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Her escape route out of here.
Panic swept over her.
He was still contemplating what he might do as he flicked his lighter to the tip of his cigarette.
She reacted.
In that split second, when his gaze focused on the small flame, she reached for the can of hair spray, flipped off the lid, and sprayed, straight at his lighter.
“What the—? Oh, Christ!”
In a puff, blue fire enveloped the cigarette and crawled up his face, sizzling and catching fire in the gel in his hair.
“Shit! Fuck!”
He fell backward, his face contorted in agony.
His knife clattered to the sidewalk.
Ivy kept spraying.
The top of his head was on fire, crackling and burning, sizzling light spreading over his scalp, blue flames threatening her hands.
She dropped the canister just as it exploded, with a bang, shards of metal flying out like burning shrapnel.
“Aaaaah!” Screaming, he rolled on the ground, his hands to his eyes, his body coiled. His knife clattering on the sidewalk. “Owwww. . . Jesus! Ow! Ow! What the fuck . . . oh, owww, you fucking bitch!!” The acrid odor of charred flesh and burning oil filled the alcove, the smell burning her nostrils. Fire reached down to the collar of his jacket.
Oh. God.
“Help me! Help me! Owwwww! For the love of God!”
Get out now! Run!
Ivy didn’t think twice.
Scooping up the knife, she launched past the rolling, wriggling man, his head aglow, his pained screeches loud, the edge of his collar burning as he shrieked.
Get away. Just run. Don’t think!
Racing as fast as her legs would carry her, she flew along the street, her boots pounding the cement, the horror behind her propelling her forward.
Was it too late?
Had the bus already left?
Oh, God, was he going to die?
Who cares? He was going to rape you. Probably kill you. Just fucking move!
Breathing hard, she raced forward, the lights of the Greyhound station a beacon, now only two blocks away.
Faster, faster, faster!
Could she make it?
If only she was in time . . .
She saw the bus, a big silver beast, parked in the loading area.
