Headlights(80)

I sense him behind me, bent forward, his head inches from mine. And I throw the back of my skull into his face.

He groans, and I jump up and turn as he steps back, one hand on his bloody nose, the other lifting the gun. I elbow him, knock it from his hand, and it falls to the grass. I step forward, grab the back of his head with both my hands, and long knee him in the throat. I jump back, and he falls to the ground.

I look up, and I can’t find Hannah. I don’t see her, and a terrible thought crosses my mind. She took the car. She ran, left me here. But no—the car’s still here.

Then I see her. Just over by it, past the trees. She’s on her knees too. And Nat Tillman stands behind her, tightening her cuffs.

Something shifts in me. More than the fighting calm, more than the adrenaline. Seeing Nat Tillman there, standing over her.

Hannah Lawrence on her knees. There’s blood on her chin.

Rage.

I run.

I push my legs and move harder and faster than I ever have. Nat Tillman my only focus. Nat Tillman with his hands on her.

I’m there before he finishes, before he has her up and standing. I am there, and I do not think, do not feel, as my arm rears back, and my fist collides with Nat Tillman’s face.

I throw a boot into his chest and knock him down to the ground. Blood sprays from his nose, and it is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

“Jesus, dude,” he says, looking at his hand, covered in it. “What the hell!”

I kick his gun out of his reach and pick up the handcuff key from where he’s just dropped it on the ground.

I say, “Josie’s inside unconscious. Not from me. Go arrest Theo Wharton, he’s the one you want.”

I don’t wait for a response as I pull Hannah up from the ground and help her get to the car. She slumps into the passenger seat, hands still cuffed behind her back. I close her door and run around to the driver’s side, throw myself in, just as the smaller agent gets up off the ground, raising his gun.

He aims it at me and shoots, the crack of the gunshot pulling me back to memories I close my eyes against. I get the car started.

I think he missed, I think I’m okay. I slam the door closed and pull my hand in. I throw the car in drive and peel it out of the lot. His next shot ricochets off the back bumper. We pull away.

And then I feel the pain. I look down.

My left hand is gushing blood. I hold it up higher, swallow, focus.

“Are you okay?” I ask Hannah as we get on the road. She’s leaning forward in the passenger seat, blood on her chin, hands still cuffed.

I don’t know where we’re going. Away from here, as far as we can get. In this unique memorable car that seven agents just saw. I gotta wrap up my hand, get this blood to slow before I pass out. I lift it higher above my heart. Blink myself into focus. Pain. Adrenaline.

Hannah says, “Yeah.”

“Here,” I say, driving with my left forearm and reaching over with the right to unlock her cuffs. “Lean forward, if you can.” She does. It takes a minute, glancing back and forth between the road and her, driving with my hand bleeding and unlocking the cuffs, but I’m able to do it.

She pulls her hands free and throws the cuffs on the floorboard. She reaches into the glove compartment where she finds some napkins and hands them to me, holds herself as far back as she can from the blood, wipes hers off her face.

“You?” she asks.

I nod, hold the napkins to my hand. It’s not as bad as I thought, just my pinky’s kind of half-on. It fucking hurts. But there’s too much going on. Just have to get away, have to think.

We drive, don’t speak. I try to take in everything that just happened, try to make sense of it. The sky has darkened. I’m not sure when. Hannah and Father Sky and Josie. I don’t know when it happened, but it’s dark. Really dark.

Just as I think it, the first snowflake falls to the windshield and melts against it. Then another.

“He hurt you,” I say. “How bad?”

She searches through the glove box again, pulls out some wet wipes, slides one over her face. “He didn’t,” she says.

“But—”

“I ran from him and tripped.”

I glance at Hannah. She’s holding something in her hand, staring out the window. Her words sound a little different.

“What … did you see in there?” I finally ask. “Could you—”

She nods. “I saw them. The shadows.”

“It was drugs, right? The incense?” My good hand unsteady on the wheel. I grip it tighter. I don’t feel so hot, a little dizzy.

“I don’t think so,” she says. “It was real. The others, they just … couldn’t see what was happening to them, they only felt it. I think.”

I look at her again. “Why? Why can we see them and no one else? They’re not real.”

“The shadows are real. And so was that shit with Father Sky.” She turns and looks at me. “You texted them. Told them where we were. How could you?”

“The priority is solving this. Apprehending this killer. If we catch the right guy, we’re off the hook.”

“Are you kidding? That doesn’t let us off the hook. We still look pretty fucking suspicious. You haven’t given us any kind of chance, and you just totally fucked us. Now they know what car we’re driving, now we’ve fought and actually escaped them. Isn’t that another offense? A bad one? I can’t believe you—”