I stumble backwards, my eyes shooting to Sergio.
He doesn’t move. He’s not tracking me. Wide eyes stare at his friend.
I spin around on my good foot and lift the girl, heading for the car, gifted an unthinkable second chance. I fumble with the keys, wrench open the door, and fall into the seat with the child’s arms still clinging around my neck.
The girl won’t release her hold and I twist to see past her shoulder to poke the key into the ignition, then slam the door shut. The vehicle’s so old, it has a push button lock, and I hit it down, turning the key and planting my foot to the floor.
The car takes off with a squeal of tyres. I turn left at the first intersection, struggling to hold the wheel as the centre of gravity tests its limits. When I get to the next street, I have to stop. The light’s red. I fix my seatbelt and try to unfurl the girl’s hands from around my neck, but I can’t budge her. I’m scared if I try harder, it’ll hurt.
“Relax, honey,” I murmur. “We’re safe now. I’ll get you to the police and they’ll protect you.”
“No,” she screams, her volume still set on high. “No police.”
A girl after my own heart, but these are special circumstances. I’m terrified of what just happened, scared I killed a man. In defence, sure, but that doesn’t stop his blood drying to a tacky film on my skin.
When the lights change, I slam the accelerator again, needing to put distance between me and what I’ve just done. When the road straightens, I rub my left hand along the girl’s back in a soothing motion, right hand on the wheel.
“Don’t worry,” I coo in a voice more fitting to a baby. “We’re safe now. The bad man can’t get us.”
Lights flash in my rearview mirror. High beam. Blinding.
I ignore them, but the car gains on us. I’m already travelling more than the speed limit, scared to go any faster. There are houses tight on either side. Cars parked on the sides of the street. Suburbia isn’t built for racing.
Nowhere to go but forward. No way to escape.
The vehicle surges into my rear end, wresting the control briefly from my hands as the rear wobbles. I can’t see much with the strong headlights blinding my mirrors but assume Sergio’s behind the wheel.
“No, no, no,” the girl yells again, butting her head into my throat as her arms tighten. There’s barely room to breathe.
The car behind surges again and I edge mine faster, trying to avoid the collision. A cross-street is coming up on my right-hand side. I wrench the wheel at the last minute and this time, the rear skids out. I’m halfway along the next block before it comes back under control.
But it bought me time.
I take the next left, hoping it doesn’t send me straight back into the path of the pursuing vehicle. Sergio must be insane to attack me on a public road. In the suburbs, for crying out loud. A crappy one with overgrown lawns and rotting fences, sure, but a suburb, nonetheless.
“Hey, there. We’re all right,” I whisper to the girl, not even convincing myself. “You can let go. We’re safe in here.”
Except if that were true, my heart wouldn’t be pounding.
Lights flash in my rear view again and this time I slow, reaching for the handbrake. It’s been years since I tried the manoeuvre. Years during which my reflexes have dropped, and my cowardice has climbed.
She might go flying. Death by a thousand cuts since the model dates from the seventies, long before that newfangled safety glass.
“Please,” I mutter. The only prayer I know. “Please.”
The car gains and I wait till the last minute, then drag back the handbrake, steering the wheel so it knows which way to spin, jamming my feet between the pedals so I don’t pump the accelerator or brake.
Smoke billows into the car. Noise swamps my brain. Shrieking rubber, wrenching metal. I jab the button, release the handbrake, plug my right foot flat to the ground. We speed up, and I release the wheel to clutch the girl a millisecond before my vehicle ploughs into my pursuer.
No safety glass, but there’s also no crunch zone. My body snaps forward at the impact. Metal shrieks as it crunches into shapes it wasn’t built to hold. There’s a howl, possibly human. The tinkle of glass, the stench of too much exhaust, a ball of heat that’s there and gone in a split-second gust. A strain against my arms as physics tries to turn the child into a projectile.
The front of my car is built like a tank, and it pummels the other vehicle into submission.
The girl is quiet as I release my hold. She continues to cling with so much ferocity that I understand she’s alive.
A second later, I realise people will come.
Even in this neighbourhood, they’ll come. I need to get gone.
