I swing again, putting every ounce of desperate strength into it. The glass shatters, raining cubes into the seat.
I reach in, unlocking the door, and dive into the driver’s seat. Glass shards bite into my skin. I shove the key and turn.
The engine sputters.Don't you dare. Don't you dare fail on me now.
"Come on!" I slam my hand against the dashboard.
The engine roars to life. I slam the gearshift into drive just as a body slams against the passenger window.
It’s the woman with the ink-black hair. She’s snarling, her face pressed against the glass, her hands clawing at the handle. She punches the window. The glass cracks.
I stomp on the gas.
The tires spin on the loose gravel, spitting stones, before catching traction. The car lurches forward, fishtailing violently.
I sideswipe a stone planter, the metal screeching like a dying banshee, and tear down the driveway.
I check the rearview mirror. They aren't stopping. They’re running after the car. And they’regaining.
"Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit!"
I hit the main road—if you can call it that. It’s a strip of asphalt buckling under the weight of tree roots and neglect. I floor it. The speedometer climbs. Forty. Fifty. Sixty.
Something heavy lands on the roof.
The metal buckles inward with a terrifyingcrunchdirectly over my head.
I scream, the sound merging with the whine of the engine.
Claws—literal claws—punch through the metal roof like it’s tinfoil. They tear a jagged strip open, letting the humid night air shriek into the cabin. A pale hand reaches down, grabbing for my hair.
"Pull over, little cousin!" a male voice laughs from the roof. It’s the silver-haired man. He sounds exhilarated. "Dinner isn't over!"
"Get off!"
I yank the wheel hard to the left, then snap it back to the right.
The car swerves wildly, tires screaming in protest. I feel the weight on the roof shift.
He digs his claws in deeper. He’s anchoring himself.
"You can't drive fast enough," he taunts, his face appearing upside down in the shattered windshield, his eyes black pits. "The road ends in the swamp, Miranda."
"Then let's see how you handle aerodynamics!"
I see a low-hanging branch of a massive live oak approaching fast, draped thick with moss and heavy wood.
I don't brake. I aim for it.
I line the passenger side of the roof up with the branch.
"Crazy bitch!" he screams.
Thud-CRACK.
The impact shakes the entire frame of the car. The branch shears off, taking the side mirror and dragging across the roof with the force of a wrecking ball. There’s a howl of pain, and the weight vanishes.
I check the rearview. A broken figure is tumbling in the dust behind me.
