Finally, just as my clip is about empty, Robert and I both hit the front and back tires, and the car whips around and crashes into the barrier leading to the interstate. Seconds later, Flores and Jenkins take out the second car. But the bus still follows, ramming into us as we enter the on-ramp.
We roll the windows up just as we hear the whirring of a helicopter above us.
“Air support is here!” Andrew calls from the front.
Jenkins pulls Wilkins to the opposite seat and takes off his jacket, assessing the wound. “It’s a clean exit. You’re lucky, man.”
“Where is the bullet, then?” Robert asks, and then his eyes go wide as he sees it buried in the wall of the car, right next to his head. Three inches to the left and that bullet would have killed him.
“Get on the phone with the police force in Long Island,” Isay to Jenkins. “We can’t go back to the penthouse. We’ve got to go to the estate.”
The bus rams us again, and the car swivels dangerously before Andrew regains control. “I don’t know how much more damage we can take!” he calls back.
Sirens wail from behind us. A call comes through my cell. Olsen. “My chopper is on your route, and we’re setting up a spike trap six miles ahead. It’s the only way we’re going to take down that bus without bystander casualties. But be aware, the bus is following too close to wait until after your car is over to engage it. Both vehicles will hit the spikes; there’s no other option. Make sure you’re all buckled and that your driver slows down right before the spikes. Hang on until then.”
He hangs up, and I relay the message to Andrew and move next to Ella again. I triple check her seatbelt, then make sure I’m buckled.
“We’re going to make it through this,” I promise her, choking back my panic.
She nods with pools of tears gathered in her green eyes. “You survived a car crash once; you can do it again.”
“Wewill survive.”
Two tears escape and paint lines down her cheeks. “We will. No matter what happens, I love you, Asher.”
I can’t say the words back; they feel too much like a pre-emptive goodbye. Instead, I hold onto her. Six miles feels like a lifetime and like a second all at once. I fight to stay present, but my mind doesn’t cooperate. It plays through the images of the car crash over and over again. Grandfather’s body sprawled at an unnatural angle on the floor of the car. His blue eyes open and glazed over in death. The high speed causing the world to race by too fast. My shaking fingers fumbling to buckle my seatbelt with bound hands. The blood from my head dripping into my eyes. The relief from the click of the seatbelt. Theboomof impact. Shattered glass. Flying shards. Pain. Then nothing.
This is not that.
This is not that.
This is not that.
I take Ella’s hands into my shaking ones. It takes every ounce of control I have to not lose myself to fear. To not succumb to the past.
This is not that.
“I love you,” I shout, giving in to the words as Andrew shouts for us to brace for impact.
Before we can, the bus slams into us from behind, but this time, with more purpose. When the bus hit us before, it was to slow the car or push it off course and get it to stop. This is not that. This is the bus ramming into our car as fast as it can to take us out.
I fly forward in my seat as thecrunchfrom the crash hits from behind. A second later, I’m jostled up and back as the car hits the spikes in the road.
The world stills.
I float but am still tethered by my seatbelt.
Glass shatters.
Shards fly.
Nothing feels real as the car spins in circles, then swerves back and forth.
A second and a lifetime later, we come to a crashing halt. I gasp for air and look over at Ella. She lies against the side of the car, still buckled, but limp. Her head hangs down onto her chest. Her eyes are closed. Blood runs in rivulets down the side of her face.
My worst nightmare has come to life.
36
