2. Anna
ANNA
Fuck my life.
Once again, these masked assholes were about to leave, but there’s no way in hell they’re going to do that now.
Not unless they have a death wish. Sirens sound off in the distance, no doubt from more approaching squad cars.
I can’t see what’s going on, but there’s a heavy rev of an engine before a deafening crash of metal on metal.
Tires squeal, and not a second later does a four-door compact car tear off past the shop and down the street.
No doubt the getaway driver, given the amount of expletives that follow from the thieves.
“What the fuck do we do now?” the twitchy one with the gun asks.
“Give me your keys,” Mr. Blue Eyes orders, looking at Devin, who apparently isn’t computing, since he reaches into his pocket and pulls out something that looks like it belongs to a lockbox. “Your car keys, dipshit. Hand ’em over.”
“M-my w-wife drove me.”
Since Blue Eyes can’t spare any more hands, the tallest of the trio comes over and raids Keith’s pockets. “Is it parked in the back lot?” he asks, pulling out the fob to an old Ford.
“Yes,” Devin practically squeaks out when Keith doesn’t answer. “It’s the black SUV in the far back.”
Which apparently will give the police about a forty-foot range to shoot them between the back entrance and the vehicle.
Further cursing ensues when Mia confirms that she walked to work and I tell them I’m parked a block away.
My heart sinks into my stomach the second another squad car pulls up front and Twitchy grabs hold of Mia, pulling her up off the ground.
If any of the approaching police have the mind to cover the back of the shop, our masked trio here is fucked.
Unless they have human shields.
Seeing as there are three of them and four of us, one lucky individual gets to stay behind, and Devin apparently decides it will be him.
Because despite being closer to the only thief yet without a hostage, the asshole grabs me and practically hurls me over his lap and onto the floor by the masked man’s feet.
“ Are you fucking kidding me?”
I don’t need to say it, because Mr. Blue Eyes beats me to the punch. Literally. He rounds the counter with Keith still in tow and slams the butt of his gun against the side of Devin’s head. I hear him tell his friend to leave me, but it’s too late.
I’m already being dragged off the floor and into the back hallway.
Despite the oversized clothes concealing his body, it’s clear the guy grabbing me certainly doesn’t lack muscles.
Between my heels and the force with which I’m being yanked, I can’t even gain my footing.
That doesn’t stop him, though, because we find ourselves reaching the back door in seconds.
He pauses long enough to let me stand up straight, but it’s only to position me in front of him as the barrel of his gun presses against the side of my head.
He pats me down, looking for my phone, and when he finds nothing on me, I’m forced forward through the door alongside Mia and her captor.
I don’t see anyone else in the lot or on the side street, but by the sounds of it, a vehicle is fast approaching.
Any chance that the thieves would ditch Mia and me once they reached the SUV is obliterated when the car coming our way comes into view, sporting the distinct red and blue emergency vehicle lights atop it.
I don’t initially see what she does, but the instant Twitchy goes to open the back door of the SUV, Mia breaks free from his hold, thrusting her arm up hard enough to force the gun away from her head.
It’s obvious another officer is positioned somewhere behind us, because when she drives her elbow up at his face and is able to move back from him, a shot is fired, piercing the vehicle right beside his head.
Even though Mia is in the clear, it still freaks her out enough that she stumbles, landing hard on the pavement, but she doesn’t stop. Forearms scuffed and bleeding, the woman takes off for the closest line of cars and ducks behind it, free.
Keith and I aren’t so lucky.
I’m forced into the passenger seat, finding Mr. Blue Eyes taking his place behind the wheel. We’re tearing out of the lot before the doors are even closed, and I suspect it’s so the police get a good look at the situation.
The tallest thief is in the third row, his gun aimed at the back of Keith’s head, who sits in the second row beside Twitchy, his gun aimed at me. The message is clear. If anybody tries anything, someone’s getting their head blown off, and it won’t be a person that the police would prefer.
The SUV has to be at least fifteen years old and doesn’t have the kind of horsepower Five-O has, but Mr. Blue Eyes knows what he’s doing.
I have a feeling this was one of the escape routes already mapped out, because he’s not missing a beat, cutting through alleys and side streets toward a residential neighborhood.
I’m too afraid to reach for my seat belt, just in case Twitchy behind me thinks I’m making a play for the door handle or some shit and he decides to blow my brains out.
This only has me careening against either the window or the armrest with every turn we take, the tires squealing over the pavement.
It doesn’t help that the ten a.m. thunderstorm has evidently arrived much sooner than expected.
Even with the windshield wipers working at full speed, the scenery is a blur.
We are just tailing and skidding all over the road, and by the sounds of the cars behind us, the police aren’t faring any better.
I’m pretty sure we’re up on two wheels at one point, and I have to close my eyes just to prevent barfing all over myself.
All the while, Mr. Blue Eyes keeps assuring me I’m doing great.
Like hell I am.
It’s taking everything in me not to cry and vomit and scream, especially not all at once.
Is it just my imagination, or are the police sirens sounding further and further back? Is he really losing their tail? Is there a helicopter overhead, or at least a drone? Surely they have to be tracking us somehow…
But after the fifteen longest minutes of my life, we’re looking at open, rural roads leading up to the interstate.
There’s no one.
No roadblocks, no squad cars, no sign that anything is amiss. Hell, there isn’t any traffic, period. Between the downpour and the location, we haven’t passed a single car since we turned onto the stretch of road.
We’re still a mile from the interstate when the SUV begins to decelerate, and the bile threatening its way up my throat turns volcanic as we pass a weathered sign reading, “LaFarge Market.”
Only, it isn’t a grocery store anymore. It had moved locations, leaving nothing now but a demolished lot awaiting new construction, which I doubt will be coming anytime soon.
I had passed this place when I arrived in town four weeks ago, and in broad daylight, all I had seen was a parking lot riddled with weeds and grass growing through the fissures of its pavement.
A small dirt hill obscures a section of the parking lot, but everything else shows no signs of life.
And beyond it…
There’s a gigantic crater in the dirt where the building had once stood, now looking like the ideal place for a mass burial.
Or even just for two.
Why else would we be slowing down? If they were planning on letting us go, why is everybody unbuckling their seatbelts? If they weren’t planning on hurting us, they would just pull over, tell us to get out, and then keep driving.
I’m not the only one coming to this conclusion, either, if Keith’s reaction is anything to go by.
It happens so fast.
Something slams into the back of my seat, hard enough to throw me forward, as a fight breaks out from the back seat. A blast goes off beside my right ear so loud I fear I may be deaf, and glass explodes next to my head as the passenger side window is shot out.
I have the instinct to duck, but I also catch sight of the Glock out of my periphery. Keith and Twitchy fight each other for the gun, and to our collective horror, Keith’s able to aim it at Mr. Blue Eyes.
Sure, we may be slowing down from full speed, but it’s still pouring outside, and even on the mostly straight road, we’re still fishtailing like crazy.
If our driver gets his brains blown out, there’s about a ninety-eight percent chance we’ll either be sent crashing into the trees off to our left or plummeting into the trench ahead of the parking lot to our right.
Seeing as how nobody’s wearing a seatbelt now, we’re all pretty much screwed at the speed we’re still going.
Someone yells at the driver, but it’s not like Mr. Blue Eyes can just slam on the brakes.
If anything, that’ll only make it worse.
I should try to put my seatbelt on. I should try to brace myself for the impact. I should do anything else.
But before I can think better of it, I grab the front of Mr. Blue Eyes’s coat and yank him towards me as hard as I can.
The shot fires, narrowly missing his head to go through the windshield.
Twitchy manages to throw his hand out the second Keith tries re-centering his aim.
His fist hits the underside of the guard’s wrist, knocking the gun upward just as it discharges.
The bullet pierces the roof just above the driver’s head, but before I can breathe a sigh of relief, another shot is fired.
Warm liquid, along with something much thicker, splatters the side of my face as Keith slumps forward. His head hits the back of the driver’s seat, and I can see he’s missing his right eye as blood and brain matter pour out of its socket!
I want to scream, but I’m not given the chance.
Whether from the force of me yanking Mr. Blue Eyes sideways or just having his attention off the road for that split second, the SUV begins to do more than fishtail. Steering into the skid doesn’t help, and we quickly find ourselves perpendicular to the road.
But it doesn’t last long.
We’re nearly facing backward when Blue Eyes somehow manages to drop our speed, but we’re on the shoulder of the road, and then…
The ground drops out from under us. The weightlessness lasts for all but a second before the impact slams me backward at an angle into the seat and door.
But we’re not done. Whatever we hit rocks the SUV with enough force that we topple in the other direction, and we’re sent careening down into the trench sideways.
The driver’s side windows obliterate as we hit the ground, and without any seat belts securing us, everyone’s thrown to the left side of the vehicle.
I don’t know what I hit my head on, but it’s enough to make everything around me go black as gravity has me landing on top of the driver.
Not much time passes before some semblance of light makes its way back into my vision because I can hear one of the front tires still spinning over the ringing in my ears.
Between the storm and being down in the ditch, it’s still pretty dark, and everything continues to go in and out of focus, so it’s next to impossible to see what’s going on around me.
I at least know Mr. Blue Eyes is still alive, since I can feel his lungs expanding and contracting from beneath me, and he uses some kind of mint soap or body wash.
That last fact is an odd one to store in my memory bank, but it’s honestly the only aroma in the car that doesn’t make me want to gag.
Everything else smells acrid and burnt, mixed with a pungent odor of sewage and sulfur, likely from the water sitting at the bottom of the ditch.
I do feel water, but it’s thankfully not beneath me on the ground.
Rain pours in through the passenger side window that’s now facing upward.
All I can do is try to escape.
As soon as I move, every dull ache flares into the kind of pain that leaves me yelping, but I force myself to stand, careful not to step on the man still lying under me.
I don’t bother trying to open the door, instead treating the glassless passenger window as a sunroof.
I pry myself up and through it, grateful to find the side of the trench away from the road isn’t nearly as steep as the one we went down, and I’m able to haul my sore limbs up the hillside toward the mound of dirt I know is at the corner of the old grocery market’s parking lot.
Either the world has become a giant Tilt-A-Whirl, or I have a concussion, because the more I walk, the more the ground beneath me spins.
As soon as I reach the top of the trench, I have to brace myself on the old sign by the road I suspect used to read “For Lease”.
I don’t get to appreciate the break for long.
Even with my ears ringing, it’s not enough to mask the unmistakable sound of a gunshot.
Something strikes the sign next to my head that I can safely assume is a bullet, and for the first time since this nightmare started, I finally get the opportunity to scream.
I lurch forward and duck out of sight from the trench, scrambling over the cracked terrain of the parking lot. Muffled yells come from behind me, but I don’t stop or even bother to look over my shoulder. I just keep running, running, running…
Until I finally reach the interstate on the other end of the abandoned property.
I suppose I look like a victim straight out of a horror movie, because I don’t even need to raise my hand or try to signal to the oncoming traffic.
As soon as I’m visible on the shoulder of the road, the approaching semi immediately slows to a stop, and the driver climbs out with his phone pressed to his ear. And his voice is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard, because he’s already calling for an ambulance.
The adrenaline and terror and pain and relief and exhaustion are all too much. My knees buckle, and I find myself collapsing on the ground.