by April Henry
He took her elbow, and they began to walk. They hadn’t gone more than a hundred paces when their feet crunched on gravel and then, a few steps later, on smooth blacktop. They had reached the road. So Cheyenne hadn’t been imagining it when she thought she heard a car. If the cop hadn’t come along, she still might have been able to flag down someone. At least now she didn’t have to worry about getting accidentally run over in the process.
“You said you escaped the men who kidnapped you. How did you do that? Did you have help?”
Cheyenne stopped in her tracks, causing the man to bump into her. “Oh, my God! I should have told you right away. You need to call out a search party. This guy Griffin is out in the woods someplace. He’s hurt. He told me to go on without him and he would draw them away.” Turning, she put her free hand on the cop’s wrist. “He needs medical attention immediately.” She tried not to think of him dead, but immediately she saw Griffin in her mind’s eye, as clearly as she had seen him when they had been talking in his bedroom. He lay flat on his back on the frozen ground, his skin as pale as wax, his wide eyes staring up at the gray sky.
He’s alive, Cheyenne scolded herself. He’s alive, and you’d better start laying the groundwork with the police now. If not for acquittal, then maybe probation.
“Griffin’s just this kid who lives at the house where I was being held. His father was the one who demanded the ransom money. And there were two other men there. Griffin protected me from them.” Cheyenne felt her cheeks get hot. Would he think she had been raped? “He kept me safe. But the men decided they weren’t going to let me go, in case I could identify them. Griffin found out what they were planning, so he helped me get away.” Cheyenne decided not to mention who had kidnapped her, hoping it might help Griffin. “Please, please, you have to ask them to go out and find him.”
“Are his injuries life threatening?” There was a strange note in the cop’s voice.
“No. But his ankle is broken, so he can’t walk. You need to find him soon, before he freezes to death.”
“We’ll handle that once we get back to the station.” The cop didn’t sound too forgiving. Cheyenne hoped whoever really decided these things would look more favorably on Griffin. “All right. Here’s the car.” His steps slowed, and he led her back onto the gravel.
“I’ve never ridden in a cop car before.”
“I’m afraid you’re still going to miss your chance – we use private vehicles when we work undercover.” He opened the door and guided her in, his hand on the small of her back.
She sat on the front bench seat. Inside, it smelled like cigarettes and fast food. Her feet scuffled wrappers and hard things that clunked – some kind of tools? – before finding a place to rest. She heard the cop get in the other side and close the door, felt his weight settle in beside her.
“So are you taking me home?”
“Back to the station. Your dad will meet us there. We need to, um, debrief you.” There was something slightly off about his voice.
Everything was slightly off, Cheyenne realized. She sniffed. Inside the confines of the car, she could smell something familiar about the cop. She sniffed again. It was the sharp, medicinal smell of peppermint overlaying the earthy smell of tobacco.
NOTHING LIKE A TOY
Oh, no.
Cheyenne flashed back to a hard voice demanding all her phone numbers. Griffin’s dad had smelled like that.
Roy hadn’t needed to change his appearance. He just changed his voice, pitching it lower. But what he couldn’t change was his smell.
Cheyenne knew Roy was going to drive her to her death.
Shoot her here and he might attract attention. Plus, he would be left with a bloody mess in his car. He must be planning to drive her to the house, all the while chattering about what they would do “back at the station.”
She remembered the mobile he had been using. Maybe she could snatch it and call 9-1-1. Maybe if she was really lucky, he wouldn’t notice that she had it and she could hold it behind her back while she pressed the numbers. She might even buy a second or two before he heard the voice of the operator or noticed what she was doing.
It was hopeless, but what else could she do? If she got out and ran, he would tackle her in a moment and drag her back. Give up on all pretense.
The engine started up. Cheyenne swept her left hand over the seat between them. Her fingers closed over what they found.
Only it wasn’t a phone.
It was a gun.
“Hey!” Roy sounded surprised. Too surprised to keep using his phony voice.
Cheyenne transferred the gun to her right hand. It wasn’t very big. But it felt heavy and real and nothing like a toy. Did it have a safety?
“You make one move, and I’ll shoot you.”
She had wanted to make her voice full of authority, unwavering. Instead it came out high-pitched and shaking.
Roy’s only answer was a laugh.
Something streaked across the small slice of vision Cheyenne still had left. Roy’s hand, trying to grab the gun from her. Her finger tightened on the trigger just as his hand closed around her fist.
The sound of the gun firing was so loud that it sucked all other sounds after it.
And then the silence was broken by Roy’s scream.
“You shot me!” He sounded more affronted than injured.
How badly was he hurt? Bad enough that he would die? Or not bad enough to keep him from hurting her?
Cheyenne realized she was still holding the gun.
“Get out!” she screamed.
“What?”
“Get out of the car! Or I’ll shoot you again.” She pressed the gun forward until it touched flesh. Wet flesh.
“Okay, okay!”
She heard the door open and Roy scramble out. An “oof” as he fell onto the road. Still holding the gun, Cheyenne leaned forward, found the door handle, and yanked it closed. A second later she snapped down the lock, just before Roy grabbed the handle from the outside. Now that the gun barrel was no longer dimpling his flesh, he was obviously rethinking having left the car. And he wanted back in.
The other door! Cheyenne leaned to her right, found the lock just in time. Her hand was sticky. It must be blood. The passenger door rattled.
“Let me in, Cheyenne.”
“No!”
“Come on, I’m hurt. I need to get to a doctor. Let me in and I’ll drive us to a hospital and let you go.”
Where had she shot him? Cheyenne didn’t know. His arm? His belly? His chest? It seemed quite possible that Roy was telling the truth. Maybe he did need to get to a hospital.
“Cheyenne – I’m going to bleed to death. Please, for the love of God…”
Slowly, she raised her hand.
He must have come back to the other side of the car, because suddenly the driver’s side door began to jiggle, making her jump.
“Let me in, Cheyenne!” His voice was louder and angrier now. “Let me in or you’ll be sorry!”
Or maybe she had just nicked him.
A sudden loud bang, right next to her ear, made her scream.
It happened again. Roy was, Cheyenne realized, hammering the window with a rock. A big rock.
The third time he did it, the thump sounded more muffled. It was followed by a curse and the sound of the rock falling to the ground. He had smashed his own fingers instead of the window.
Good.
Cheyenne pressed the tip of the gun up against the glass near where she thought Roy was. She pressed hard to try to keep her hand from shaking. “Stop doing that or I’ll shoot you again!”
“Really?” Roy laughed. “I don’t think so. You’ll miss me by a mile. Or maybe the bullet will ricochet and hit you. So go ahead.” And then he smashed the rock down again.
DRIVING BLIND
As she pressed the nose of the gun against the window, Cheyenne realized Roy was right. Even if the bullet didn’t ricochet – and she wasn’t quite sure how that worked – even if it
did go through the window, wouldn’t she still be cut by flying glass? And Roy probably wouldn’t even be hurt. All she would accomplish would be to create a huge gaping hole. And then he could get her.
Frustrated and afraid, Cheyenne started to cry.
The rock banged against the window again, making her jump. Her foot touched the accelerator, and the car engine raced.
She had to do something, but what?
Then she had a sudden memory. Her mom sitting beside her, letting Cheyenne drive around the empty winding roads of a nearby cemetery on a damp Saturday afternoon.
Could she just drive away?
Another bang. It was only a matter of time before the window cracked and then broke.
Okay. She could do this. The engine was still on. Cheyenne turned in the seat and set down the gun. Her hands gripped the steering wheel so tightly that it cut into her fingers.
She quickly rehearsed what she remembered. The accelerator was on the right. The brake on the left.
But wait. The car was clearly in park now. And Cheyenne needed it to be in drive. But the one car she had driven had been an automatic. What if this was a stick? She had no idea how to use a clutch.
Leaning forward, Cheyenne felt to her right. No gearshift knob. Just the hump in the middle of the floor. The car must be an automatic. But where was the lever to change gears?
The rock banged down again.
Another flash of memory. Her grandma’s old car, so old it didn’t have seat belts. And the shifter was on top of the steering wheel. Sending up a silent prayer, Cheyenne pushed down one of the wands branching off the steering column. In answer, a sweeping sound. The windshield wipers.
“Hey!” Roy yelled. “Hey!”
She pushed the lever back up. The second wand felt thicker. It shifted down a notch with a satisfying clunk. Then the car moved, all right, but it bumped backward.
Cheyenne jammed both feet on the brake.
“Hey!” Roy yelled again. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
What was she doing? This was ridiculous. Maybe she should just give up.
She saw movement in her sliver of vision, so it wasn’t a surprise when the rock slammed down on the window again. Only this time, Cheyenne thought she heard a cracking sound.
She pulled the knob down one more notch. Nothing. A third notch. The car jerked forward. Even though her foot wasn’t on the accelerator, it was moving. The front tires crunched over the gravel and rolled onto the smooth surface of the road.
Roy was still yelling, but Cheyenne ignored him. She concentrated on straightening out the car – driving only by sound – so that all four tires were on the road. Only then did she gingerly put her foot on the accelerator. She was too afraid to go fast. If she went off the road and ran into a tree, then Roy would be free to do whatever he wanted to her. Her left front tire chattered in gravel. She jerked the wheel, heard Roy curse on the other side of the window. When the right tire left the road, she corrected more gently.
Outside she could hear Roy’s footfalls. First he was walking beside her, and then running. Each of his steps spurred her to press the pedal a millimeter farther down. When a tire left the road, she adjusted the steering wheel infinitesimally. And then Roy began to fall back.
Cheyenne was just starting to let herself hope when a new sound made her jump. It was the electronic shrill of a mobile.
What should she do? She felt paralyzed. Who could be calling Roy? TJ? Jimbo? Some friend of Roy’s? Whoever it was, she was sure the kind of people who would call Roy would not be the kind to come to her rescue. There was no point in answering it.
Without thinking about it, Cheyenne had lifted her foot off the accelerator. The car began slowing down until it was barely moving.
Then Cheyenne realized something. Once whoever was on the line hung up, she could use the phone to dial 9-1-1. But to do that, she had to find it.
As she was turning her head, trying to get a fix on the sound, the phone gave one last bleat and then stopped. The ringing seemed to have come from the floor of the car. Putting her foot on the brake, she began to rake her fingers through the crumpled papers that littered the floor. She found a wrench, a screwdriver, some tool she couldn’t identify. Finally, her fingers closed around the phone. It was the same bulky phone Roy had handed her the day before.
She had just pressed the number nine when she heard another sound. Roy’s footsteps. Running, but with an odd hitching gait. Listening to them, Cheyenne knew for sure that she had shot him. All the same, he was catching up with her.
She pressed the one key twice, then several buttons before she finally found the send key and heard the tones as it went through. Holding it between ear and shoulder – the bulky size was actually useful – she grabbed the steering wheel.
“Nine-one-one.” A woman’s voice.
The rock slammed down on the window again. Cheyenne thought she felt a tiny pebble of glass bounce off her cheek.
“I need the police. Oh, please hurry!” She began to inch the car forward again. But she knew she could never go fast enough.
“What is the nature of your emergency?”
The words ran out of her like water bursting from a dam. “My name’s Cheyenne Wilder and I’ve been kidnapped and now I’m in a car and I’ve locked the doors but the kidnapper is outside and he’s trying to smash open the window with a rock!”
“Does he have a weapon?” The woman’s voice was still calm.
“Just the rock. But the window’s starting to crack!”
“Do you have the keys?”
“Yes.”
“Can you drive away?”
“I’m trying, but the thing is, I’m blind.”
“Blind!” The dispatcher took a deep breath. “Okay, tell me where you are, Cheyenne.”
“That’s the thing. I don’t know.” This time when the rock crashed down, there was a splintery sound. The window was cracking. She had to get away. Cheyenne pressed the accelerator a little farther. The right front crunched on gravel. She adjusted, but not enough. The right rear tire had left the road as well. She angled away from the sound. “I’m somewhere within an hour’s drive of the Woodlands Experience shopping center. I’m on a road next to some woods. It’s paved and has gravel shoulders. And it’s quiet. I’ve only heard one car in the past half hour.”
“Okay, I can see which mobile tower is relaying your call. That narrows it down – but not enough. We’ve still got a five-mile radius to cover. I’m alerting all units in your area to see if they can find you.” Cheyenne heard her relay instructions.
Another blow smashed the window. Cracks spread, making a sound like cellophane uncrinkling.
“Cheyenne!” Roy howled. “Cheyenne!”
“Is that him?” A hint of shock crept into the dispatcher’s carefully dispassionate voice.
“Yes!” Cheyenne panted. “Please hurry!”
“We’re coming, Cheyenne.”
After an endless stretch of time that was probably less than a minute, something wailed faintly in the distance. “Wait! I hear a siren!”
“From which direction? I’ve got four cars, but they are spread over a pretty wide area.”
“I think south, but I’m not sure.” Cheyenne thought of something. “Can you ask them to turn on their sirens one at a time?”
“Yes, but what—” and then understanding broke. “Yes! Hang on, I’ll ask them to go one at a time. And you tell me which one you hear.”
“Car one,” the dispatcher said. Silence.
“Nothing,” Cheyenne said. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hear, so she lifted her foot from the accelerator.
With one hand, Cheyenne reached over and ran her fingers over the pane. It felt like a web of pebbles. The rock smashed down again just as she was touching the glass. And suddenly there was cold air pouring into the car. The hole was only as big as a dime, but she knew that wouldn’t last.
“Car two.”
“Still nothing.”
Cheyenne had never felt more alone in her life.
“Car three.”
And finally she heard its wail.
“That’s it! And it sounds closer than it did before.”
“Got it!” the dispatcher said triumphantly. “We’re coming!”
Then a hand punched through the window and circled her throat, squeezing Cheyenne back against the headrest. The phone fell to the floor of the car. Where was the gun? She didn’t remember, and when she swept her hand over the seat, she couldn’t find it. Roy’s hand tightened. She couldn’t scream – she couldn’t even breathe – but she could hear the wail of the siren getting louder.
Scrabbling desperately, Cheyenne found the piece of glass in her pocket. She grabbed it – ignoring how it sliced her thumb – and dragged it across the back of his hand. Roy cursed, then let go of her throat and pried the piece of glass away from her. It was slick with blood, his and hers, and she couldn’t hold on.
Then Roy’s hand was back, like a steel band around her throat. She was going to die, just seconds before being rescued. No! No! She couldn’t die. Not now. Maybe if she started driving again, he would have to let go. One hand found the wheel as her foot pressed the accelerator.
Then there was a thump and a scream, and Roy’s hand was gone. And she felt the rear tire go over something.
Cheyenne heard a car screeching to a stop behind her. The siren cut out. Two doors were flung open.
A man’s voice called out. “Stop! Police! Stay on the ground!”
Footsteps ran toward her. “Cheyenne, it’s the police,” a second man said. “You’re safe now.”
Cheyenne didn’t move for a long moment. Then she said, “Let me feel your badge.” Her foot was on the brake, but she could pivot it to the accelerator at any time.
“What?”
“Didn’t they tell you I’m blind? Let me feel your badge. The man who just tried to kill me told me that he was a cop.” Cheyenne held out her left hand next to the hole – but she kept her right hand on the steering wheel.
