“They’re not going to like us running, either,” I said. “But at least we won’t be there for long.” Entering a building was tricky, because there were only a handful of exits we could use to get back out—they didn’t have to follow us in, just wait by the doors and pick up the trail again when we emerged. But if we ran through it, getting to the exit before they did, we might bypass them completely and force a slip-up. We walked leisurely through the lobby, eyes alert for employees, and at the first corner I picked up Boy Dog and we sprinted through the halls, still mostly empty at this time of the morning, racing for the nearest door.
“You can’t run in here!” shouted a maid, holding out her hand to stop us, but we darted past her without slowing.
“We’re leaving anyway,” I called back, and when we rounded the next corner we saw another glass door. We ran outside just in time to catch a bus. I paid the minimum fare (Fifty-two dollars and fifty-one cents left) and we crouched in the back, keeping our heads below the windows. If they hadn’t seen us get on, they wouldn’t have any idea where we were. After a couple of blocks I sat up and scanned the street for any sign of pursuit. There were plenty of black vehicles on the road, including a handful of SUVs, but none of them seemed to be following us—though the bus didn’t have a rear window, so we couldn’t see directly behind us.
“Two more blocks,” said Marci, “then let’s get off and transfer to another bus. It’ll expose us again, just for a minute, and it’ll give us a chance to see what else is out there.”
“That’s smart,” I said. I walked to the front of the mostly empty bus and grabbed the pole nearest to the driver. “Where’s the next major transfer stop?”
“Which line do you need?”
“Just a busy stop,” I said. He glanced over his shoulder, saw my unwashed face and clothes, and looked ahead again with a low grumble.
“This one,” he said. The bus rolled gently from side to side as we pulled into the curb, and the brakes hissed when we stopped. “Those passes you bought are good for two hours only.”
“Thanks,” I said, and I gestured for Marci and Boy Dog. We got off and a handful of commuters got on, and we waited. The stop only had signs for three bus lines; the driver had probably just wanted us off his bus. We watched the cars go by on the street, but there were no black SUVs.
“What if it’s someone else following us?” I whispered. “What if we spend all this time looking for a black SUV, and really it’s a … green Honda or something.”
“A suspicious SUV is the only reason you think we’re being followed in the first place,” said Marci. “If it’s not them, it’s no one.”
“I know I’m being paranoid,” I said, never taking my eyes of the street. “Paranoia is what’s keeping us alive.”
Most of the traffic was trucks and minivans, almost all in the spectrum of white, silver, gray, and black. Actual colors were rare—a handful of red pickup trucks—so anyone trying to blend in would avoid those. Waiting at the light were two extended-cab pickups in dark silver; a white SUV; two long, black sedans; a gray minivan; a two-door sports car, probably a Mustang or a Camaro—I could never tell those two apart, though my old friend Max had been a Camaro enthusiast. I honestly didn’t know the make or model of most of the cars I was looking at. The light changed, and the cars moved on, replaced by another batch stopped at the adjoining street: more pickup trucks; more minivans; another sedan, this one cream color; a bright yellow sports car with so modern it looked almost alien. “City cars have gotten weird while we’ve been out in the boonies,” I said.
“Black SUV,” said Marci. I followed her sight line to the far side of the intersection and saw the SUV waiting at the light, two cars back in the nearest lane.
“Don’t look directly at it,” I said, turning my head but keeping it in my peripheral vision. “How far are we from that drug store?”
“Couple of miles, maybe,” said Marci. “Unless I’m totally turned around, that car’s headed toward the drug store, not coming away from it.”
“Yeah,” I said. “I think you’re right.”
“So what do we do?”
I thought for a long moment, my mind racing the stoplight as I tried to come up with a plan. “We try the speed-bump test,” I said at last.
“What’s that?”
“The speed-bump test,” I said, walking toward the corner, “is how we avoid a long, drawn-out mind game.” I walked slowly, watching the lights turn yellow, being careful not to run or attract too much attention. The plan wouldn’t work if everyone was watching me. “Identifying a tail isn’t what we typically use it for, but it’ll do the job.” I reached the sidewalk right as the cars started moving.
“How does it work?”
“It’s simple,” I said, watching the first car move toward me. “We’re going to hit him with a truck.”
“What?”
“Pull me back.” The first car passed me, and I stepped out suddenly in front of the black SUV, waving my arms wildly. Marci grabbed my backpack and yanked me backward, shouting my name in alarm, and the SUV slammed on its brakes, swerving wildly to the side, getting rear-ended by the truck behind it and clipped by another truck passing in the next lane. The SUV bounced toward us and we jumped back again; the truck driver slammed on his own brakes, and the traffic behind them piled up with a chorus of blaring horns. I looked at the license plate.
187 RCR, Mills County, Iowa.