Page 30 of Overkill

But what would happen to Miriam and Marcus? They’d go to Turner Gray. Miriam would be hurt, same as I was. He liked them young, too. Marcus? Well, all that goodness would be squashed right out. My mother wouldn’t have wanted that for him.

I didn’t, either.

But what could I do?

“Darling, I need you to get onto the floor, keep your head down below the windows, okay?” he said.

“Huh?” I asked, coming out of a daze and looking around.

He stomped on the gas and the car sped up. I placed my hand over my mouth to stifle a scream as we were rear-ended, our bodies lurching forward. The sound of metal scraping metal split my head like thunder.

“Get on the floor, now!” He reached over, unbuckled my seatbelt. I flinched as he grabbed me by the back of the neck and pushed me to the ground.

Greg put both hands on the wheel, his foot hard on the gas again, as he let out a frustrated growl.

What the hell was happening? What was going on? Who had just hit us?

The sound of gunshot and the cracking of the rear windshield silenced any questions I wanted to ask as shards scattering over us.

“Keep your head down, honey.” He voice was even but firm. Like he was trying to keep me calm.

I was not calm. I was the opposite of calm.

When I dared look up, I saw a black Lexus through the passenger-side window.

“Who are they?” I whimpered.

“Hold on.” Greg reached behind my head and opened the glove compartment, fiddling for something among the papers and tissue boxes.

With a Glock in his hand, he slammed the compartment closed. I screamed as the passenger window above me shattered, and a hole appeared on the roof of his truck near the oh-shit handle, just inches from his head.

He quickly took his hand off the wheel to charge his weapon, then pointed it over my head.

“Cover your ears!” he called before firing twice.

The other car sped forward.

“Damnit,” he said under his breath as the car spun, wheels squealing until it faced us. “Hang on!”

He put the gun on his lap, placed both hands on the wheel, and cranked the steering. I threw my hands out to steady myself as we changed lanes, and an oncoming semi-truck leaned on its horn while we squealed to a halt.

I was going to die. I was going to die!

The semi-truck rumbled past us, shaking our entire cabin and filling the air with noise.

Greg’s knuckles were white on the steering wheel as his jaw worked in concentration.

I made the choice before he could. I took his gun, leaned out the broken passenger window, and fired at the grille, the wheel, and the windshield. The two men ducked and threw their arms over their caps as if that would stop my bullets.

Greg didn’t take long to react. He stomped on the gas. The tires screamed, and the smell of burned rubber tickled my nose. Greg switched to another lane, flew past the Lexus, and returned to the right side of the road. The remaining shards of our rear windshield hung on the edges of the metal frame like sharpened teeth in an open mouth. The Lexus disappeared behind a bend and, to my horror, was smashed by a car speeding behind us. A front-end collision, because they were facing the wrong way.

Perhaps their plan was to hold us up so we would have been rear-ended? Or to just shoot through the windshield?

“Put the weapon on safe and clear the chamber, sweetheart.” Greg’s voice brought me back to the here and now. To the inside of a windy car covered in shattered glass.

I did as he said.

“Do you want it back in the glove compartment?” I asked, my voice weak as my fingers trembled.