NOAH
Holy shit.
One second, the cabin is filled with the shriek of the car being fed to an apex predator, and the next, there is nothing in my ears but the rhythmichissof the shattered radiator and the eerietink-tink-tinkof a dying engine.
Rue. Fuck. This is bad.
My vision swims. The world tilts at a twenty-degree angle, the passenger side of the SUV buried in the soft, sucking sand of a Texas bar ditch. I’m shoved against the back of the passenger seat, the blanket tangled around my legs like a trap.
“Rue?” My voice is a croak, barely audible over the ringing in my ears.
She doesn’t answer. She’s slumped against the door, her forehead resting against the glass, perfectly still. Her hands, which had been white-knuckling the steering wheel just seconds ago, are limp in her lap.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
Panic slices through the numbness I’ve been cultivating since I crawled out of the black waters of Moccasin Lake, and instantly, any indifference to the woman in the front seat dies.
Don’t be dead. Dammit, Rue, don’t be dead.
I struggle against the seatbelt, my injured arm screaming in protest as I use it to shove the blanket away. Every muscle in my body is shouting that it’s had enough—ten years of prison food and a week of running from the law have left me hollowed out,but I ignore it.
“Rue!” I bellow through the car.
I scramble over the center console like a frantic animal, my boots kicking at the empty water bottles and the shoebox of unopened letters left scattered on the floor. Bullet whines, unharmed in the front seat.
But Rue isn’t unharmed.
“Rue! Look at me.”
I reach her, my fingers trembling as I brush a strand of blonde hair from her face. There’s a smear of red along her temple, a stark contrast against her pale skin. I press two fingers to her neck, my own heart beating so hard I’m afraid I’ll miss hers.
But there it is, a pulse. Steady and strong. She’s okay. She’ll come to.
I let out a breath that sounds too much like the beginning of a sob, dropping my forehead against her shoulder. The coldness I’ve been using as armor dissipates for a moment, shattered by the sight of her broken and quiet. I don’t want Rue to get hurt.
And I just want to stay here.
I want to hold her until the sun comes up and the world makes sense again.
However, Bullet lets out a sharp, piercing bark from the seat beside her, and the reality of our situation rushes back in. The surviving headlight is canted toward the sky, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Outside, the desert is a void of blackness…
And we’re sitting ducks.
We need to get moving.I pull back and cut the engine, my jaw tightening as I force the mask back into place. I can’t be the man who worries too much. I have to be the man who survives.
And our plan just got royally fucked up.
“Wake up, Little Rabbit,” I mutter, my voice returning to that flat, clinical edge. “We got a lot of shit to figure out.”
But still, she doesn’t stir.
I climb into the passenger seat, switching places with Bullet, and shove against the door, but it doesn’t budge. The front fender is crumpled inward, the steel plate of the Pathfinder having absorbed the impact of a mountain lion that must have weighed two hundred pounds. I slam my shoulder into it, once, twice, gritting my teeth against the fire in my arm.
On the third hit, the latch gives way with a screech of tortured metal.
I stumble out into the night. The air is cold, smelling of sagebrush, burnt rubber, and the sweet, permeant scent of antifreeze.
I walk to the front of the car and stop.
