“I might be paranoid,” he says, “this car’s been following us for a while now. Same distance, too, it seems.”
I twist to get a good look behind the passenger seat and stare at an endless sea of black. But in the considerable expanse between is a pair of daunting lights—a vehicle that gains witheach mile we drive. It could be any random car on its way to a far destination, but I trust Ezra’s judgment. We’re certainly not alone.
“I’ll keep an eye on it,” I say. “You focus on driving.”
Ezra nods again, a frantic bob of his head.
“How’s your foot?” he asks.
I settle on the truth.
“It hurts like a bitch. I’m worried about it getting swollen . . .”
We won’t be able to go to a hospital, though neither of us says it.
“You’ve had worse from football, right?” he says.
“Yeah,” I say, though I’ve had little time to assess how bad the injury is. I try desperately not to think about it. “I’ll work at getting a brace on it as soon as we can. Maybe Atlas or the Angelics will be able to treat it.”
“Maybe,” Ezra echoes and casts another peek through the mirror.
I take that as my cue to return to my post.
The pair of headlights is dangerously close for comfort. It’s uncertain whether this is the same vehicle or just some random driver, but the tension solidifies in my body. The throb in my ankle makes me clamp my teeth together and grind them mercilessly. The car looms closer, its ray of light growing, blinding our view from the back, not that we could see much in the first place.
Lightning strikes from the pursuing vehicle. The bolt targets the asphalt ahead of us. Sparks rain down and scatter as we cruise by. I wince, craning my neck back at the mercenary from the motel.
Is Tommy . . .dead?
“Oh shit, oh shit,” Ezra panics under his breath.
The vehicle lurches.
“We’re going to make it,” I say and try to believe it.
Another burst of lightning vibrates the car, although we can’t see where it struck, and the vehicle lurches and groans with protest. Ezra veers the steering wheel to the right in one swift, panicked move. He loses balance momentarily—an excruciatingly painful moment—before correcting himself and pressing hard on the accelerator. The mercenary’s vehicle, pitch black in the dead of night, cruises forward and stays glued to our side.
A final bolt of electricity stuns the road ahead. Ezra slams on the Chrysler’s brakes. A deep, audible pop rattles us in our seats—a blown tire followed by a shrill screeching. When we’ve come to a complete stop, the mercenary’s vehicle pulls ahead and parks in front of our headlights. We waste little time. The handgun I stole from Callum is in the glove compartment, so I snatch it and unclick the safety. Ezra’s out the driver’s door, taking refuge behind the Chrysler’s trunk. I have another plan in mind—a reckless one, but fuck it, I’m terrified.
The mercenary emerges from their vehicle, their skull mask a black hole. I cock the chamber of the gun and fire in their direction. Several wayward bullets are absorbed by the land, their destination unknown. The flare of each shot flashes in my eyes, blinding the world around me. In a last desperate attempt, the skull mask directs a lightning bolt my way. I lunge, feeling the disturbing pain of my ankle and the scorching burn of flames erupting from behind me.
“Conin!” Ezra shrieks.
The hood of my car is on fire, a vivid contrast to the obsidian night. I crawl away as I feel flames eat at my clothing. I remove my hoodie and chuck it into the dark. The pounding of footsteps near, and my attention darts to Ezra’s frantic approach.
“Holy shit,” he breathes. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “Where’s Skull Mask?”
Ezra’s blue and green eyes search the dark.
“I don’t—”
A crackle of blue webs disperses out of nowhere. I release two more shots from where I saw the electricity form. There’s a gasp, followed by a large thud, and then silence. I don’t have time to react. I don’t have time to understand what I just did, what it means. Ezra is pulling me up and telling me we need to leave . . . people are coming . . . cars are far off but approaching. I have to accept I won’t know if our pursuer is dead. Time is of the essence.
Fire consumes the Chrysler’s hood, quickly scorching the interior. Ezra is leading me away, right to the mercenary’s vehicle. I search for the body, see them lying there on the asphalt, but I’m then being shoved into the passenger’s side and Ezra’s fumbling for the keys still inserted in the ignition, bringing it to life.
Every noise descends into static. I can’t breathe. Endless darkness stretches ahead, perpetual and unrelenting. We move forward and cruise into the unknown.
