I closed my eyes, desperately seeking answers. A solitary thought tumbled out of the jumbled mess. Bring back the man, I had to bring back the man.
“Karson.” My voice was softer than the fierce challenge I hoped it might be. “There are other ways.”
I reached over and touched his arm. Even that felt different. It was not soft and warm, it was hard and as cold as mountain stone. The cold moved like ants up my arm, my skin crawled. I glanced at the window. The devil’s eyes had faded.
Hope. Minuscule, but still, hope.
“Did you get a good look at them all?” His voice was angry but with an edge of reason. Maybe.
Perhaps he would call Matt with a description.
I took my hand away and replayed the scene. I spoke as each image flashed in my mind’s eye. The details clearly etched, from hair to facial features to what brand of shoes they wore. Each image sent a shudder through my flesh and clenched at my heart. I could have been killed, or worse.
When I’d finished Karson picked up his phone and called Ethan.
“Got her, she’s.” He paused and for a moment he looks pained. “She’s alright. Behind the supermarket, there’s one more.” He terminated the call.
The trees blurred past so fast it was impossible to make out any discernible landmarks. I didn’t look how fast we were going, but if we crashed at this speed, I wouldn’t have had a hope. On the road in the distance ahead I could see the outline of the black van.
Karson slowed the car enough so that we were still gaining on them, but not at any speed that would raise their suspicions. Something told me this was not the first time he’d been in a car chase.
We hit a long, straight stretch. “Get down on the floor,” he said.
“What?” I heard him but it didn’t compute.
“Get on the floor and keep your head down.”
I fumbled for my seat belt, unhitched it, and melted to the floor. A bolt of heat shot through my rib cage. I sucked in a sharp breath, dots raided my eyes. Sweating and panting I squatted low and clutched my head in my hands. The back of my hair was coated in thick, sticky blood. Not mine, the guy whose nose I’d broken. I snatched my hand away.
The windows were darkened so it would be impossible for them to see in. Even with that knowledge, fear pounded my heart. If they shot low, I would die.
Karson put his foot down. The lights swelled the interior as we sped past the drone of the van. I held my breath and waited for the sound of bullets to slam into the car—it was probably only seconds, but it felt like a full minute as we roared past.
Perhaps now he’d calmed down a bit, he’d let Matt know where they were. He’d stay in front to block their escape and Matt could come from behind. It made sense, it was a clever move.
“You can get up now.”
I clambered—trembling, coals burning through my chest, head throbbing—back to the seat. I pulled my seat belt on, a trickle of sweat ran down my forehead. I wiped it away with the back of my hand and peered behind. We were about two hundred yards in front.
“Hold on,” he said, gruffly. Before I could process his words. He swung the wheel hard. I shot out my hand against the side door to brace against the force. I felt like I was on a spinning ride at a fair. We fish-tailed. I cursed under my breath at the pain of pressure on my chest scorched the breath from my lungs. With all the skill and execution of any stunt-car driver Karson stopped the car abruptly on the side of the road, facing the oncoming van.
“Wait in the car.” His voice was a feral, primitive, growl.
I didn’t hear or see the door open. The first I realized he was gone was the streak ahead. He moved fast, like shadow formed by a bionic, moving cloud, and veiled by the night sky it was hard to make out.
Panicked by what might happen, by what he might do, I got out of the car. I wanted them captured, charged, jailed, not dead. I sprinted behind him. My feet hit the pavement and bounced off, each step shot a burning pain through my chest. My head pounded. The damp night air rushed past my face and my eyes streamed and blurred. I heard the screech of tyres, saw the headlights shudder and then become frozen. A silhouetteof gray figures emerged like shadow puppets against the car’s lights. A fast-moving blur tore between them. They dropped like mosquitoes hit by a spatula. One after the other. At the time I was running and it all happened so quickly I couldn’t make out the details. It was later, when I replayed it in my head, that it all became clear.
Karson’s teeth gripped into the side of a neck and he bit down. The man’s eyes bolted out in a flash of panic and pain.
Karson twisted his head.
The sound of a dog ripping meat from a bone—but wetter and more slushy sounding—stung the night air. The man released a shriek, a high-pitched and terrified sound, as a large chunk of flesh tore from the side of his neck. Karson spat it to the ground. The inside of his neck revealed itself for a brief moment—flesh and meat and a pale, ribbed windpipe and arteries dangled loosely—before blood frothed wildly, gushing to the ground.
The man gaped, his mouth opened and closed soundlessly in shock and a failed attempt to draw breath. He reached up, clasping his hand to a large, cavernous hole, trying to fill an impossibly large wound. It was like trying to patch the Titanic. His legs wobbled, his bloodied hand fell by his side and he dropped to his knees. He rocked back and forth then plopped face down to the tarmac.
Karson moved to the two men behind him. One reached for something behind his back, I guessed maybe a gun, but before he could fumble it from its source, Karson threw a punch to his chest.
Crunch. The sound was like a butcher’s knife through a brisket.
