War(5)

So I rounded the church, searching the surroundings for an exit. My car was too far away, but there had to be another here.

There.

A sedan sat in the parking lot, pointed in the direction I needed to go, the driver’s body half in, half out of the vehicle.

I moved fast now, headed directly to the car.

The driver was an unwanted complication, but I’d just found my escape route.









Milan



I looked back toward the direction I had come from, heard another pop, and saw Al begin to run.

“Oh my God!” I screamed, my mind still trying to deny what I knew was true, my body moving on autopilot, instinct screaming at me to get out of here.

I pulled my door closed and jammed the key into the ignition, my trembling hands making my movements slow, clumsy. I turned the ignition, but nothing happened, and I almost screamed my frustration. My mind had finally caught up with my body, and both were yelling at me to get out of here, the need to do so so acute, my urgency was making me clumsy.

Then I put my foot on the brake pedal and tried again, relief flooding me when the engine turned over.

I put my hand on the gearshift and moved it to Drive.

A sound stopped me before I could slam on the accelerator.

I turn toward the sound of my passenger door opening and saw a huge form. A man, I realized a split second later.

A man who was now in my car.

The last rays of sun bounced off my windshield and obscured his face, but for some reason, I knew his eyes were on me. A long moment passed, then another, and then the shock of the moment broke. I looked away and started to scream.

“Drive,” he said.

I screamed louder, threw the door open, and tried to get out of the car, but when I lifted my foot, the car began to roll, so on instinct, I put my foot back down again.

“Close the door and drive,” he said, his voice still quiet but more urgent now. Something in that stranger’s urgency pierced the haze of my mind.

I pulled the door closed, and then I slammed on the gas.





Four





Priest



The woman drove erratically at first, but the farther we got from the church, the calmer she became.

Wished I could say the same.

Her outward appearance was frazzled, and I could see she was seconds away from falling apart. I couldn’t have that.

“Pull over,” I said.

The woman started to turn her head toward me, but didn’t.

She tightened her grip on the wheel and pressed the gas harder, and the car lurched forward.

“Pull over,” I said again.

She pushed the gas even harder, but after a tense breath, she complied and came to a stop on a side street.

“Put the car in Park,” I said.

Another breath, and she did as I said.

“Now look at me,” I said.

She shook her head. “N-no.”

“Look,” I repeated.

“No,” she said, turning away from me. “I haven’t seen your face. I don’t know who you are, don’t know anything. J-just get out of here and I’ll forget about you, forget I ever even saw you,” she said.

Her voice was trembling and I heard the undercurrent of tears, but she kept them in check. Admirable. Many would have given in to their fear, let their emotions overtake them, but she was putting up a fight, which told me she was strong. I hoped she was smart, too.

“Look at me,” I whispered.

I reached over and grabbed her chin with my hand and twisted her head until she faced me. She kept her eyes down, hooded, clearly not wanting to look at me.

As I grasped her chin, she shook her head, so I tightened my hold.

Then she looked up.

Eyes, dark as onyx and wet with unshed tears, met mine. And the instant our eyes met, my heart kicked, the force of it leaving a dull ache.

It could have been the adrenaline rush of the shooting, of these minutes after, but it wasn’t that.

The shooting was unfortunate, but hardly something that would make my heart beat faster. Yes, there would be work to do, issues to resolve because of it, but the days when something like a shooting got a reaction out of me had long passed.

What, then?

I watched her, considered.

Maybe it was a long-delayed reaction to someone else’s pain, their fear, something I had long ago become accustomed to. More plausible than my own fear, but the explanation still didn’t quite fit.

I let my gaze drop from her eyes, took the rest of her in. She was pretty in a goodish way, her face pleasant, and from what I could see of her body, she was curvy and strong, but I tried not to linger, not wanting her to get the wrong idea.

So I met her eyes again, and again felt that kick, stronger this time, when I glimpsed the onyx orbs. Some of her tears had dried, a fact that made me far more pleased than it should have. Her tears, or lack thereof, were inconsequential to me—or should have been—but seeing them gone gave me a level of satisfaction that was too great to ignore.