“I am not agun guy,” he says, glowering as he cuts around a pickup truck to take the on-ramp. “My dad liked to shoot. He tried to teach me when I was a kid.” This makes more sense. Grant has the look of a guy who learned everything he knows about firearms against his will.
But still. Hedidlearn it.
We both startle and swear as another bullet shatters the side window. With a moment of thought, I lay the gun down on the dash, unbuckle my seat belt, and push up from my seat.
“New plan,” I yell. “You shoot, I drive.”
Grant throws me a wide-eyed stare as we rocket onto the highway. The road stretches before us, nowhere to turn or hide. “I’msorry?”
“We’re going to switch spots. We have to. Unbuckle.”
“What?”
“Unbuckle your seat belt!”
“I can’t! I’m—I’m busy!”
I flinch as the man in the SUV announces his arrival on the highway with another loudbang. “You’re the only one here who ever learned to shoot a gun.”
“Yeah, and made a point of forgetting everything except how to disable them.”
“That’s still better than me! I’ve never shot anything outside of laser tag. We both know there’s a higher chance that I’ll hit some innocent bystander and that’ll be on your conscience, Grant. Now unbuckle. Your goddamn. Seat belt.”
His jaw is clenched tight, and after a few tense moments, he looses a sound somewhere between a groan and a shout. “Fine,” he barks. “How exactly do you see this working?”
I don’t answer—mainly because I don’t know—and decideI’ll just figure it out as I go. I reach across him and brace my hand against the door. As carefully as one can while careening down the highway at ten zillion miles an hour, I squeeze in front of him, trying my best not to obstruct his view. The SUV is lagging behind, far enough to put a pause on the shooting, but it’s only a matter of time.
I take the wheel, pushing Grant’s hands out of their perfect ten o’clock and two o’clock positions, then nudge his foot off the gas pedal with my own.
“Can you get out?”
Granttsks as he squirms awkwardly behind me. “I’m trying,” he grunts. “Your butt’s kind of in the way.”
“Sorry, if I’d known we were doing this today, I would have brought my smaller butt.”
He finally manages to scooch gracelessly out of the way and topples over into the passenger footwell, a long-limbed, cursing tangle of a person. Finally, he rights himself, and the swap is complete. I breathe out a triumphant whoop.
“You have to admit that was pretty awesome,” I say while Grant gets situated and picks up the gun. “Almost as awesome as when I—”
“Do not finish that sentence.” There’s an edge of warning to his voice, but when I glance dubiously at him, I almost have to laugh. He may be holding a gun, but the glare in his eyes and firm set of his jaw are way moreor I’ll flunk you for the semesterthanor I’ll use the weapon in my hands.
I swerve into the passing lane so Grant has a better line of sight to the SUV, which is gaining on us to the right. He fiddles with the gun, pulling things apart with a sense of reluctant know-how, then exhales forcefully and looks relieved. Or as relieved as one can look, fleeing a gunman in a dead man’s car. “Thank God,” he says. “It’s not loaded.”
“Whyis thatthank God, Grant?”
“Because I don’t want to shoot anyone,Roxie,” he snaps back.
I’m trying to put more distance between us and the SUV, but there’s a semitruck in the travel lane and a red convertible crawling along ahead of us, aMEEMAW’S TAXI SERVICEsticker and six stick figure children adorning its bumper.
“MOVE!” I bellow, leaning on the horn as I tailgate the convertible. Its driver merely flips me off, her fluffy white hair blowing in the wind.
My heart drops into my stomach at the sight of the SUV creeping up alongside us. Grant mutters anxiously with his shoulders screwed up to his ears, holding the gun as if it were even capable of doing anything.
The SUV pulls up neck and neck with us, but just as I’m bracing myself for the worst, its driver’s scowl drops into a look of surprise and he lowers his gun. He rolls down his window.
“PULL OVER,” he shouts over the rush of wind.
“NO!” Grant and I yell back.
