At first, I don’t see our tail, but when I hit the end of the road, I hear a screech of tires and see a flash of headlights.
Here they are.
Dario whips out his phone and makes a call as he pulls the trigger again once, twice, three times. One of the cars behind us spins out and slams into an unyielding bus stop pole, the sound of rending metal like nails on a chalkboard.
“Orlando, we’ve got a tail.”
“Hot?”
“Fucking hot.”
Shots ring out again. My cousin Orlando curses loud enough for me to hear him.
“Not sure we can get away from them, brother. Don’t know their endgame. I’ve got two down and another still active. Want you to know where we are in case…” His voice trails off.
Cold fear grips my chest. He’s calling Orlando to let him know we’re gonna be killed. He wants surveillance and a heads-up for his brothers and mine when they go to identify our corpses in the morgue. My throat’s tight, my eyes blurry with tears I refuse to shed.
My hands tremble on the wheel but I keep on course.
Orlando tries to assure us. “I’ll get a drone on you. Sending backup. Your phone’s set up to send an SOS with three pushes of the volume button. You get taken or one of you gets shot, one of you hit that button. Vivia, there’s a tiny transponder in the glove compartment. They won’t realize you have it if they take your phone. It works the same as a cell.”
My hands shake as I realize they’re not only making plans for our death, they’re also making plans for our capture. Neither are planning on us getting out of here alive. One hand on the wheel, I lean over, open the glove compartment, and wrap my fingers around the tiny electronic advice I imagine is what Orlando is talking about, tossing up a silent prayer of gratitude for all those years I did my makeup while driving. My mama always said it was dangerous and would get me killed, but multi-tasking while driving is a damn good skill to have.
“Got it,” Dario says, before he shoots again. Of course Mario took my phone before Dario took me away, so that’s useless.
He hangs up the phone as another shot shatters the window. I scream when I see Gray in the rearview mirror, blood pouring from an open wound in his temple. He slouches to the side.
“Got his fuckin’ wish,” Dario mutters.
Oh God. He’s next. We’re next.
Oh God.
I stifle a whimper and keep going.
“Running out of road,” I say in a shaking voice to Dario. My whole body’s shaking and I can’t seem to stop it.
When he speaks, his voice doesn’t tremble. He talks to me like he’s ordering his coffee. How?
“Keep the wheel straight. Stay on course. You’re doing great, just like that. I’m gonna shoot them out but I need you to keep us steady.”
Warmth floods my chest. There it is again, a completely unfamiliar and unexpected sensation that makes me want to do exactly what he told me to. I don’t understand it, but I do what he says, nodding my head even though it makes no damn difference.
Seconds ago, we were enemies and I was his captive. Now, we’re two people running for our lives. I remind myself that I’m his captive and I should hate him. Anything he says to calm me down is only because it’s his job to deliver me to my brothers and cousins alive.
“Can you turn at the end of the road?” he asks.
“Too hard to see, it’s all dark. I think I can— oh, God!” A bevy of detour and “Road Closed Ahead” signs, each in stark black letters against an orange background, are the only warning I get before there is no road. There’s nothing but a thin wall of broken rubble and discarded cinder blocks before the road drops off to nothing, like we’re on the edge of a cliff. It’s probably no more than a foot or two of torn-up concrete, but there’s no way I can drive over it.
I slam the brakes so hard the tires screech.
“Nowhere to go. It drops off.”
Without missing a beat, Dario tells me to park the car. He’s got the door open. I follow him, and when I get out, he grabs my hand.
“Duck and follow my lead,” he hisses, yanking me down. Stifling a scream, I do what he says as gunshots rain all around us. I whimper but quickly scurry beside him. He runs to a vacant backyard behind a picket fence and slams the gate behind us. It’s a small yard with a swing set and a little garden. Bile rises in my throat when I realize we’ve brought danger to a house with children.
“There are—there are children here—”