by Tracy Deebs
Shots ring out behind me, but they don’t seem to hit anything vital and I’m not stopping to check. I plow ahead into town and onto a narrow sidewalk. I dodge a fire hydrant and mow down a small white picket fence and a bunch of patio tables and chairs that obviously belong to a sidewalk café.
Theo curses, but other than that keeps his mouth shut.
“Put pressure on the wound,” I snarl. “You have to stop the bleeding.”
“It’s just my arm. I don’t think it’s bad.”
“You got shot! That’s pretty much the definition of bad, you moron!”
Up ahead, I can see freedom. Open, unrestricted road. But there’s a huge line of motorcycles and men with guns between me and it. I glance in the rearview mirror—two motorcycles are closing in fast. They get a little distracted by the café debris, but I can’t outrun them forever.
“Hold on!” I yell.
“What are you going to do?” Theo demands, sitting up. “No, Pandora. Don’t!”
It’s too late. I’m committed now. “Get out of the way, get out of the way, get out of the way,” I murmur as I press the gas pedal all the way to the floor.
Two of the men level their guns at the truck. I grab Eli by the hair, shove him down. Duck low over the steering wheel and keep on driving, right through the makeshift barricade of men and machines.
37
The crunch of metal hitting metal rings through the cab, followed by the sickening thud of bodies that means they weren’t fast enough to get out of the way—or were too stupid to believe that I would go through with it.
The truck shudders and bucks, but it’s big and tough and going close to ninety miles an hour when it hits them. In the end, we make it through. I glance in the rearview mirror, see three or four men lying in the road. They’re moving, but that’s all I can say about them. I yank my gaze away, shove the horror down deep inside me. I can’t think about them, about what I’ve done, and still function. Not now. Eli and Theo are depending on me.
I take the first right way too fast, make an immediate left, followed by another right. I don’t know if they’re still following us or not, but my gut instinct says they are and we need to hide. Otherwise, we’re dead.
I drive about a quarter of a mile down what I think is a main street in this small town, then make two quick lefts. “Where are you going?” Theo yells, hanging on to the back of the seat for all he’s worth.
“I have no idea. Look for someplace we can hide.”
I roll down the window, listen hard as I drive. From a couple of streets over, I can hear the roar of half a dozen motorcycles. I was right. They’re looking for us, and they’re nowhere near far enough away to make me comfortable.
I scan the streets even as I make another hairpin turn, going right this time. We’re on a suburban street and there are lots of houses with garages, but I don’t know if they’re still occupied or if the owners have evacuated like so many of the people in this area. Don’t know if I have the time to figure out how to open the doors, anyway.
Damn it, there’s nowhere to go.
I take another right, for a second heading back in the direction we’ve just come from, looking for something, someplace, where we might have a chance …
A three-level parking garage looms large on the left, and I swing into it at the last second. I race past the ticket booth and around corner after corner, climbing higher and higher. I narrowly miss plowing into a group of cars parked right on the corner of the second floor.
I correct, keep driving until I get to the top. Part of me is terrified that I’m doing the exact wrong thing—if they follow us, we’re trapped up here. But at the same time, we’re trapped down there. There’s a lot of them on very-easy-to-maneuver motorcycles that go a lot faster than this truck. It’s only a matter of time before they catch us if we stay on the streets.
The only good thing about this is that the garage is attached to a building. I’m hoping I can get the guys inside and settled so that I can check out Theo’s wound. Maybe find a blanket and something sugary for Eli to drink, as he’s giving every indication that he’s in shock.
Not that I blame him. I’m barely holding on after playing bumper cars with the bikers, all of whom were at least alive when I last saw them. I can’t imagine what it would feel like to actually have shot someone. Killed him.
I careen to a stop outside the glass door leading to the third floor of the building. I get out and try to pull the door open, but it’s locked. Whoever was in charge of security here took their job seriously before heading off for parts unknown.
I hear the roar of motorcycles down below and know I don’t have much time. I rush to the back of the truck, pull out the jack Jean made sure to include in case we got a flat tire. Then race back to the door. I slam the jack into it and the whole thing shudders, sending vibrations up my arms to my shoulders, but it doesn’t shatter.
Theo crawls out of the truck. “Let me help.”
I glance at him, bloody, pale, swaying where he stands. “Yeah, right. I’d rather you don’t die right here, okay?”
There’s a small, narrow window to the right of the door. It’s not much, but if I suck my stomach in really tightly, I just might make it through. I pull back the jack and hit the window with every ounce of strength I have.
It shatters easily, and I nearly go flying through it under the power of my hit. I stop myself, barely, but manage to slice my arm open on one of the pieces of broken glass. Terrific.
Theo leaps forward. “Pandora, are you all right?”
I roll my eyes at him. “I think I’ll live. You’re the one I’m worried about.”
I rip off my shirt to do as Theo did a few days ago, knock out the glass, and squeeze my arm through the tiny window. It’s a close fit, but I make it. I reach the other side of the door, flip the lock, and then swing it open.
“Get inside,” I tell him. “See if you can find a room with a couch or something.”
I go to the truck, open the door, and yank on Eli. “Look, I know you’re freaked out. I would be, too. But I need some help here. Theo’s hurt and those guys are coming after us. We have to hide.”
It takes a few seconds, but Eli’s blurry gaze finally focuses on me. “Can you get the backpacks?” I ask him. “Carry them inside?”
He shakes his head, as if waking from a nightmare. “Yeah, of course.” He leans into the back, scoops up all the backpacks and a couple of the food bags.
I breathe a sigh of relief. “Follow Theo. See if you guys can find a room with a sink or something. We have to clean him up.”
“Where are you going?”
“To park the truck. The broken window’s bad enough. We don’t need to put our location up in lights.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“Go with Theo! He’s the one who was shot.”
The reminder seems to galvanize him, and he takes off down the hallway after his stepbrother. I watch until he catches up—it doesn’t take long. Theo’s moving slowly and listing to one side.
I glance in the back of the truck. Most of the seat is bright red. It must be worse than he’s let on—he’s lost a lot of blood.
“Damn, damn, damn.” I hop back into the truck, put it in gear, and drive it down to the second level. I saw an SUV there with a cover over it. I park a couple of spaces down from the Suburban, rip the cover off it, and rush around our truck, tucking it under the canvas. I don’t know if it will work, if it will fool them, but it’s worth a try.
I’m just pulling the last corner down around the truck when I hear the motorcycles zooming up the ramp. I take off running as fast as I can, racing for the stairwell, hoping to get inside before they reach me.
The door is locked. Panic, complete and all-encompassing, races through me, takes me over, and I run like I’ve never run before. I make it onto the third-floor ramp just as the motorcycles zoom to the second level. Much as I hate to admit it, I’m really regretting not picking that gun back up.
&n
bsp; I hear them shouting at each other as they look for the truck. Shit. We’re screwed. I race toward the open door, see splotches of Theo’s blood on the ground. I grab my shirt off the floor and wipe up every drop that I can see. Then I race inside, lock the door, and go flying down the dark hallway looking for Theo and Eli.
Eli grabs me as I pass the third doorway. “Hey, what’s your rush?”
“They’re here. We need to move.”
We both look at Theo, who is stretched out on the conference table and looking like he can’t go anywhere. He struggles to his feet, his breathing more labored than it was a little while ago, and I can see the puddle of blood on the table.
“Go,” I tell Eli. “Get moving.”
I grab my backpack from him, yank out my hoodie, and mop up the blood. Realize I’m bleeding as well and tie the ridiculous purple tank top around my wound. Then I’m chasing after them, checking each room for somewhere to hide.
Please don’t let them decide to come in here. Please don’t let them find us.
A gunshot rings out, followed immediately by the shattering of glass. They found the broken window and obviously managed to find a way through the door I couldn’t open.
I give Theo my hoodie, make him press it to his wound so he doesn’t leak any blood on the carpet and leave a trail that leads them right to us. We run faster, but I can tell Theo doesn’t have much more fight left in him. I slam open a door that reads, DONALD MASTERTON, PRESIDENT, and yank them inside, shutting the door quietly behind us. It’s not great, but it will have to do. Eli and Theo don’t argue—they’re too busy checking the room for weapons.
I go to the next doorway, find an executive bathroom with a walk-in closet to the left of the door. I drag Theo inside, hiss at Eli to follow us. As soon as he’s in, I check the carpet for blood. There’s a spot, on the right side, and I drag one of the big armchairs over to cover it.
Then I duck in the bathroom, and close the door. Lock it.
Eli has a wicked-sharp letter opener clutched in one hand and a large bottle of scotch in the other. “You’re planning on getting drunk?” I whisper incredulously.
He rolls his eyes and dumps the scotch down the sink. Then he goes into the closet, drops the backpacks on the floor, and slams the bottle as hard as he can against one of the back clothes racks. The bottom half of the bottle shatters jaggedly, and he hands what’s left to me. It’s not much against a group of angry bikers, but it’s something, and I’m grateful to him for thinking of it.
Theo collapses toward the front of the closet—away from the broken glass—and I go to him. I tug him over to the left side, so that he’s hidden behind the door if it opens. I check the bathroom floor for blood—nothing this time—and then close the closet door, locking it.
There are no windows in the closet, unlike the bathroom and office, so it’s pitch-black in here except for the tiny strip of light that shines through the crack at the bottom of the door. The dark seeps inside me, terrifies me on a whole new level, and it’s all I can do not to scream. Not to rip the door open as the excess adrenaline in my system ratchets the terror even higher.
I can’t breathe in here, can’t think. The walls feel like they’re closing in, and my heart is pounding so hard and fast the beats are blurring one into the next.
Don’t freak out, Pandora, I tell myself. Don’t lose it. Not yet.
I don’t, but it’s hard. Harder than I ever would have imagined. I swallow the scream still swelling in my throat, but it’s back seconds later, and harder to hold in.
Cold sweat rolls down my back. I move toward the back of the closet, my hand hovering over my backpack. If I can just turn on a flashlight, just get a little beam of light, I’ll be okay. I swear I will.
Just the thought of having light at my fingertips calms me down a little, even though I don’t unzip the pack. We can’t risk a light in here, can’t risk doing anything to attract attention. I just need to suck it up a little while longer and they’ll be gone. This whole thing will be over. Just a little longer.
It becomes my mantra.
I scoot back up to Theo, put a hand on his knee. “You okay?” I whisper, almost soundlessly.
“Yeah.” He doesn’t sound okay, though.
“Here, let me put some pressure on your wound.” I shift toward his shoulders, feel the warm stickiness of his blood beneath me on the ground. I don’t know how much more he can lose and still be okay. Already, he’s weaker than I’ve ever imagined he could be. I press the hoodie hard against the wound and he grunts softly. I shush him and keep the pressure steady. It’s too dark to see if the bleeding is stopping, but at least it doesn’t seem quite as bad anymore.
“Are you okay, Eli?”
“Yeah, fine.” He sounds defensive and a little angry that I’m even asking, so I don’t push the issue. If we live through the next half hour, then I’ll worry about his psychological issues.
The door to the office crashes open.
38
“Not in here,” someone calls, and I hold my breath. Sense Eli and Theo doing the same. Is it really going to be that easy? Are they not even going to check …
Heavy footsteps cross the room, and the bathroom door rattles. “It’s locked.”
“Check it out, anyway. They could be hiding in there.”
Something hits the locked door handle once, twice, and then I hear the door open. I forget my fear of the dark in my dread of what is on the other side of the closet door.
Theo sits up silently, all trace of weakness gone as he slips the bottle out of my hand. Eli doesn’t move, but I know he’s ready, too. Not that I think we have much of a chance, but still …
“It’s just a bathroom,” the first man says.
“Empty?”
“Yeah.”
“Then let’s move it. I want to kill those little bastards myself.”
The next thing I hear is their boots moving away, followed by the crash of the office door against the wall. Eli starts to stand up, but Theo and I both hold on to him. I shake my head vehemently. I know he can’t see me, but I pray he gets the message. They’re right next door—any sound, any movement, can still give us away.
We wait more than half an hour, each minute feeling like an eternity, until it seems safe to move a little. I scoot as quietly as possible over to my backpack. Pull out the flashlight and turn it on. Relief swamps me as the thin beam of light pierces the darkness.
“Let me see your wound,” I whisper to Theo.
He shifts to make it easier for me to see. I unwrap the hoodie from his heavily muscled bicep and check out the damage. The bleeding has finally eased to a sullen ooze, but the hoodie is soaked. I don’t know how much blood he’s lost, but it seems like an awful lot.
“Is the bullet still in there?” Eli asks quietly, moving to sit on Theo’s other side.
“No,” Theo answers.
“How do you know?” I demand.
“I checked it out in the car. I’ve got a hole on both sides of my arm—I think that means it passed right through.”
The description makes me queasy. “We’re going to have to find you a doctor. Maybe this town has a hospital?”
“A hospital?” Theo asks incredulously. “Are you frickin’ kidding me? One, you injured a bunch of those bikers, so if there is a hospital, they’re probably going to be there. Two, they know that I’ve been shot, so again, even if they’re not at the hospital for themselves, they’re probably going to be there for me.”
“Well, what do you suggest, then? You need a doctor.”
“What I need is for you to clean out the wound. There’s a couple of antibiotic shots in one of the first-aid kits your dad gave us, as well as a full course of antibiotics. I’ll take it and I’ll be fine.”
“Clean out the wound? This isn’t a dog bite. I can’t just squirt some peroxide on it and hope for the best!”
“I don’t think we have a choice.” Eli glances at the door. “Do you think it’s safe to open up?”
“I have absolutely no idea.”
“All right, then. We’ll give it a try.” He unlocks the door and opens it, inch by inch. We’ve been in the dark so long that even the slow exposure to light makes us squint, struggle to see. I rub my eyes, listen intently, but I don’t hear anything, thank God.
“Here, let me help you up,” I say to Theo as I climb to my feet, extending my hand to him.
Eli snorts, elbows me gently out of the way. “Let me do it.” A look passes between him and Theo, one I don’t understand and haven’t seen before. It makes me a little nervous, but things must be okay because Theo grabs on to Eli’s hand with his good one and allows his stepbrother to pull him to his feet.
Out in the bathroom, his wound looks a million times worse. “We need to find a doctor,” I say again, determined to talk sense into him.
“Yeah, well, we need a lot of things. I think a well-stocked first-aid kit is about as good as we’re going to get. Besides, your arm is in almost as bad shape as mine.”
My triceps throbs at the reminder, and I turn toward the mirror, wanting to see what it looks like. I blanch when I get my first glimpse of myself. With everything happening so quickly, I totally forgot that I was wearing a pair of jeans and a see-through bra. Nothing else.
“Oh my God!” My hands go in front of strategic places on my body, and Eli and Theo both laugh. I dive back into the closet for my backpack.
“We’ve already seen it, Pandora,” Eli calls. “And do you really want to mess up another one of your shirts before you get yourself cleaned up?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
I grab one of the tank tops they got me, slide it over my head. “Okay, let’s try this again.”
While I check out my arm—not great, but not terrible, either—I have Eli get the desk chair out of the other room and roll it into the bathroom for Theo to sit on. Then I brace myself to deal with Theo’s wound, something I really don’t want to do.
