Murray Hill || A Superhuman Tale - 1

Chapter Fifty-Four

Camille was in the middle of bumfucking nowhere. Her cellular service had been dodgy for the last 100 miles and now was completely kaput, and the paper map at which she stared said there should have been a town where she now stood, but there was nothing. It was an unexpected hurdle. She stood beside the highway, leaning against the SUV and wondering how she'd gotten there.

She knew she was in western Montana, a place she now realized just happened to be the whitest place in the United States. To her surprise, she found herself sympathizing, ever so slightly, with the faux federal officers who'd tried to blend in while looting Sam's home in Bronzeville. She was fairly certain that she was the only black woman in western Montana, but she was entirely certain that she was the only black woman over six feet.

It wasn't that anyone had been rude to her. On the contrary. People were warm and friendly. She merely had been the subject of every glance and every whispered conversation in every place she'd stopped for the last 600 miles. Visions of cowpoke calling their friends and relatives up and down the highway, informing them of the presence of a tall, swarthy Amazon, danced through her head.

This is why they never selected you for undercover work, she thought.

And she wasn't sure where those damned faux agents where. Hopefully not gossiping with cowhands about recent comings and goings. The last time she'd been able to get the tracking App to work, the group had been near Browning, Montana. That'd been just over an hour before. She should've been in Browning herself by now.

Paper maps are bullshit, she reminded herself.

Climbing back into the car, she began to drive. It was just past noon. Her quarry had driven another 400 miles after departing Bismarck the day before, eventually ending up in Billings, Montana, where they'd spent the night. Camille had attempted to stay well out of sight and had rested and napped in the SUV a block down the road from the mid-range hotel at which the fake agents had stayed.

She'd begun to see a pattern. They'd been overnighting at hotels within government per diem rates. Brilliant.

The only hiccup that night had been the brief visit she received from the local PD as she'd slept in the vehicle. Camille flashed the officer her badge and her winningest smile and explained that she was driving out to the coast to visit friends, had wanted to see a bit of the country, but was deathly afraid of contracting bedbugs by staying at a motel. The officer took her at her word and, after a friendly chat, departed. She hated being dishonest to the kind man.

She'd travelled more than 300 miles since pulling out that morning and now was lost. Well, not lost, misoriented, as she several times had reminded herself.

After 30 more minutes of driving, a small intersection came into view. There was a gas station and a small shop, so she fueled up and asked for directions. To her surprise, she was on the right path. Another 20 miles would take her to Browning.

She rejoiced, celebrating with a cool iced tea from a can. The older woman who operated the shop was a sweetheart, and Camille began chatting with her. She slowly moved the conversation toward recent passersby and was rewarded for her efforts when the woman, Effie, mentioned three handsome young men who'd passed through several hours before. Those had to be her fake agents.

After another few minutes of friendly gossip, Camille thanked the woman and took her purchase to the car.

Before she could even start the engine, there was a gentle tapping on the driver's side window. Expecting to see the gregarious old Effie, Camille turned to look straight into the eyes of Coopersmith. The man was holding a gun half concealed under his coat.