7. Night Drive & Dark Fears
Night Drive some had shattered windows, others doors hanging open as if their owners had fled mid-step.
A grocery store sign—SAVE-MART—dangled crookedly above the empty building.
The S and M were gone entirely, leaving AVE-ART like a bad joke, the A swinging from a single bolt that creaked in the night breeze.
The scene should have terrified her. Instead, through the fog of exhaustion, it looked like salvation.
An idea sparked.
“If we park here… maybe we look like another abandoned car,” she whispered.
Not brilliant. Not even good. But she no longer had the luxury of good.
“Mommy?” A groggy voice rose from the back.
Josie’s grip softened on the wheel. “It’s okay, love bug. Mommy just needs to find a place to rest for a little while.”
Layla rubbed her eyes. “Are we still on venture?”
Josie smiled despite everything. “We are. And good explorers know when to stop before they get too tired. Remember?”
Layla nodded, satisfied, and burrowed back under her blanket.
Josie eased the SUV toward the far corner of the lot, tucking it between two large pickup trucks before killing the engine. The silence that followed startled her—as though the world outside had been holding its breath and only now released it.
Her own breath trembled loose from her chest.
She scanned the shadows. No movement. No shapes.
No sick people. No people. Still, she double-checked the locks, hit the child lock on Layla’s door, and wedged folded blankets along the bottoms of the windows to smother any stray light.
She pulled the hand gun from the glove box where she had stored it and tucked it under the seat.
Just thirty minutes, she told herself, letting her head fall back against the seat. Maybe an hour. Just enough to stay awake behind the wheel when the sun comes up.
“Mommy?” Layla whispered.
“Yes, baby?”
“Are we safe?”
Josie’s breath hitched, but she steadied her voice. “Right now, in this car, we’re safe. I promise.”
Layla smiled sleepily and drifted off, Mr. Ranger tucked beneath her chin.
CLACK.
Metal on metal.
Not the car cooling. Not the wind.
Josie’s eyes snapped open the instant the back passenger door wrenched free of its latch with a crash that shook her bones.
A man filled the opening—heavyset, his face oddly calm above a beard matted with what looked like pine needles and dried mud.
A long, healed burn pulled the skin tight from one cheek toward his ear.
His clothes were spattered with earth and something dark and sticky she refused to name.
A pistol hung from his fingers with the ease of long habit.
The air left her lungs.
Before her mind could choose between scream and grab her hidden gun, he rammed the barrel inches from her face.
“Don’t,” he seethed, his voice low. “Don’t you dare scream.”
Layla whimpered, curling into the corner of her seat like a wounded animal. Josie forced a trembling hand toward her, palm out—it’s okay, don’t move.
The man shoved half his body into the cramped backseat, sweeping the gun across Josie, across Layla, across the overstuffed trunk. His eyes burned with something feral and starved, as if his veins ran on nothing but pure, desperate hunger.
Her throat went dry as sandpaper. “Please—she’s just a kid. We don’t want any trouble. We’re only trying to get to Denver—”
A harsh, empty laugh burst from him. “Denver? You’re going nowhere but where I say.” Cold steel pressed into her temple hard enough to blur her vision.
Her heart thundered so loudly she barely caught Layla’s tiny sob.
He slammed the back door shut, rattling the window, he reached the front passenger side door open and climbed in, the gun trained on Josie. He leaned close, his breath rancid against her ear. “Drive. North. I’ll tell you when to turn.”
She pressed her palms flat against the wheel, fingers splayed. “Please—”
The barrel dug into her temple.
“I said drive. It would be a shame is something happened to that precious brat in the back, now wouldn’t it.”
With a strangled sob, Josie eased the car into gear, tears blurring the world beyond the windshield as the abandoned lot slid away behind them.
“You look smart,” he sneered, the word an insult. “Good. Smart means you understand what happens if you cross me. Keep moving. Keep quiet…” His gaze drifted to Layla, and a twisted grin carved across his face. “…and maybe I let the kid live.”
Terror split through Josie’s chest. But beneath the panic, something fiercer ignited—a mother’s wrath, pure and incandescent, burning steadier with every mile.
She drove into the darkness, the gun never leaving her head, her mind racing through every desperate shred of hope: through escapes, through strategies, through any means to keep Layla alive. If only she could reach the gun.
She would do anything. Anything.
Seth froze from the his perch on the hood of the SUV, breath tightening in his chest as headlights swept across the abandoned church lot. For hours he’d listened to nothing but wind and the occasional creak of settling metal—the sudden appearance of a moving vehicle snapped his body to high alert.
He slid off the hood, boots meeting the ground without a sound. His first instinct pushed him toward waking Jay—but a sound rooted him to the spot.
One he recognized even as it sliced through him like a blade.
A woman. Crying. Terrified.
Seth slipped into the shadows along the church siding, rifle tight against his chest as he inched toward the noise. His pulse climbed, steady and trained, the same controlled rhythm he’d carried into compound breaches overseas. Only this wasn’t war.
It was worse. It was here.
Tires skidded to a halt. The driver’s door exploded open, and a man with rage-twisted features dragged a woman out by her hair, her head snapping back as he hurled her onto the ground.
“Get up you fucking bitch.” His voice was a low grind of metal on stone. “You think this is it? Oh, we’re just getting started.” He wrenched her head back by the hair, his face inches from hers. “You’re going to watch me gut the kid. And you’re going to beg me to stop.”
A child’s shriek pierced the night.
Seth’s blood turned to ice.
A kid. A little kid.
The woman clawed toward the backseat, blood-streaked fingers stretching desperately toward the door. “Please—God—she’s just a baby—I’ll do anything.”
The man’s boot crashed into her ribs with a sickening crack, sending her tumbling across the pavement, gasping for air that wouldn’t come.
Seth’s vision narrowed to a pinpoint of crimson. He’d witnessed this before—Afghanistan, the worst of humanity unleashed when no one stood watching. He slid closer, each step silent, deliberate, final.
The man seized her jacket, fabric tearing, buttons scattering across the asphalt. “I’m going to break you,” he snarled, yanking her face inches from his own. “Piece by piece. Then I’ll let your precious baby watch. Maybe then I’ll let her live another hour.”
She thrashed wildly, fingernails raking down his face. “SHE’S FIVE YEARS OLD! PLEASE!”
Another broken, helpless wail rose from the car.
Every protocol Seth had ever trained himself to follow went offline.
The rifle rose, crosshairs settling on the man’s skull. Seth’s breathing slowed to nothing, his trigger finger perfectly still.
The woman’s scream shattered the air as the man slammed her down, knees pinning her chest. His hands tore at his belt buckle, metal glinting in the moonlight.
Seth exhaled.
Squeezed.
Fired.
The crack split the night like lightning. The man jerked forward, collapsing—dead before he hit the pavement.
The woman’s scream was a raw, tearing sound. She scrambled backward, away from the body. Seth stepped from the church’s shadow, the smell of cordite sharp in the air.
“Hey—hey,” he called, rifle still warm in his hands, every muscle coiled. “You’re safe. You’re safe now.”
“GET AWAY FROM ME!” she screamed, voice shredded raw, throwing her hands up as though they could stop another bullet. “DON’T TOUCH HER! PLEASE GOD—”
Jay and Cara charged across the lot, weapons raised, eyes wild with adrenaline.
“What the fuck, are there more?” Jay yelled, dropping to one knee beside Seth.
Cara’s gaze darted from the sobbing woman to the corpse leaking dark fluid onto the pavement, to the child’s piercing screams still echoing from inside the vehicle. Seth’s low, controlled voice cut through it all.
The woman’s lungs heaved as though she were drowning on dry land, her gaze ricocheting between the rifle barrel, Seth’s face, and the SUV where Jay had positioned himself like a shield.