Free Race to Refuge by Liz Craig Page A

sure that there’s a small town or a gas station up ahead on this road.”
    I shook my head.
    “We don’t want to run out of gas here. This area is more exposed and it might take us a while to get into a heavily wooded section again. Let’s connect to the interstate the next time we see a sign for it and then we can fill up and get back on this road again,” said Joshua.
    A couple of miles up the road there was a sign pointing to the interstate. I couldn’t shake this feeling of dread that I’d had since that morning. Still, I took the exit. There were a few cars there, whizzing by at tremendous speed. Fleeing for their lives, I supposed. I had no intention of pushing the accelerator that hard and burning through the small amount of gas we had left.
    “I suppose no one’s worried about being stopped for speeding,” I muttered. “At least the interstate isn’t completely backed up. Which is sort of odd, actually. The roads were already jammed back in Raleigh.”
    Joshua said softly, “Maybe that’s as far as the cars could go…Raleigh. Maybe the only cars we’re seeing here on the interstate are people escaping from small communities.”
    It made sense. With everyone fleeing the city at once, there were wrecks and complete stops. Those vehicles blocked the exit routes. No wonder they hadn’t made it this far. I’d never seen the interstate this quiet. It lent a very eerie feeling to the road. As if it were the middle of the night … but it was broad daylight.
    A few minutes later, Joshua spotted a sign for gas stations at the next exit. “We should probably take it, don’t you think?”
    I did, since we were probably running the car on fumes. But I didn’t feel good about it. I squeezed my hands tightly around the steering wheel.
    The station was old, but it at least had digital pumps. I pulled into the station and we peered around cautiously from our locked car. Finally, I figured the coast must be clear and pulled up to a pump, popping my gas door, muttering while fishing around, “I guess it won’t let me gas up without swiping a debit card first.”
    Joshua stopped me. “Let me fill it up.”
    I hesitated. “Do you think this is a safe station? Should we keep driving?”
    “I don’t think we really have a choice,” he said. “We probably won’t know how safe it is until we take a look around the property. Besides, I think it would be a good idea to go inside the station and see if they have a gas can or two. It would be nice to have some extra gas on hand in case there isn’t a gas station the next time we need to fill up.”
    “Okay. But are you sure that you want to go inside?” I still couldn’t shake that underlying fear.
    “It’s all right,” he said firmly. “This is something I want to do.”
    Chicken that I was, I was relieved. I was worried Joshua was in danger, but I couldn’t be more relieved that I wasn’t getting out of the Subaru.
    He opened the door and paused for a second. “Mallory, if I tell you to drive on, I need you to drive on.”
    I started shaking my head immediately. That wasn’t part of the deal.
    “No, please. If I tell you to leave, or if I’m getting attacked in any way, I need to know that you’re going to keep going. Keep moving ahead with your plan,” he said in an anxious voice.
    I reluctantly nodded. “Just be careful.”
    “I’ll fill the tank first, since that’s the first priority.” He climbed out of the car and quietly closed it. Then he filled up the tank completely, his back to the Subaru the whole time. He gave me a thumbs-up when the gas started pumping. We were both relieved that the pumps were still working, since they ran on electricity and we didn’t know what the situation at the power plants was like.
    Once he finished pumping, he carefully put the gas cap back on and closed the gas door. Squaring his sloping shoulders, he pulled up to his full height of about five and half feet, and walked to the station.
    It was then that