like rabbits.”
    Yes, definitely a threat.
    One by one, I studied the faces around me. None of us made a sound.
    When the walkie-talkie crackled again, the voice had dropped to a sinister hiss. “All right then, little rabbits . . . 
run
.”
    We sat in silence for a full thirty seconds before it became clear the voice was done. Then Andi leaned toward the front seat, her voice slow and casual.
    â€œSooo . . . you mentioned a cabin?”
    Â 
    10
    YORK DIRECTED BOSTON to keep to back roads, and the SUV wound slowly through neighborhoods and then industrial areas as we made our way toward the interstate. Boston whined a little about trusting police and
not
trusting York, but his arguments were thinner now.
    â€œBoston, that was the scariest cop I’ve ever met,” York said.
    â€œMet a lot of cops, have you?” Andi scoffed.
    I answered before York could. “I’ve met a few. And they’re not like that. That was . . . personal,” I finished.
    Boston finally exhausted his protests as the sign for the freeway rose overhead. “Can they use that two-way to trace us?” He took a tense hand off the wheel long enough to point around at all the equipment in the SUV. “Can they use any of this?”
    â€œYou watch too much TV,” York retorted, but he looked over the equipment anyway. “It all looks like radios to me.”
    â€œNot every cop car has a GPS,” I said.
    I didn’t add that I knew this