North's CYOA 3

For a full second, North had no response to that bullshit. Zero response.

“Be right back,” Luka said into his silence.

The dark-haired man sprinted across the parking lot. North, shivering, hung back against the wall of brush and watched. So, Luka was fast, sure. But North could be fast too. North could haul ass when he wanted to. And anybody’s back and knees ached if they hunched over like that—that was just a scientific fact. And for that matter, how old was Luka—

A sudden blast of wind made North shrink down inside the hoodie. The shivers were starting to become uncontrollable; much longer out here—without a real coat, anyway—and he’d be in serious trouble.

Across the lot, Luka slowed as he approached the back of the hauler. He glanced around and jumped into the back of the truck. An easy jump. What, maybe three feet vertically? Anybody could do that. Then Luka was gone, disappearing among the thicker shadows.

In North’s peripheral vision, yellow light unfolded, and men’s voices emerged into the night.

“—don’t care if you’re tired,” one of the men was saying. “You don’t stop until you’re there. Got it?”

“What about fueling up?” the other man asked sullenly.

The first man rounded on him, and the thud of a blow ran across the empty lot. “What the fuck do you think?”

It was hard to tell at that distance—in the gloom, not because it was all that far, and not because things sometimes got a little fuzzy out there—but it looked like the second man ducked his head and dipped back, trying to avoid a second blow.

The first man stayed in position, hand raised, for another moment. Then he started across the parking lot again.

“Why’d you leave the back open?” he snapped without looking over his shoulder.

The second man, trailing after him, didn’t answer.

So much for being a fucking lookout. But then, what the fuck had North been supposed to do? Whistle? Do some sort of bird call? The minute those guys had come outside, they’d had a clean line of sight on the truck.

Huddled against the cold, North crept along the brush at the edge of the lot, keeping parallel with the men. The first one was moving steadily toward the back of the hauler. The other man had broken off and was making for the cab of the truck. Guys who stopped in the middle of nowhere—guys who got spooked by the possibility that someone else might see them—were the same kind of guys who carried guns. Usually, to make sure anybody who saw them didn’t get a chance to tell anybody else.

Come up from behind one of them? Take him by surprise?

Shitty plan.

But what was the alternative? Let the bozo catch Luka? He’d have Luka pinned down in there, with nowhere to run.

Shittier plan.

The second man had disappeared around the front of the truck.

The first one was approaching the back of the hauler. A flashlight flicked on in his hand, splashing a puddle of light on the ground in front of him.

Well, fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck.

It wasn’t so much a thought as it was a desperate grasp at something. North crouched—his knees worked perfectly fine, thanks oh-so-fucking much—and grabbed a rock a little smaller than a baseball. Then he grabbed another. The first one was smooth and cold and was sort of shaped like a triangle. Maybe you were supposed to call it a pyramid. Emery would know.

The first man stood at the back of the hauler, flashlight canting up to spray light across the interior of the enclosure.

Straightening, North whipped the first rock toward the far side of the lot. It disappeared into the dark, and a moment later, a click broke the silence as the rock struck asphalt.

The first man’s head whipped around.

North was already launching the second rock, putting his shoulder into it. The click came from farther off this time, more or less in the same direction as the first sound.

The man’s hand dipped into his coat pocket. When it came out again, the darkness was too deep for North to make out what he was carrying, but he didn’t need to see it. With the beam of the flashlight bobbing ahead of him, the man took off at a run toward the sounds.

Now, North thought. Now you pretty dumb fuck. Get out of the truck right fucking now.

He tried to remember what a bird sounded like.

Movement inside the truck—barely there, but enough to stand out against the darkness. Luka came together like a staticky picture as he moved toward the tailgate.

North let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

And then Luka was gone again. Back into the darkness of the hauler.

North opened his mouth to say something along the lines of What the actual fuck?

Before he could, though, the second man appeared, coming around the side of the truck. North understood, then: Luka had heard him coming and decided to hide again.

The man gave a quick look around, as though wondering where his buddy had gone. And then he hopped up, grabbed the hauler’s roll-down door, and banged it shut.

A moment later, he was back in the cab. The engine rumbled to life. And with the grate of tires over broken pavement, the hauler pulled away.

Now Luka needs rescuing! Will North follow the hauler? Or should he try to get answers out of the other man? Patrons will decide tomorrow!