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I’m thinking about how cute Toto will be with bits of fluffy cream stuck to his chin when my phone chimes with a text.
We’re almost to our neighborhood, but I know it’s Nero replying, and I want to respond.
I try to shuffle both cups into one hand. But spilling either in this pristine and expensive vehicle seems like a bad idea. So, I lean forward to put my drink into the cupholder near my knees. And bent over, face between the front seats, is when the whole car rocks.
A blinding light explodes in front of us, the noise earsplitting.
My eyes squint against the brightness, not understanding what just happened.
Then, seemingly all at once, Giles slams on the brakes and I jerk against my seat belt.
My hands tighten around the paper cups on reflex, and they both give way.
The pain lancing across my shoulder where the seat belt snapped tight, is echoed in the burning heat covering my right hand.
And then it clicks.
I stare out the windshield, as the ball of flames contracts to show the burnt shell of the first SUV.
Robert is shouting something.
His gun is in his hands.
Giles turns the wheel and the vehicle lurches forward when he steps on the gas.
Robert yells something else.
At me.
But my ears are ringing, and I can’t hear him.
“What?” I try to ask, but my throat doesn’t work.
He starts to yell something about getting down, but a popping sound drowns out his words. And I watch in horror as the windshield turns white in front of Giles.
Robert reaches a hand back and shoves my head down.
The seat belt is stuck, so I bend as far as I can go.
I blink at the floor, watching my mocha soak into the carpet.
Another crack. This time it’s louder. And red splatters across the upholstery around me.
Some lands on my hands. It’s warm. And nausea swirls with my growing terror.
“Fuck!”
At Robert’s voice, I look up.
And wish I hadn’t.
Giles…
His head…
Tears stream from my eyes.
There’s so much blood.
