Don't Turn Around

by Jessica Barry

  She couldn’t track him forever. Sooner or later, he was going to clock that he was being followed, if he hadn’t already. Out here, there was nowhere for her to hide.

  She had to make the first move.

  The paved road ended, replaced by a dirt track that cut up into the mountains. The land changed quickly, the flat sand replaced by packed, craggy earth, the scrub turning a deeper green and then to forest. She watched carefully, committing each terrain change to memory. She would need it when it was time for them to run. She would need it if they had to hide.

  The mesas loomed above, blunt and brutal.

  The engine was whining continuously now, a high-pitched buzz that set off her tinnitus and suggested that something was deeply wrong and would only get worse. There was no time to lose. She had to act.

  She waited until the pickup followed a bend in the track up ahead that momentarily took her out of its sight line, and she floored the gas. The Jeep lurched forward, gears grinding in complaint. When she caught sight of the truck again, it was only a few lengths ahead of her. She peered through the broken windshield. All she could see was the top of his head peeking over the driver’s seat. An invitation.

  Her plan was simple: do to him what he’d done to them, and hope the Jeep was up to one final challenge.

  First she needed to make sure Cait was inside that truck.

  C’mon, Cait.

  She hit the engine with a little more gas. The wheels skidded on the gravel.

  They were climbing now, the slope gentle at first, trees leaning toward them from the brush, the roadway blurring and re-forming every few feet.

  The speedometer climbed past seventy. The Jeep skidded into a turn. A tree skimmed past her window, its branches scraping at the door.

  The truck kept climbing. His eyes were in the rearview mirror now, fixed on hers, dark and wild. Their gazes stayed locked together as they climbed up the mesa.

  And then, for just a split second, his eyes flicked to his right. Someone was in the truck with him.

  The engine was stuttering. She couldn’t keep this pace much longer.

  She didn’t want to hurt Cait in the process. She wanted her to be prepared.

  She leaned hard on the horn. A flock of flycatchers rose from the trees and took off through the sky.

  A hand appeared above the passenger-side headrest of the truck. Slim fingers curled together. A thumbs-up.

  Rebecca floored the gas pedal. She pulled the Jeep’s nose level with the rear end of the truck and wrenched the steering wheel, hard.

  Cait watched Rebecca’s face in the wing mirror. All traces of softness had been erased. She was a bullet aimed squarely for the truck.

  When the horn blared, Cait checked the clasp on her seat belt and raised her hand above the seat. She wanted Rebecca to know that she should do whatever it took to stop him. She wanted her to know that if Cait died because of this, it wouldn’t be her fault. She wanted Rebecca to know that she was grateful for her coming when she could have saved herself. She wanted her to know that she deserved more than this hand she’d been dealt, and she hoped that, when this was all over, she’d seek it out.

  The front end of the Jeep bit into the truck’s rear tire, sending it skidding into the dirt. He corrected and spun back onto the road. There was a long scrape on the left side of the truck, but it looked superficial. She hadn’t gone in hard enough.

  She caught his face in the mirror, a smirk playing on his lips. The truck began to pull away. She sank the pedal to the floor.

  They thundered up the road together, her bumper just a few inches away from his but unable to connect. The Jeep was struggling to keep pace. The road worsened again, not much more than loose dirt and rubble. The shock absorbers weren’t up for the challenge, and her body rattled in the seat like a Tic Tac.

  She didn’t have much time.

  There was a steep bank up ahead, ringed in thick fencing. If she could squeeze him onto it, the truck might just be unstable enough for her to flip it. She needed him to be distracted enough to drop his pace, even for a split second.

  Cait had gripped the edges of the seat and readied herself for impact as the Jeep approached, but when it came, she barely felt it. The truck was solid, and Adam was a surprisingly good driver, leaning into the skid without flinching before steering them back on the road. There was a steely calm in his eyes she’d never seen before, and it scared her.

  Now the Jeep seemed to be fading. The engine sounded sick, like maybe the transmission was shot, and there was a high-pitched whine that she’d never heard before. Rebecca didn’t have much time to give it another try. Neither did Cait.

  She glanced over at Adam. His eyes were fixed on the road, his mouth hard. Her jaw still stung from where he’d backhanded her, but pain was irrelevant now, when death felt so certain. She had to help Rebecca.

  Her eyes searched the cab of the truck, looking for something she could use. Her eyes lit on a pen shoved into the cupholder between them. Her fingers twitched. Could she get to it quickly enough? If he caught her, things would only get worse for her.

  Fuck it. She had nothing to lose.

  She snatched the pen and plunged it as hard as she could into the top of his thigh.

  The truck swerved sharply. Its pace dropped quickly so that Rebecca nearly plowed square into the back of it, but she managed to jerk the wheel at the last second to avoid the collision. She pulled level with the truck, sandwiching it between the Jeep and the steep bank. It was now or never. She caught Cait’s eyes through the window and nodded at her, once. She saw the shadow of a smile play across Cait’s lips right before she turned the wheel sharply and slammed into the side of the truck.

  The shriek of metal filled the air. Rebecca watched as the truck tilted up the side of the bank and over, cutting down several fence posts, back end fishtailing wildly as he tried to correct. She saw Cait’s head snap back against the seat, her good hand braces against the dash, the dark swing of her hair as the truck began to spin.

  Rebecca thought the truck might tip, but it held steady, and soon he had the wheels steering straight. But he didn’t manage in time to avoid the tree.

  The piñon pine knifed the front end of the truck, metal buckling around it, the back wheels spinning momentarily in the air before crashing down to earth with a sickening bang.

  Rebecca stayed frozen. She’d braked hard as soon as the truck started skidding, and now she was fifty feet behind, stopped short in the middle of the dirt track.

  She cut the engine and climbed out onto the road.

  The quiet was what hit her first. After the rage of the engines and the blood rushing to her ears, the sudden silence felt deafening. She could hear the soft hiss of the truck’s engine, the soft rustle of the breeze through the pines, the distant call of a circling hawk. The sharp tang of gasoline hit the back of her throat, followed by the acrid smell of smoke.

  Cait’s side of the truck was scraped raw; the window had blown out in the impact, leaving behind an angry, gaping maw. Inside the truck, nothing was moving.

  Please be okay, please be okay.

  Rebecca came level with the window and peered inside. Adam’s body was angled toward the driver’s-side window, the airbag pressed tight against his chest, his head lolling against the doorframe. She could see an angry gash on his forehead, and his face was pale and still.

  Cait was slumped over the airbag, her dark curls stark against the white. Her eyes were closed. She looked peaceful, almost. Like she was sleeping. Rebecca reached a hand in and touched her, gently. “Cait? Can you hear me?”

  Please don’t be dead.

  Cait’s eyes opened and locked on Rebecca’s. A mewling sound escaped her mouth.

  Rebecca’s knees almost gave out. “Thank God. Are you hurt?”

  Cait shook her head gently. “I don’t think so.” She coughed, winced. “Nothing too bad.” The chemicals from the airbag clung to her clothes and her skin like a fine dust.

  “Do you thi
nk he’s—” Rebecca didn’t want to say the rest, didn’t dare jinx it.

  Cait looked over at Adam and nodded. “I think so.”

  “Let’s get you out.” Rebecca wrenched at the crumpled door, but the handle was jammed. “I can’t open it.” She tugged on it again. “You’re going to have to climb out through the window.”

  Cait nodded and began the slow, careful work of disentangling herself, one eye always trained on Adam’s slumped, still body. When she was free of the airbag and the seat belt, Rebecca reached inside and helped pull her through the shattered window. “Come on,” she said, shouldering Cait’s weight. Her eyes were trained on the dark smoke billowing out of the truck’s hood, thicker by the second. “We have to get clear.”

  The two women limped toward the Jeep. Rebecca was reaching for the handle when she looked over to see the truck’s door swing open and a pair of boots hit the ground.

  She saw then that the gash on Adam’s head was bleeding badly against the pale white of his skin and that one leg of his jeans was stained dark with blood and that he tensed when he put weight on it, but still he raised the gun he held in his hand and aimed it squarely at her chest, and in the split second before he pulled the trigger, she saw that he was smiling.

  Cait heard the creak of metal from the door’s hinge and turned just in time to see Adam emerge from the truck. She caught the look in his eye and the glint of metal in his hand and pulled Rebecca down to the ground right before the gun went off. The bullet lodged in the Jeep’s side, just to the right of where Rebecca’s body had been a half second ago.

  Next time, Cait knew, he wouldn’t miss.

  They scrambled through the dirt, another bullet ricocheting off the rear door as they dove behind the bumper. “I didn’t know he had a gun,” Rebecca whispered.

  Cait shook her head. “Neither did I.”

  Footsteps in the dirt. He was limping, they could hear that in the way one of his steps was heavier than the other. Cait was glad she’d plunged that pen into the meat of his thigh when she had the chance.

  He was hurt. They were hurt, too, but the fact that he was hurt was something. An advantage, maybe, if they played it right. First they had to get the hell out of there. They were sitting ducks behind the Jeep. And the footsteps were getting closer.

  Cait saw her moment. Rebecca had risked her own life to save her. Now it was her turn to return the favor. Besides, she’d always liked a grand gesture. “Listen,” she whispered, “I’m going to go for his legs. You run as fast as you can. No matter what happens, you keep running.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “We both go for his legs, and then we both run.”

  “Let me do this for you. Please.” Cait heard the desperation in her own voice. “This is your chance.”

  Rebecca held her eye. “Our chances are better if we stay together.”

  Step, drag. Step, drag. Cait could see the edge of his boots and his shadow in the dust. He was so close, she could almost smell him.

  Rebecca was right. If Cait went for him and missed . . . well, neither of them stood a chance. Together, though . . .

  She nodded, held up her hand. Started ticking off fingers. One. Two. Three. They would go on five.

  BOOM.

  The explosion tore through the desert, the noise deafening, the heat rippling out in waves, scorching their skin and sending debris from the pickup high into the air.

  It took Rebecca a second to figure out what had happened, but Cait was already tugging at her arm, urging her to run.

  The fire had finally reached the truck’s gas tank, and it had detonated like a bomb.

  They could only hope that it had taken Adam with it.

  They took off through the brush, darting between trees, stumbling over rocks, brambles snagging into flesh, sand slipping underfoot, the only sound that of their hot breath in their throats, the air filled with black acrid smoke, never daring to look back.

  Adam’s hair was singed from the heat of the explosion and his lips were blistered and he could feel the melted fibers from his shirt clinging to his skin but he didn’t feel the pain. He felt nothing now but pure, beautiful rage, and it flowed through his veins like ice water.

  He watched the two women run.

  He wouldn’t rush. He knew they wouldn’t get far.

  There was no plan. There was only the pounding of their hearts and the rush of blood and the feverish will to survive.

  He followed them into the brush, his bad leg dragging in the dirt. He still couldn’t believe that bitch had stabbed him.

  He’d make her pay. He’d make them both pay. He was a soldier. He was a warrior. He would march and fight until the battle was won.

  They were fifty feet ahead of him now, but they were injured, too, and the pain was starting to catch up with them. He couldn’t feel his own pain. There was a power surging through his veins that made him feel invincible. He gripped the gun harder. He saw Cait stumble and fall, then the other one pulling her up and pushing her on.

  He aimed the gun and stared through the sight. There she was, her pretty little face smeared with blood and dirt, her pretty little mouth twisted in pain.

  He put the gun down. He was too far away. He wanted to look straight in her eyes when he pulled the trigger. He wanted her to feel how powerful he was, and how merciless.

  Cait turned around and saw a flash of movement through the trees below.

  He was coming for them.

  They were climbing, knees and hands scraping against jagged rocks. There were places to hide up there, craggy inlets to tuck themselves behind, and they would be able to see him coming. They needed an advantage. This was the only one she could think of.

  “There,” she said, nodding toward a gash in the rock above.

  They kept climbing.

  He watched them climb and smiled to himself. Stupid, stupid girls. Didn’t they know there was no escape?

  They reached the bottom of the caprock. It was too steep for them to go any farther.

  Rebecca looked at Cait. “We’re trapped.”

  He took his time. He could see them watching him. He pulled out the gun and aimed toward them. Saw them flinch.

  Rebecca pressed her back against the rock. The air smelled like burnt rubber and gasoline. “What are we going to do?”

  Cait shook her head. “I don’t know.” She had led them up there. It was her fault. She had to come up with a plan. He was getting closer.

  Step, drag. Step, drag.

  She could see his face, and the outline of a smile playing across his lips. Who was he? She had thought he was just the guy who lived next door. Sweet. Harmless. But no. He was a monster.

  She looked over at Rebecca, who was clinging to the rock, one hand on her stomach, lips moving silently.

  Seven hours ago, she’d been a stranger, but she’d risked her life to save Cait.

  Cait couldn’t let her die. Not here. Not like this.

  There was no plan.

  Sometimes, though, plans were unnecessary.

  Sometimes you just had to act.

  She turned toward Rebecca. “Whatever happens, run.”

  Cait hurtled down the slope, picking up speed as she went. She pictured herself as a bullet slicing through the air, impenetrable and unstoppable.

  She was twenty feet away when he lifted the gun.

  Ten when she saw his finger twitch.

  She waited for the crack of gunshot, though she knew she’d be dead before she registered the sound.

  She waited for hot metal to enter her chest or her skull or her abdomen, tearing through flesh and cartilage and bone.

  Her eyes locked on his.

  She saw his finger squeeze the trigger.

  She waited for oblivion.

  The bullet grazed her left temple. She felt its whispered promise as it passed.

  She heard him cock the gun.

  She launched herself at his body, the air whistling past her ears as she flew. She hit him square in the chest and kn
ocked him to the ground, sending the gun skittering out of his hand into the brush.

  Their two bodies were locked together, fingers clawing, elbows gouging, knees pinning each other tight. She sank her teeth into the soft flesh of his forearm and he screamed. He grabbed a handful of her hair and pulled until she felt it tear from the roots. Her thumbs searched for his eye sockets. She wanted to hurt him as much as she could. She wanted him to suffer.

  He was strong, though. Stronger than he looked. His hands found her neck and started to squeeze. When she tried to pry his fingers away, he smashed her head against the ground, hard. The blue sky began to darken. She heard her breath in her ears, too loud, gasping. He squeezed harder.

  “How does it feel to suffer?” he hissed, eyes burning into hers. “How does it feel to die?”

  Her hands and feet went numb. All of the struggle drained out of her, and she lay there, limp, as he bore down on her and the world began to fade. She closed her eyes as a strange warmth spread through her body. This was a place beyond pain.

  She didn’t hear the gun go off. She felt his weight collapse onto her heavily and the wet warmth of his blood as it poured through the hole in his neck and the muffled rasp of his breath as it left his body for the last time. But she never heard the gun.

  She opened her eyes to see Rebecca standing above her, the sun haloed around her face.

  It was morning, and they were alive.

  Moriarty, New Mexico—284 Miles to Lubbock

  They left Adam’s body on the mountainside for the police or the vultures to find. If it was the latter, in a few weeks, there would be nothing left but bleached bones. The desert was a hungry scavenger, and it wouldn’t waste time.

  They left his truck there, too, its charred body wrapped around the scorched remains of the pine tree. Cait had never seen him drive a pickup—he had an old Corolla with a Longhorns decal on the window—so she wasn’t sure it was even his. Probably a rental, which meant that someone would miss it eventually. They might even come looking for it. It wouldn’t matter. She and Rebecca would be long gone. She had already decided that if the police came knocking at her apartment door, asking about her missing neighbor, she’d tell them she didn’t know anything about him. In a way, it would be the truth. He was more of a mystery to her now than he ever had been.