Текст книги "From What I Remember"
Автор книги: Valerie Thomas
Соавторы: Stacy Kramer
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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
ime’s up. Nothing much has happened. We’ve been following the truck for a half hour as it heads south. The U-Haul isn’t in any hurry, just cruising. We’re keeping a safe distance. “Do you, uh, wanna turn around?” Kylie asks as she glances at the clock. “Not yet.” Kylie looks relieved. I’m giving her a little more time. I’m not sure why, exactly. I guess I’m kinda digging the adventure. I don’t usually do crazy shit like this, but once Kylie jumped into the driver’s seat, I was kind of into it.
I always thought she was such a weirdo. She’s barely spoken to anyone but Will in six years, but suddenly she’s all crazy tough. It was hot, the way she took control. Lily would never do that. I know I should make Kylie turn the car around, that this can’t lead anywhere good, but I’m not ready. Things have been so stressed lately, with Dad, college, squash, and graduation. I’m happy to skip out on real life for a while, follow a U-Haul, and play action hero. It feels good to get out. So what if it’s the last day of school? It’s not like anything that great happens. It’s all about the parties after school, and I’ll definitely be back for that.
We’re cruising through parts of the city I never see: National, Chula Vista. Taking back roads south, toward the border. Maybe that’s where these guys are headed. Over the border to Mexico. A good place to sell stolen stuff. Nowhere I want to go.
“Do you wanna drive?” Kylie asks.
“It’s cool. You can drive.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
She’s on best behavior. She knows I could shut this thing down anytime. I don’t know why, but I don’t want to let Kylie down. At least not yet. She’s thinking she’s somehow going to win this thing. I’m sure she’s going to lose. Still, I’m willing to wait it out a little longer, on the off chance Kylie knows something I don’t.
“This is an amazing car. Our car is, like, a hundred years old. We’ve still got a cassette player in the stereo.”
“What’s that?”
Kylie laughs.
“So how come you don’t act like this in school?” I ask her.
“You mean, like, carjacking and playing cops and robbers?”
“No, just…I don’t know, cooler, less uptight. You’re always looking at the floor, avoiding everyone. Unless, of course, you’re going insane on someone in a squash court.”
Kylie smiles at this. Maybe she doesn’t take herself as seriously as I thought.
“I mean, I’ve never even seen you at a party.”
“No one’s ever invited me. And I hate parties.”
Kylie looks over at me, and I can see her big golden eyes poking out through a mess of curls. Her usually tight, prissy ponytail is all messed up. She looks good. Not so geeky.
“They’re pretty casual. Everyone just kinda shows up,” I say.
“Yeah, it would be weird if Will and I just showed up.”
“Maybe.” She’s right. It might be weird. “Why do you spend all your time with Will?”
“Because there’s no one else worth my time.”
“So we’re not good enough for you?” I can’t believe I’m even asking her this question. Like we care what Kylie Flores thinks of us.
“Let’s just say you’re not right for me, and leave it at that.”
I can’t tell if she’s bluffing. Does she actually think she’s too good for us? It’s pretty hilarious when you think about it.
“So what’s the plan? Do you really think you’re going to get your computer back? Those dudes looked pretty serious. We don’t have guns or knives. I may have a Frisbee in the trunk, but that’s it.”
“Decapitation by Frisbee. I like it.”
I laugh. She’s funnier than I would have thought.
“I don’t know. I’m hoping I’ll come up with a brilliant idea any second now.”
“Good. ’Cause I’ve got nothing. Maybe you can talk the guys into giving you back your computer. Like you talked me into doing Murphy’s paper.”
“And look where that got us,” she says, pushing a few stray curls off her face.
She’s got a birthmark above her lip, and the longest eyelashes I’ve ever seen. She’s kinda hot. Not Lily hot. Hot in a different way. I never noticed it before.
The truck slows down and pulls into a 7-Eleven. Kylie parks a few cars away.
“What are you thinking? ’Cause I’m thinking we’re at the end of the road here. It’s been fun. But now we’re done. I mean, seriously, what are we going to do? Jump the bad guys?”
“Probably not the best idea,” Kylie admits.
The two dudes exit the U-Haul. From the back, they look like father and son. One of them towers over the other. They’re seriously inked; even their bald heads sport tattoos. I so don’t want to have anything to do with these guys. I watch as they head into the 7-Eleven, thinking to myself, I am out of here.
Before I have a chance to say anything, Kylie’s out of the car and heading toward the truck. I follow her because I’m wondering what the hell she’s thinking.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“You wanted a plan, here’s my plan. I’m going to get into that truck and get my computer back.”
“That’s a bad plan, Kylie. These are bad guys. We are way out of our element. We need to get out of here. Like now.”
Kylie isn’t listening to me. She runs around to the back doors of the truck. Shakes them. Locked. She moves to the driver’s side door. Locked. Yeah, people with stolen electronics tend to lock their doors. But then, Kylie manages to open the passenger door.
“Kylie, get back here. Seriously. We gotta get out of here.…”
I’m talking to myself. Kylie ignores me and disappears into the truck.
This is no longer fun. Or cool. I’m not into it at all. It’s freaking me out. Kylie is even crazier than I thought. She’s going to get herself killed. And me along with her.
A couple of minutes go by and she’s not out of the truck. I can’t decide if I should just drive away and never look back, or go in after her. Stupidity wins out over common sense, and I climb into the passenger side. I can’t see much. A partition separates the back of the truck from the front. There’s a small window between the cab and the back. Kylie must have crawled through it, because she’s nowhere in sight.
“Kylie, what is your problem? You are going to get us killed.”
“I found it. I’ve just gotta dig it out. But I need help,” Kylie calls out.
I peer through the window, but can’t see her because she’s hidden behind about a million dollars’ worth of stolen electronics. There are wide-screen TVs, DVD players, cameras, iPads, speakers, desktops, laptops, printers. It looks like an electronics store warehouse. I want to run away as fast as I can. This is messed up.
“Please, Max!” Kylie begs, because I haven’t moved.
The desperation in her voice draws me in. Knowing full well this could be the biggest mistake of my life, I crawl through the opening and land on the face of an enormous flat-screen television. I make my way over the equipment, toward Kylie, where she’s attempting to pull her backpack out from under an iMac. We can’t have much more time. Those dudes have got to be on their way back to the truck. I mean, how long can it take to pee and buy a Coke? I push the iMac to the side, freeing Kylie’s backpack, and that’s when the front doors to the truck open.
The two dudes climb in, slam the doors, and rev the engine.
FUCK!
The truck slowly pulls out. With us inside.
We’re hidden from view by all the equipment, at least for now. What happens next is anyone’s guess.
Kylie and I stare at each other. She looks like I feel—freaked and terrified. I’m sure I must look like that as well. I’ve never been this scared in my life. Frantic, I quietly crawl my way to the back door, but it’s locked from the outside. We’re totally trapped. I take Kylie by the arm and maneuver us into the corner. She doesn’t seem so tough anymore as she peers up at me. We crouch behind a huge pile of speakers as the truck picks up speed.
think I might throw up. I’ve been through some pretty bad stuff: Jake’s seizures, getting mugged at knifepoint on Crosby Street, and Nana’s heart attack. But now that all seems minor league in comparison. I’m pretty sure we’re both going to die. It’s weird what comes to mind when you think your life is about to end. I’m wondering who will be at the memorial. Definitely Will. But anyone else from school? I kind of doubt it. Will would call it an “intimate” affair. The perils of dying young when you’re not super popular. I’m sure Max’s funeral will be standing room only. I force myself to try to think positive. I am not going to die.
Everything will be all right despite the absurdly ridiculous odds against that possibility. People say positive thinking can save your life. I doubt it will help, but I might as well give it a try. I attempt to focus on the fact that, best-case scenario, I’ll have some good material for my next screenplay. Unfortunately, it doesn’t take hold. And I’m back to freaking out.
It’s dark in the truck, with only a few slashes of light piercing through the seams of the back doors. A huge television looms over us, dangerously close. If the truck swerves or stops suddenly, we could be crushed to death, which might be preferable to being beaten to a pulp.
I am so stupid. And reckless. And selfish. What about graduation? NYU? Jake? Mom? My life is just beginning. It’s not supposed to be ending. How could I have just climbed into this truck? Max was right. It was a bad plan. A terrible, awful, horrible, idiotic plan that I didn’t think through. As usual. I have my computer, but I’m about to lose my life. What on earth is wrong with me?
Max is sitting next to me, his arms wrapped around his knees. As I look at him not looking at me, I feel even worse. Nausea and tears well up inside me. I feel like I might burst open—raw, ugly emotion splattering all over the truck. We are so screwed, and it’s all my fault.
I’d never write a lame scene like the one I’ve managed to find myself in. I sure as hell wouldn’t have let my protagonist jump into the bad guys’ truck without a plan. At the very least, I would have made sure my hero had a gun or a knife hidden in her boot. The only thing I’ve got is my computer. And it isn’t even turned on. I suck as a real-life action hero.
I’m feeling more and more despondent. I try to play things out in my head, to ferret out a good ending, but it’s just not happening. Even if we can somehow escape, that would probably involve jumping out of a moving truck onto a road with high-speed traffic bearing down on us. If we survive that—and that’s a big if—we’d most likely be in San Ysidro, a border town filled with drug runners, where massacres are a daily occurrence. And that’s the happy ending.
As for the bad scenarios, take your pick. We’re discovered by the bad guys, dragged to a deserted location, shot, knifed, or strangled, and then left for dead. I’m overcome with images of Max and me riddled with bullets, lying in a ditch. I’m trembling. I can’t get the gruesome picture out of my mind. I shake my head to stop myself from spiraling into the abyss. So much for the power of positive thinking.
I glance over at Max, looking for some kind of solace. But he seems even more terrified than me. It’s disconcerting. Panic doesn’t suit him.
“What are we going to do?” I whisper.
Max doesn’t respond. He continues staring straight ahead. It’s wigging me out. I wish he would just scream at me. Or punch me. Something. Anything. I need him to be present. He’s all I’ve got. I am about to say something else to Max when he shoves his hand over my mouth. His palm is sweaty from nerves.
He holds up his iPhone and taps into it. My phone vibrates. I pull it out. He’s texting me.
MAX:
WTF WER U THINKING?
KYLIE:
IDK. GUESS I WASNT
.
MAX:
YEA
.
KYLIE:
IM REALLY SORRY. REALLY. REALLY
.
MAX:
SAVE IT. NOT GOOD ENUF WEN IM DED
.
KYLIE: I KNOW. I MESSED UP
.
MAX:
BIG TIME
.
KYLIE:
I GET IT. YOU HATE ME. IM AN IDIOT
.
MAX:
OK
.
KYLIE:
U DONT HAVE TO B SUCH A DICK
.
MAX:
IM GONNA DIE CUZ OF U. HOW SHD I B?
KYLIE:
NICER?
MAX:
R U SUICIDAL??
KYLIE:
NO!! JUST WANTED MY COMPUTER. IT WAS STUPID
.
MAX:
WHTEVR
.
KYLIE:
U CLIMBD IN BEHIND ME
.
MAX:
N BY THAT U MEAN THANX?
KYLIE:
IT WAS UR CHOICE
.
MAX:
I WAS TRYING TO HELP. WONT DO THAT AGAN
.
KYLIE:
SORRY. REALLY, REALLY SORRY. I AM
.
MAX:
WATS UR PLAN NOW?
KYLIE:
DUNNO. U HAVE ANY IDEAS?
MAX:
THIS IS UR PLAN, UR FAULT. U COM UP W SUMTHING
.
KYLIE:
WISH I CD. BUT HOW? WHAT?
MAX:
GUESS U SHD HAV THOT OF THAT B4
.
I shoot Max an exasperated look. How is that helpful? He’s acting like a petulant child, and refusing to be part of the solution. Max won’t meet my gaze. He’s too angry at me. I can’t blame him. I deserve it. He’d be at school, basking in the limelight, celebrating the last day of classes, comfortably intertwined with Lily in an ostentatious show of public affection, if it wasn’t for me. Still, if we’re going to spend our final hours on earth together, it might be helpful if we could get along. Or at the very least, work together.
KYLIE:
I GET THAT I MESSED UP BUT UR GONNA HAV TO HELP ME OUT HERE
.
MAX:
HOW???? ID B OUT OF HERE IF I CD. DOORS R LOCKD. NO WAY OUT. WERE SCREWD
.
KYLIE:
SHD WE CALL 911
?
MAX:
NO! 2 RISKY. IF THEY C COPS, THELL FREAK. MAYB SHOOT US.
KYLIE:
THEN WHAT?
MAX:
WE WAIT. MAYB THELL STOP AGEN. N WE RUN
.
The truck makes a sharp left turn. I fall on top of Max as both of us are thrown against the wall by the centrifugal force. The television falls to the ground. The edge of it nails my knee, which throbs in pain.
Something seems to shift in Max, and his anxiety shoots through the roof. He is gulping air like he’s struggling for breath. His eyes are glassy. His jaw is tensed. I look down to see his hand gripping his pant leg. He reminds me of Jake when he’s seen a snake. Too frightened to move or speak. I text him.
MAX R U OK?
Max doesn’t text back.
“Max? What’s wrong?” I whisper in his ear.
He doesn’t respond. He turns away from me and stares at the floor. I don’t know what to do. I want to reach out to him. I’m just not sure how. I barely know the guy. Amid this nightmare, and despite all my better instincts, my heart swells a little for him. I can’t help it. He looks so vulnerable. It’s a whole different side to a guy who I thought was made of stone.
or the past ten minutes we’ve been moving at a pretty fast clip. I’m deep breathing to keep the anxiety at bay. Kylie keeps looking at me, but I want nothing to do with her. Seriously, what do we have to say to each other at this point? I’m having a hard time just maintaining. I hear one of the guys in front yelling into his cell in Spanish. I don’t understand anything except the word “Tijuana.” Tijuana? Jesus. I know Kylie understands Spanish. I text into my cell.
MAX:
R THEY GOIN TO TIJUANA?
KYLIE:
YES
MAX:
WHAT ELS DID THEY SAY?
KYLIE:
JUST SOME ADDRESS. I THINK THEY’RE DROPPING STUFF THERE. NOT SUR
.
Mexico?!
I read the papers. I know what’s going on in those border towns. People are being slaughtered, entire police forces are quitting, journalists are murdered just for showing up to work.
I feel dizzy. My vision starts to pulse in and out. There’s no more keeping anything at bay. The dam breaks and an enormous wave of fear spreads through my body. I sit on my hands to stop them from shaking. I’m having a panic attack. It’s not the first time. I’ve been here before. My chest cramps up. My heart whirs out of control. Red-hot anxiety courses through my veins. I just need to breathe. Count to ten. Slowly. Focus on something. I can will myself off the ledge. I’ve done it before.
I wish Kylie would stop staring at me. It’s making things worse.
For the most part, I’m pretty chill. I can get intense during squash, but that’s different. Nothing like this had ever happened, until last year. I didn’t have a clue what was going on. I thought I was having a heart attack. Luckily, I was in the hospital at the time. My mom and I had been sitting in the waiting room for hours. She was zoned out on some kind of meds, and powering through a stack of gossip magazines. I was reading On the Road. We were mostly ignoring each other. To fill the dead air, Mom would occasionally ask me about school or squash. Not about Dad. Stupid stuff. We were pretending that everything was okay. That’s what my family does. We put all our shit away into some dark place where we never go, and plaster on our game faces.
Dr. Stein was still wearing his scrubs when he came out and headed toward us. I could tell it wasn’t good news. I wanted to get the hell out of that hospital. Just jump in the elevator, slip outside, into the sunshine, and go for the longest run of my life. But I stayed there next to Mom as Dr. Stein told us more than I wanted to hear about Dad’s condition.
That was when my body first seized up. It felt like I was suffocating. Like my organs were shutting down. I thought I was just sitting there suffering in silence, but it must have been pretty obvious, because all of a sudden, Dr. Stein grabbed me by the shoulders and pulled me to my feet.
“Breathe, Max,” he said. “Slowly. Blow the air out through your mouth. In through your nose. Stare at the nurse’s station. Put everything else out of your mind. You’re having an anxiety attack. It’ll subside in a few minutes. Keep breathing with me.”
Dr. Stein was right. After about ten minutes, I came out of it. It didn’t feel like the world was pressing down on me. I could move and breathe normally again. For the next few hours I was still a little shaky. The whole thing really messed with my head. Once something like that happens to you, you start to wonder if you’ll ever feel normal again. You wonder if you even are normal. Or if something is seriously wrong.
Dr. Stein had me talk to some woman psychiatrist for a few weeks. She was pretty useless. She asked me a million questions. Mostly I lied to her, told her everything was cool so we could end the sessions. She prescribed Xanax for me, but I threw them down the toilet. Mom was already taking way too much of that shit. We didn’t need two robots in the house.
For weeks afterward, I felt like I was always waiting for it to happen again. Where would I be? Somewhere embarrassing, like school? Or squash? Or wherever. Worrying about it drove me crazy. But then it didn’t happen. I forgot about it. Until six months ago, out of the blue. Lily and I were at the movies, some horror film. All of a sudden it felt like the walls were closing in on me. I got this weird sensation of being outside my body. The blood, the gore, the violence started getting to me. Which is weird because I usually love that stuff. I had to get up and leave the theater. I told Lily I’d be right back.
I went to the bathroom, sat on the toilet, put my head between my knees, and stayed there for about fifteen minutes, until it all blew over. When I went back in, the credits were rolling. Lily was all worried. I lied and said something about food poisoning. I couldn’t bring myself to tell Lily the truth. I’m sure she would have been sympathetic and everything. It’s just, I wasn’t ready to tell her. I was kind of hoping I’d never have to tell her. Who wants a boyfriend who can’t keep his shit together? Besides, Lily can be such a drama queen. I didn’t need her freaking out about my freaking out. I figured I’d let it ride. Hopefully, it wouldn’t happen again. And if it did, I’d deal with it then.
It’s all been good. Until now. I’m wishing I had some of that Xanax on me.
I suddenly realize Kylie’s been rubbing my back. How long has she been doing that? I was so in my head I didn’t notice at first. Her touch feels nice, soothing. It’s bringing me down off the ledge. It’s weird. I barely know her, but somehow she’s able to calm me. My breathing slows down. My heart stops fluttering. I feel better.
And then the truck stops. I hear voices. The driver is having a conversation with someone outside, in English. We must be at the border, probably customs. We need to act fast. We could escape or be rescued. But I feel completely paralyzed. What do we do? I mean, it’s not like I’ve been in this kind of situation before.
“We’re at the border,” Kylie whispers.
“What should we do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Should we say something?” I’m speaking incredibly fast now. The panic presses to get back in; I can feel it start to flood my brain again.
“Maybe we should scream or start pounding on the door,” Kylie suggests.
I’m not sure that’s such a good idea. Fear is flaming through my system. I’m not in any condition to make rapid-fire decisions. I know this is our chance. Maybe our last chance. What do we do? What do we do?
Okay. I’m going to do this. I’m about to yell at the top of my lungs. The truck begins to move again. Fast. Are you kidding me?
We’re picking up speed. Moving away from customs. From the people who could have saved us! Shit. Shit. Shit. We’ve missed the moment. We’re as screwed as two people can be.
Kylie picks up her phone and punches into it.
KYLIE:
NOT GOOD
.
MAX:
YA THINK? CANT IMAGIN HOW IT CD GET WORSE
.
KYLIE:
THEY CD KILL US
.
MAX:
YEA. THAT WD B WORSE. THNX 4 THAT
.
At this point, things are so bad, I have to smile. Kylie smiles as well. Gallows humor, as they say. We’re out of options, for the time being.
KYLIE:
THEY’LL STOP AGAIN SOON. WE’LL JUMP OUT THEN
.
MAX:
IN TIJUANA? PERFECT. BEEN DYING TO GO THERE
.
KYLIE:
I HEAR IT’S NICE THIS TIME OF YEAR
.
I don’t know how we got into this head space, but I guess it’s better than the place I was a little while ago. Might as well suck the last bits of humor out of our lives.
Kylie texts me again, punching away at her phone. I look down at mine and realize I’m getting nothing. I look at her. She looks at me, confused, and tries again. Still nothing.
She leans in to me and whispers, “I think we lost service.”
I don’t respond. I mean, what can I say?
“You have to let your service provider know when you’re going to another country,” Kylie whispers, like she’s some kind of official Verizon rep or something. Is this somehow supposed to be helpful information? She looks at me expectantly like one of us might want to get in touch with our “service provider” right about now, request international service. Genius plan, babe.
We sit in silence. I’m no longer feeling the humor.
Soon we’ll be buried among the cacti, our bodies laying waste in the desert, dinner for coyotes. Fear gives way to anger. I am suddenly aware of how pissed I am at Kylie. Man, I cannot believe she got us into this. I’m dying to lose my mind on her. Tell her what I really think of her for making me do Murphy’s assignment, meeting her at Starbucks, following the biker, and then climbing into this stupid truck. For a smart chick, SHE IS A TOTAL IDIOT. But then again, I followed her into the truck, so, really, what is my problem? I do a silent scream in my head. It doesn’t help.
Kylie tugs at my sleeve. I shake her off. Let her sit in her own shit. I’m sitting in mine. Even if she’s the last person I get to see before I die, I’m not really interested in conversation.
“I heard them say they’re pulling over soon,” Kylie whispers.
I don’t feel the need to answer. There’s nothing I can possibly say that will be at all helpful. Besides, we shouldn’t be talking. If we’re quiet and they don’t notice us, maybe somehow, miraculously, we’ll make it out of here alive.
“We could make a run for it,” Kylie suggests, as though she’s had some kind of inspired breakthrough.
“Whatever,” I say, rolling my eyes. Shit. That’s the best she’s got? Obviously, if there’s any opportunity, we’re going to make a run for it. I’m going to run like hell. I just don’t think it’s very likely that we’ll be able to run without the two dudes noticing us.
“What is that supposed to mean?” Kylie asks. Her eyes bore into me, big and sad, like some kind of wounded animal. She thinks we’re a team and I’ve just let her down.
“Nothing,” I say. I’m not going to make this any easier for her by pretending we’re in this together. If we’re going down, it’s each man for himself. I’m not interested in making her feel better. Or being a hero. What Kylie does is up to her. I’m taking care of number one.
“I know this is my fault,” Kylie whispers, “but we have to work together if we’re going to survive. I can’t die. I can’t. If I die, my entire family falls to pieces.”
Yeah, tell me about it. “It’s not like my family will be thrilled,” I shoot back.
And then she starts crying quietly, her shoulders shaking.
Oh, man. What am I supposed to do now? I feel bad. Immediately, I backpedal.
“We’re gonna figure this out,” I say. I’m not sure why, but I reach out and take her hand. I guess because, if this is the last thing I do on earth, I don’t want to be a complete asshole about it. “We’ll get out of here alive. I promise.”
I’m trying my best to believe what I’m saying, but it’s a pretty empty statement. I’m really not feeling it, though it seems to help Kylie. She stops crying, wipes away the tears.
The truck stops. The front doors pop open and then quickly close. The two dudes have left, for the moment. We hear them talking as they walk away.
Kylie shoots up, pulling herself together. It’s as if the crying somehow bolstered her. She’s definitely rising to the occasion. I am not. I’m feeling defeated before I’ve even begun to fight, which is totally lame of me.
“This is it. It may be our only chance,” Kylie tells me. Shit. What’s she doing this time?
Kylie straps on her backpack and crawls to the window that divides the front from the back of the truck. She peers out and, without warning, shimmies her way through the window, landing in the front seat. I’m not sure whether to follow or stay put. I mean, the guys could be right outside. With guns.
“What are you doing, Max? C’mon,” Kylie insists.
I’m terrified. I don’t move at first. I can’t believe Kylie’s got more balls than me.
“I don’t see them. We need to go. Now,” Kylie commands.
There’s something firm and reassuring in her voice. It urges me on. She’s all badass again. The way she was earlier. The girl is totally bipolar, but she does manage to get me going. I push myself up and over the pile of electronics I’ve been sitting on for the past hour and pull myself through the window.
Kylie and I are crouched down in the front seat. We peek out through the windshield and can see that we’re parked on a small side street, somewhere in Tijuana, presumably. All the signs are in Spanish. Across the street is a store that sells phone cards; I can make out the words Lagos, Nigeria and Sin limite. I look up and see blue sky above.
I realize we’ve been in the dark for a long time. Something about the purity of the light and the brash blue reminds me of Sunday mornings on the beach with my Dad. He used to take me and my brother to explore the tide pools, in the days before he got too busy to hang out on weekends. I would stick my finger into the middle of the rubbery sea anemones until they snapped shut. I thought it was the sickest thing ever. Those mornings, the sky looked like this.
I am jolted back to the present by the sight of a kid running down the sidewalk, followed by two scraggly dogs. The street is deserted except for the kid. The dudes are nowhere in sight. Maybe we can catch a break here.
“We’re going to make a run for it. Into that store,” Kylie says, as though she’s had the whole thing planned out all along. She’s confident and determined.
Kylie opens the front door of the truck and jumps out. I’m on her heels. We sprint toward the store. We’re nearly there. Almost in the clear. Home safe. And then I see them. They’re hard to miss, with their shiny heads and multiple tattoos. They’re standing in a doorway, talking to a skinny guy with a full beard and a baseball cap.
There’s one of those interminable pauses where time slows way down as they turn and stare straight at us.
