I woke before dawn, the apartment shrouded in that pre-light hush where the world felt suspended. My wounds still ached—a constant reminder of the bus crash—but the pain had dulled to a manageable throb, no longer pinning me to the mattress like a prisoner. Miko slept beside me, her cat tail curled around my leg, her breathing soft and even, a faint purr rumbling in her chest. I watched her for a moment, grateful she was here, alive, healing. But the events of the past days—the shootings, Trent's rampage, the ever-present threat—gnawed at me. We couldn't stay in Idabel forever; the walls were closing in, even in this quiet town.
Slipping out of bed carefully so as not to wake her, I dressed in layers against the winter chill and grabbed my wallet. The savings we'd built, bolstered by the untouched inheritance, gave me options. A car. That's what we needed—faster transport than buses, easier to escape if someone like Trent's allies came chasing. No more relying on public routes where we could be trapped. I left a quick note on the table: "Out for a bit. Back soon. Love you."
The streets were empty as I walked to the edge of town, where a used car lot hunkered under sodium lights, the vehicles dusted with a light frost. The salesman, an older guy with a cigarette dangling from his lips, eyed me warily at first but perked up when I mentioned cash. "Looking for something reliable? Not too flashy?"
"Yeah," I said. "Cheap, runs good, nothing that stands out."
He led me to a beat-up sedan—a gray '15 Honda Civic, dents here and there, but the engine purred when he started it. "Low miles for the price. Handles snow okay with the tires. $3,500, cash."
I haggled him down to $3,200, counting out the bills from our stash. It wasn't big or flashy—just a nondescript ride with enough trunk space for our bags and a backseat that could fold down if needed. Perfect for blending in, for running if we had to. I drove it back slowly, testing the brakes on the icy roads, the heater blasting warm air that chased away the morning chill.
As I pulled up to the apartment building, I spotted Miko at the window, her face lighting up like the sun breaking through clouds. She waved, her cat ears perking up visibly even from down here. By the time I parked and headed up, she was at the door, bundled in a sweater, her tail swishing with excitement despite a slight limp in her step.
"A car?" she said, eyes wide as she peeked out the window again. "It's ours?"
I grinned, pulling her into a gentle hug. "Yeah. Faster than buses, safer if we need to bolt. No more waiting for rides."
She beamed, leaning against me. "I love it. And... maybe you could teach me to drive? Once I'm fully healed?"
I chuckled, kissing her forehead. "Maybe. Let's see how you handle walking first." She swatted my arm playfully, but there was real hope in her eyes. And truthfully, she was improving—able to shuffle around the apartment now without wincing every step, her wounds scarring over thanks to Elena's careful tending.
With the car secured, the plan crystallized. "Miko," I said, sitting her down on the mattress. "You're moving better. Maybe it's time to leave. Canada awaits—the passport's ready, and Europe's calling."
She nodded, her tail curling thoughtfully. "Yeah. If I'm good enough to walk a bit, I can handle the drive. Let's do it."
We packed quickly—essentials only, the inheritance card for emergencies, Miko's forged passport tucked safely away. Then, we headed to the old apartment to say goodbye. Sylvia answered the door, Elena behind her in the kitchen. "Leaving already?" Sylvia asked, her fox ears drooping slightly.
"Yeah," I said, hugging them both. "It's time. Safer out there."
Elena squeezed Miko's hand. "Be careful. And call us when you reach Europe—we might follow. This place... it's not forever."
We all lingered for a moment, the weight of parting heavy, but the urgency won out. With final waves, Miko and I climbed into the car, the engine rumbling to life. We drove north, the snowy roads stretching ahead, Idabel fading in the rearview. The drive was long, hours blurring as we crossed into Arkansas, then Missouri, stopping only for gas and quick meals. Miko napped on and off, her head against the window, but we pushed on, the border calling.
As night fell, fatigue set in. We pulled off onto a quiet side road, the car hidden among trees. It wasn't big, but the backseat folded down enough for us to stretch out. I grabbed blankets and pillows from the trunk—scavenged from the apartment—and made a makeshift bed. Miko curled against me immediately, her body warm and soft, her tail wrapping around my waist as she clung close. "Goodnight," she whispered, nuzzling into my chest, her purring a soothing lullaby.
I held her tight, the stars visible through the window, the world outside dark and uncertain. But with her cuddling against me whole night, sleep came easy, a brief peace before the journey ahead.