2. Chapter 2 #2
However, I also know how close Randy and Ben are . . . were. Shit. Randy’s not likely to give up until he knows Ben is dead, which is why I need to be gone, and now.
The Parker brothers are nothing if not tenacious and beyond that, stone cold. If Randy gets even a whiff that I killed his brother, well I don’t really want to think about it.
“Shit,” the cop mumbles, echoing my thoughts and I glance up just as he slams on the brakes. Of course, my ribs fucking burn when I jerk forward before slamming back in the seat.
I bite back a moan that dies on my tongue though because all thoughts flee in the face of what’s standing before me.
It’s a man. I know it’s a man, but his lifeless dark eyes bore into mine with an intensity that raises the hair on my nape.
His chest is covered in what I assume to be blood but the sheer amount covering his torso defies his aggressive stance.
However, it’s his mouth, ringed in crimson, and pulled back into a snarl that tightens my chest. Whatever happened to him, he looks like a feral animal and when he staggers toward us, I press against the seat while pushing my foot to the floor despite knowing I’m not in the driver’s seat.
I can’t explain it, but my body instinctively knows what my mind cannot comprehend and it’s blaring danger, danger, danger.
Thankfully, the cop seems to be on the same page, and he swings the wheel to the left before pressing on the gas.
Unfortunately, this leaves me closest to the man and as we pass, he pounds his fist against the window, those dark eyes searing into mine.
My throat closes at the sight and I scoot across the seat when he follows with his head.
The cop's not paying attention though and while I sit frozen, we approach Oregon City where twin spirals of smoke appear in the distance.
To my right, a lovely old farmhouse sits back from the road with a car parked outside, the doors standing open. Following the path of the dusty prints, I lean forward, hoping this might paint the picture for me but it’s woefully inadequate for the scene my brain struggles to piece together.
Are those . . . bodies?
They’re eating each other. Randy’s words from the answering machine resound in my head and although the scenario sounds really freaking improbable, I still laugh because the woman previously cuddled against her husband’s chest looks up and I do believe that’s blood staining her once white teeth.
Did I finally escape my nightmare only to endure something worse? Not possible. Right?
When the cop eyes me sideways, I wipe my eyes and exhale slowly. Keep it together, Shelby.
That’s my mantra but it’s hard to maintain and I open my mouth to suggest we stop before closing it quickly. I’m in no position to help someone else and frankly, the only goal I have is to skip town before Randy comes looking.
Besides, if the cop hasn’t shown any inclination, I’m better off following his lead. Where this leaves me once he’s home, I refuse to contemplate.
All too soon, we come upon the houses and businesses that mark the line between the farming community behind us and the town limits up ahead.
Just on the outskirts of Portland, Oregon City winds along the Willamette River, offering a quieter place to live from the hustle of the city before it too grew.
We’ll reach the stoplight soon which leads down to the freeway and I’m itching to keep going despite this man’s insistence that Portland is . . . what? I don’t even know.
The words undead and monsters don’t even compute. Although, to be fair, I’ve thought my husband a monster for years. Somehow, I don’t think that’s what this man was referring to though.
Maybe he’s insane. Maybe this is a shared delusion. I mean, he did just hijack my truck and I’m not exactly operating with all cylinders at the moment.
We’ve now entered the more residential part of Oregon City which would normally mean traffic and people but as we cruise down the road, all I see are empty vehicles the cop has to maneuver around. Where is everyone?
Up ahead is the pizza place Ben and I used to frequent. As we pass, I study the building, surprised to find it’s been replaced by an office of some kind. Beyond is a smattering of homes and businesses and I cover my gasp when I find the source of the smoke in the sky.
The gas station is on fire and is that . . . ? What the actual fuck?
A woman clawing at her burning hair staggers toward the cars in the lot while a man engulfed in flames follows with a boy wandering behind, his features unrecognizable for the fire licking at his skin. Although I try to blink the images away, they’re permanently emblazoned on my brain.
When the truck swerves, I glance up at the series of cars in a jumbled mess blocking the intersection.
A few people linger and a shiver of foreboding rushes through me when we get closer and I spy a man and woman bump into each other before spinning away.
It’s more in the lines of their coordination but something's not quite right.
“Fuck,” the cop says under his breath before swerving right and slamming on his brakes. Another sea of cars greets us, and I stare wide eyed while he jumps the curb, unable to look away from the child trapped behind the glass of a small tan sedan.
Her dark hair, pulled into two pigtails, swishes around her head as she bares her tiny white teeth, with an adorable gap in the middle while beating her hands against the glass. What’s not so cute are her once bright blue eyes, now surrounded by black bruises.
When she hisses, her gaze boring into mine, I bow my head. It’s not hard to miss the chunk taken out of her neck. I would assume it was at the hands of the woman, seated beside her and snarling at the glass with blood-soaked teeth, except there’s a perfectly round bite mark in her cheek, too.
What bit them? Why? What does it mean?
I just jumped from one horror to the next and right about now, I’m not sure which is worse.
The world was falling fucking apart while I made a last-ditch effort to save my life.
Now I’m wondering if I shouldn’t have just given up, especially when the cop makes a right turn and I watch my road to escape disappear.
When we barrel down the sidewalk before bumping back onto the road, a slice of pain shoots through my ribs and I bite my lip to hold back a moan.
This serves to reopen the damn wound, courtesy of Ben popping me in the mouth and the coppery taste that lingers in the back of my throat sends my stomach roiling.
Will this horrible taste follow me for the rest of my days? I killed a man. Maybe it’s what I deserve.
Whatever. Focus.
The cop makes a left and another right passing homes that seem all too normal considering what we just passed.
When a flock of birds shoots across the sky, I follow the trajectory as my hijacker pulls into the driveway of a sweet one-story house with red flowers overflowing a pot on the front porch.
After putting the truck in park, the cop stares at the facade, his jaw ticking and I follow his gaze to the cop car parked beside a white SUV. If he left his state issued vehicle on the long stretch of road, who’s car is in the driveway?
I must make a small sound because his head swings my way, and his icy eyes drop to my mouth, where I lick away a drop of blood. Although his brows flicker, he doesn’t comment and I avert my gaze when he says, “Look, if you wait. We can go together. I know the back roads out of town.”