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I readjust my hands on the wheel.
“It’s just, he’s been behind us for a while.”
“Like I said, two-lane road. We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“That’s what scares me.”
I straighten my back and watch the truck in my mirror alternating between the rearview and side mirror. “Well, I’m not scared.”
I see her hand brace the grip on the passenger door.
“Tell you what, I’ll take the next turnoff just to prove it to you.”
“You should—”
“I should what?”
When I look over, her face has lost all color.
“Ashley?”
She’s breathing hard and turning in her seat like she’s in pain. It reminds me of several brides I’ve seen have panic attacks happen hours, sometimes minutes, before the ceremony. “You should be scared,” she chokes out.
She covers her head and ducks, and I glance in the mirror and see why. There is a truck coming up on my left, a gun pointed out of the passenger window. He fires several rounds, and all I hear is the sound of metal on metal and Ashley’s screams.
I do the only thing that makes any sense. I slam on the brakes.
“Call my brother.” She fumbles with her phone. Her hands are shaking too badly to make any progress, so I press the button on the steering wheel and a ringing sound plays throughout the car.
Davis answers and Ashley is screaming and I’m trying to relay our location and evade bullets at the same time, and it all happens so fast. I spin out and slam into a tree. Airbags deploy and the speakers in the car go silent. I look over at Ashley, who is hyperventilating but alive. I listen for the truck to make a U-turn. “We have to go.”
She glares at me, her eyes wide, mouth agape. “Go? Where?”
“The woods. Now!”
She doesn’t move, so I point. “There.”
Still nothing. She’s either paralyzed by fear, stupid, or both. “You’re going to have to run. And then, when you can’t run anymore, you hide. Okay?”
She swallows hard and nods several times fast before attempting to open the passenger door. It doesn’t budge. The realization that she’s trapped makes her freeze up. I fling the driver’s side door open and dash out. My left wrist hurts and I’m dizzy. But at least I am not dead.
Yet.
I motion for Ashley to follow me across the console. Then I lean in and reach for her, tugging hard on her forearm. “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“Yes, you can. Come on.”
“We’re going to die,” she cries. “Oh, my God. I’m going to die.”
“You’re not going to die.”
“I’m not even thirty.”
“And you never will be if you don’t move your ass!”
I take off in a full sprint, and she follows. Slowly, and ridiculously, because she’s in heels. Ashley is right. She’s probably going to die, and it’s all because she made the wrong choice in footwear.
I take my phone from my pocket and dial Roy. It rings, but then service drops, and the further I move into the woods, the less I can seem to get it back.
