Miss No One

by Mark Ayre

  If he went around the corner, following him would still be an option. So would escape. The moment he saw his fallen comrade, he would jump to high alert. But if Abbie was careful and traced her way back through the cars, she could probably get close enough to kill him without being noticed, right as he found his dead mate.

  For several long, painful seconds, Abbie waited for the info she'd need to make a decision.

  Smoker took several steps forward.

  Then, he turned. Rather than looking towards the building, he swept his gun across the lines of cars.

  Abbie guessed what had happened.

  The smoker had heard Abbie's gun and determined someone had fired a bullet. He knew, had the shooter been friend, his partner would have emerged to explain the score. That this hadn't happened indicated the shooter was foe. Which changed things.

  If someone had shot his comrade, where would that someone go?

  If the shooting had happened on Smoker's side, the obvious route would be to escape over the chainlink fence. But the fence on the other side and to the rear of the building was higher, and trees pressed close against it from the outer side. It would be much harder to scale than at the front.

  Besides, upon arrival, Smoker and his gang had left open the front gate. That was the easiest escape route. That was where Smoker expected his quarry to go.

  Smoker continued to the entrance then turned towards the open gate, directly ahead.

  Abbie had dropped to the ground when her final enemy had appeared. As he turned to the gate, she moved onto her haunches and pointed towards the badly parked car. Her hand rested on the taillight of the Ford. Peaking forward, she watched Smoker.

  His handgun's muzzle leading the way, he walked from the dealership entrance to the first circle of cars.

  He gave the area one final sweep. Then ducked.

  Abbie knew his game. Protected by a car on either side, he would crawl to the bumpers, peak left and right, searching for Abbie in the alley between the first and second of Saturn's rings. When she wasn’t there, he would move up a circle and repeat the process until he found Abbie or decided she and Christine had escaped.

  The moment he disappeared between the two cars in the first ring, Abbie moved. From the bumper of the Ford, she made a crouched rush to the Renault next door. There were now ten vehicles between her and the target. This wouldn't be easy.

  Abbie moved again, rushing to car one of ten and ducking behind the bumper. With Smoker crouching, and the sea of cars between them, it wasn't possible to spot his movements. Tracking by sound was difficult, but she did her best.

  That had to be him, moving down a price bracket.

  Abbie had to speed up if she wanted to reach the car before Smoker. She knew if she did that, escape wouldn't be simple but easier. From her pocket, she withdrew the key she'd taken from Baldie. Would Smoker have another? Hard to say.

  Abbie rushed to car two of ten, stopped, then car three. She considered going back towards the building and trying to sneak up behind Smoker, but that wouldn't work. His actions showed he was cautious as well as deadly. He wouldn’t be so stupid as to focus only on moving forward. Repeatedly, he would check behind him, covering all angles. He wouldn't leave anything to chance.

  Car four, car five, car six.

  Smoker moved down another price bracket. This was going to be tight. Abbie could hear him getting closer, drawing in. By now, he was only a few cars away. Soon, she'd be able to hear him breathing.

  Car seven, car eight.

  Smoker had also moved again. Straight ahead, from his perspective, was his side-on car. It formed a barrier behind two more Ford's. One more move, and he would put himself in a little cul de sac. To proceed, he would need to vault his vehicle.

  Car nine. The bumper of car ten was a couple of inches from the bumper of Smoker's getaway vehicle. Keeping Baldie's gun firmly in hand, Abbie withdrew his car key. Her finger hovered over the soft, black button. The tiniest of compressions would cause the car's lights to flash. The car's confirmation blip and the heavy clunk of the locks disengaging would disturb the quiet night.

  In short, there was no way to unlock the car without alerting Smoker to her presence. Worse, his next move would put him by the driver's door. Abbie would only be able to enter through the passenger side.

  She heard feet crunch through the gravel—Smoker's final move. Abbie heard him rush into the cul de sac and turn, dropping to the ground with his back against his car door.

  A moment later, the car light's flashed. Abbie heard the blip, and the car's central locks disengage.

  Not her move. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was happening.

  Abbie had assumed Smoker was trying to find her. That he planned to end her life in revenge for her attack against his people.

  The driver side door opened.

  Abbie had been wrong.

  Smoker wasn't searching for her.

  He was fleeing.

  She heard him jump into the driver's seat and slam the door. In a second, the key would be in the ignition, turning. In maybe five, Smoker would have his foot on the gas.

  He wouldn't want to leave his people behind. He was putting his safety ahead of the mission.

  What would Orion think of that?

  Now was not the time to consider such matters. Abbie had to act.

  The key turned in the ignition. The engine roared to life. Getting to her feet, Abbie rushed towards the car.

  Abbie believed she had given Smoker a lot of credit earlier by deciding it wasn't safe to try and circle around behind him as he crept towards his car from the dealership.

  Maybe she hadn't given him enough.

  The moment she rose, a bullet smacked the back windshield and shattered the glass.

  Abbie dropped with the crack. Two more shots followed the first, but all three sailed over Abbie's head, safely into the dark.

  But Abbie wasn't safe.

  As he was pulling the trigger, Smoker had thrown his car into reverse. Releasing the hand brake, he smashed his foot into the pedal, and the vehicle flew back.

  Abbie was only a handful of feet behind the rear wheels.

  The spinning rubber kicked up gravel and dirt, sending it spraying in all directions. The car roared as it flew back, like a hungry beast excited and agitated to devour its prey.

  Fast reaction speeds and a finely tuned body, not to mention a sharp mind, had saved Abbie's skin on multiple occasions. While throwing herself to the ground in response to the bullets flying through the windshield of Smoker's car, Abbie had already been anticipating the enemy's next move. The moment she hit the deck, she was rolling onto her front. Bringing up her knees, she planted her feet into the gravel and shoved up with her hands, firing herself between two cars.

  Like a battering ram, Smoker's vehicle shot past, missing Abbie's feet by an inch.

  Earlier, Abbie had mounted and dismounted the chain-link fence into the dealership with some grace. There had been no time to worry about such things when dodging the speeding vehicle, so Abbie's rolling escape was awkward. She twisted her ankle and smacked her skull into the ground.

  Her head was spinning as she rose, her ankle screaming.

  Having shot backwards down the aisle of cars, Smoker hit the brakes when he realised he'd missed his target. Presumably muttering in annoyance, he threw the car into gear and hit the accelerator again.

  This time, the car shot forward.

  Abbie was crouching and backing away as Smoker once more hit the brakes. While trying to run Abbie down, he'd found the time to open his window. The two cars between which Abbie had dived created a tunnel. Smoker lined up his open window perfectly with his target.

  Grey stubble covered his jaw and head; his eyes were steel blue and sharp. His grin was manic.

  His gun was aimed at Abbie's head.

  He fired, and Abbie sprang, jumping onto the car to her left, sliding over the bonnet and landing on the other side bad ankle first.

  Sh
e screamed, smashed into the gravel. Forced herself to roll again, to rise again. To spin and point her gun down this new tunnel, next door to the one against which Smoker had previously stopped.

  Smoker hit the accelerator, jerked forward to the new tunnel.

  Abbie fired three shots.

  Smoker ducked, screamed with fury. Slammed his foot onto the pedal.

  The car shot off in an arc, as though the aisle between the fifth and sixth ring was a NASCAR track.

  Rising, Abbie released the half-empty clip from her gun and slammed a new one home. The pain in her ankle was bearable. A low, dull ache. She had to limp, but that was okay. So long as she didn't need to run.

  Smoker was around the building's rear, still going.

  Abbie stepped into the aisle, into the path of the oncoming car.

  It was curving around the building. Abbie raised her gun, waited.

  Three, two, one.

  The car swooped back around the building's front, speeding towards Abbie.

  She aimed at the windscreen.

  Smoker stomped on the accelerator, speeding, speeding.

  Abbie pulled the trigger, fought the gun's kick, felt the bullet explode from the muzzle, firing towards the oncoming vehicle's windscreen.

  Smoker drew nearer.

  Abbie pulled the trigger again, and again, and again, and again.

  The windshield cracked, then shattered, pouring glass fragments over the driver, causing him to veer one way, then the other. Abbie dived aside as Smoker span the wheel, lost control.

  The car spun, smashed into Davesh’s European imports, carried on sliding through the gravel.

  Abbie had once again escaped between two cars. Rising, she ignored the moans of her ankle and twirled towards Smoker.

  His car had spun 360. Stopped.

  Abbie stepped back into the aisle, pointed at the already shattered back windscreen.

  Fired.

  Fired.

  Fired.

  The car roared into life. Jerked forward. Abbie expected Smoker to spin, to face her. She assumed he would fire at her like a rocket while pointing his gun through the windscreen and pumping her full of lead.

  If she didn't riddle him with bullets first.

  Maybe they’d both go down.

  But no shots came. Reloading would have been more difficult for Smoker than Abbie. Probably he was empty.

  The car didn't spin but kept going. Smoker curved away from the dealership onto the path that led between the rings towards the gate he had earlier left open.

  Despite the pain in her ankle, Abbie jogged onto that same path. Aimed her gun at the back of the car, slid her finger into the guard, touched the trigger.

  She lowered her shooting arm.

  The car was already through the gate when she arrived. Rubber squealed against concrete as Smoker span the wheel, turning onto the road which ran parallel to the dealership.

  Abbie twisted, watching Smoker go, picking up speed every second before disappearing altogether.

  Leaving Abbie alone.

  Or alone but for the dead and one man with a shattered jaw.

  Six

  A mile from the dealership were several acres of public park. Leaving the scene of her latest battle, Abbie made her way there, stopping part way at her car. Unlocking the vehicle, she opened the front passenger door and shoved the guns she’d stolen beneath the seat. There was no reason anyone should want to search her car. Even if they did, they wouldn’t know it was hers. Abbie locked the vehicle and walked away.

  Minutes later, Abbie arrived at the public park and hopped a fence splitting pavement and grass. Beyond the boundary she found an empty playground, a water feature, plenty of space to play catch with a dog, and several wooden benches.

  The fence was low, barely rising past Abbie's belly button. Because of her ankle, she had more trouble scaling it than she had the far taller chain-link fence, and when she landed, she did so with a yell.

  Hobbling was no fun, so Abbie stopped at the first bench to which she came. Didn't read the silver plaque affixed to the seat. It would commemorate some passed away father or brother or lover or mother. It would be depressing. Abbie was in the mood for something uplifting.

  Not that she had any chance of finding that.

  Falling into the seat, Abbie felt for her side as though expecting to find her bag.

  Why not? She had carried it over her shoulder everywhere she went for years. The heft of that Stephen King epic, The Stand, wrapped in a pillowcase, surrounded by a spare change of clothes, was comforting.

  She felt strange without it. Lost. She had always told herself, promised herself, she only insisted on dragging the book around because she was afraid to leave it at home or in a car. In case the vehicle was stolen and joy ridden off a cliff or the house burned down in a sudden and probably intentional blaze.

  Turned out this wasn't true.

  She should have known it wasn't. A little bit of self-reflection would have told her as much. But self-reflection is scary and can reveal things about yourself you don't want to know. Abbie went through long periods of trying to avoid it altogether. Something that had become far easier since Bobby had come around and distracted what had previously been a lonely, frequently bored mind.

  She'd not been dating Bobby long but felt an inherent trust for him. So she felt safe leaving the bag in her home so long as he agreed to stay until she returned.

  Are you sure you don't want to take it?

  That was what he'd said. Are you sure you don't want to take it? Abbie had smiled and told Bobby she trusted him, but she had misunderstood. In fact, it seemed he got her far more than she got him. Perhaps, in this instance, more than she got herself.

  He hadn't been asking if she wanted to take the bag because he didn't trust himself to look after it or feared she was only offering because she felt she should. He was offering her the chance to rethink. If she had, she might have realised what he had already seen.

  It was possible she needed the bag to get through her mission. Even if keeping it by her side entailed plenty of worry about its safety.

  The battle at the dealership had left Abbie shaken. It wasn't so much her near escape that got her. It was the lives she'd taken.

  It was always the lives.

  The Stand was the last possession Abbie owned which had belonged to her little sister, Violet. During Abbie's missions to save the lives of people she did not know, following difficult moments in which she had been given no choice but to kill, she liked to remove the pillowcase from her bag.

  Abbie's hands felt rough on the smooth grip of a gun. Felt rough when she used them to smash an adversary's face into a table or throttle the life from them. When she removed her sister's book, Abbie's hands were delicate, gentle, her skin soft as silk.

  She liked to extract the pillowcase and, with utmost case, unwrap it and free The Stand from within.

  Despite its length, Violet had read the epic what seemed like a thousand times between the day Paul, their big brother, had given it her and the night she died. And always in secret. Mum would’ve hit the roof if she’d known her youngest child had a King novel. Paul would have been sleeping in the garden. Violet would have been unable to sit for a week.

  Abbie hadn't been involved, but mum would have found a reason to smack her as well. Her mother was like that.

  Since Violet's death, Abbie had read the book multiple times. By now, fifteen or more years after its purchase, The Stand was holding up about as well as the post-apocalyptic world depicted within its pages. Abbie no longer dared read the volume. She could never take the risk with something so precious.

  Precious to her, at least.

  Whenever she removed it from the pillowcase, she did so as a devout monk might remove the holy grail from its box, were he ever to find it.

  Abbie would place the book beside her. She would lay a hand upon it.

  Closing her eyes, she would talk to her sister.

  Abbie didn't bel
ieve in an afterlife. Didn't believe her sister was somewhere beyond the stars, listening. Nor did she care. When she touched the book, she felt connected to her precious Violet. The book never failed to bring her little sister's face to the front of Abbie mind.

  The book gave her strength.

  Bobby was smart. He saw what Abbie needed. If only he'd been brave enough to say it.

  Abbie was an idiot. Bobby shouldn't have had to tell her. She should have known.

  She should never have left it.

  When she closed her eyes, she could no longer conjure her sister's face or hear her laugh.

  This was upsetting, but it also made Abbie feel silly. After all, the book was a book. There was no reason its absence should prevent Abbie remembering any feature of her beautiful sister.

  But it did, so Abbie was without those memories until she returned home, when this was all over.

  If she returned home.

  Stay safe. Come back to me.

  Leaning forward, Abbie put her head in her hands. Unable to recall her sister and desperate to escape Bobby's final words (for the time being, she hoped), Abbie was instead dragged back to the dead woman on the stairs, the dead man around the side of the dealership. They were cruel people. Both carried guns and wanted to kill Abbie. Ending their lives had saved Abbie’s, but others’ as well. All the people Smoker’s crew would have gone on to hurt or kill.

  Still, it made her gut churn.

  This bench wasn't helping. Sitting in the peaceful night air was always going to lead to self-torment. Her ankle didn't hurt enough for a distraction. Only moving on would help, searching for the little girl she had described to Christine.

  As ever, the clock was ticking. The minute hand had just passed two in the morning. At best, Abbie had another forty-six hours to save the child.

  In other words, not a moment to waste.

  Abbie rose. Her ankle protested, but she ignored it. Let it hurt. At some point, she would have to sleep; her foot would get a chance to rest then.

  Not before.

  Still limping, unable to stop herself, Abbie left the bench and wound her way along a weaving path that cut the park's primary green in two. She didn't have to worry about where she was going. That wasn't how this worked. She had no idea why she suffered the dreams that led her to these new places, surrounded by these new faces. Dangerous situations, almost without exception. If it was a higher power, they weren't going to leave Abbie high and dry. They always ensured she found her way to the people she needed to meet to save whoever she had come to save.