One hour later

  Somewhere Outside of Westchester

  Hiroto had been driving so fast and aggressively since leaving the detention center that he hadn’t noticed the brilliance of the vehicle’s fuel gauge until it was almost too late. He made a few more sudden moves and nearly broadsided a hearse traveling north on Interstate 287.

  “Are you alright, uncle?” Aiko asked as she held on to the door handle with a death grip. “Why are you driving like that?”

  “Sorry but I think someone is following us,” Hiroto said as sweat poured across his face.

  Aiko snatched a peek at the road behind. She couldn’t make out anything but the constant glow of headlights.

  “Where are we going?”

  “I don’t know, but we need to get some fuel and supplies.”

  Moments later, he pulled into a truck stop just outside a good sized city. He couldn’t remember which one.

  White Plains? He thought.

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  He parked near the rear of the building. He would get gas later, but first, he needed to do something. After getting the girls’ sizes, he rushed into the massive convenience store next to the sea of gas pumps. It was the kind of store that sold everything. He bought several pairs of sweatpants, T-shirts, and accessories, such as sunglasses. On the way out, several bags of unhealthy snacks were added to his basket.

  This should keep us going for a while.

  “Forget your luggage?” the clerk asked as she rang up the items.

  Hiroto examined the middle-aged woman with long, graying hair. She reminded him of an aging hippy.

  “Oh, no. One of our bags fell off the car. I need to get the kids something clean before they have a meltdown. I spent the past hour looking for it before giving up.”

  “Girls?”

  Hiroto nodded.

  “Figured as much. My daughter overpacks and yells if she doesn’t have the outfit to suit her mood. I can’t imagine what she would do if she lost them,” the clerk said.

  How much for the items? I’m in a bit of a hurry,” Hiroto said.

  “That will be two hundred thirty-four dollars and forty-two cents with tax.”

  He handed the clerk three one-hundred-dollar bills.

  “I can’t break this, it’s too big.”

  A metal can with a hungry-looking child was next to the register.

  “When you get enough, put the balance in there,” Hiroto said, pointing to the can.

  “Sure thing—”

  A tingling sensation overcame Hiroto. He knew that feeling well. It was his inner Hiroto sounding the warning. Someone was close. He scanned the area, but he couldn’t see anything suspicious. His sense was never wrong. Moments later, the hair on the back of his neck tingled. He shifted abruptly to the right, and the clerk’s head exploded like someone stuffed a bomb in a watermelon. Hiroto ducked and hot into position behind the counter. He removed a gun, then closed his eyes as pandemonium rang out.