Chapter 53 Wondering if I was rescued from one monster by another.
Chapter 53 Wondering if I was rescued from one monster by another.
Chelsea
✦
The truck hums beneath us.
A steady vibration that moves through the seat, through my spine, into my teeth.
I can't stop shaking.
Livia can't either.
We're pressed together in the backseat, arms wrapped around each other, fingers digging into each other's skin like we might float away if we let go.
Like the world might disappear.
The leather smells like him.
Leather and gun oil and something else.
Something clean.
Soap maybe.
The mask covers everything.
Black fabric pulled tight over his head.
Only his eyes visible.
Ice blue.
Framed by black.
He hasn't spoken.
Not one word since he pulled us from Bagly's limousine.
Not when I whispered thank you.
Not when Livia sobbed against my shoulder.
Not when I asked who he was.
Where we were going.
If we were safe.
Silence.
But he watches.
In the rearview mirror.
Those eyes keep finding mine.
Every few minutes.
Checking.
Measuring.
I don't know what he's looking for.
I don't know if he finds it.
"Hey," I say.
My voice cracks.
Dry.
Hoarse.
He doesn't respond.
Doesn't move.
"We're hungry," I say.
"Thirsty."
Livia nods against my shoulder.
Her lips are cracked.
White at the corners.
Dehydrated.
Scared.
The man doesn't answer.
Just drives.
One hand on the wheel.
The other resting on his thigh.
Strong fingers.
Calloused.
I watch his eyes in the mirror.
Waiting for him to ignore us.
To keep driving.
To prove he's just another captor in a different vehicle.
Then his hand moves.
Reaches to the passenger seat.
Grabs something.
Tosses it into the back.
Two water bottles.
Plastic.
Cold.
Condensation on the sides.
I catch one.
Livia catches the other.
We don't hesitate.
Don't check if they're poisoned.
Drugged.
We twist the caps and drink.
The water hits my throat like life itself.
Cold.
Sweet.
I drink the whole bottle in one long swallow.
Gulp after gulp.
It spills down my chin.
Onto my shirt.
I don't care.
Livia finishes hers too.
Both of us gasping.
Breathing hard.
Like we ran a marathon.
The man reaches back again.
A small cooler on the passenger floor.
He pulls out a package.
Tosses it over the seat.
Peanut butter crackers.
Yellow packaging.
The cheap kind from gas stations.
Six packs in one wrapper.
I tear it open.
Hand three to Livia.
Keep three for myself.
We eat.
The crackers are stale.
Dry.
The peanut butter sticks to the roof of my mouth.
They taste like heaven.
I eat all three in thirty seconds.
Chewing.
Swallowing.
Barely tasting.
Just filling the hollow.
The painful emptiness.
"Thank you," I say.
Again.
For the water.
For the food.
For the rescue.
For everything.
He doesn't respond.
Doesn't nod.
Those blue eyes just meet mine in the mirror.
Once.
Then back to the road.
I look out the window.
Desert.
Red dirt.
Rocks.
Joshua trees scattered like broken fingers reaching for sky.
No buildings.
No power lines.
No other cars.
Just empty.
The middle of nowhere.
The kind of place people disappear.
The kind of place bodies get buried.
I push the thought away.
Focus on the crackers.
On the water.
On Livia's breathing evening out beside me.
She's asleep.
Finally.
Exhaustion winning over terror.
Her head rests on my shoulder.
Heavy.
Warm.
Alive.
I watch the road behind us.
Empty.
Just dust.
Always dust.
Then—
Not empty.
A shape.
Black.
Growing fast.
I squint.
Lean forward.
My heart stutters.
"Hey," I say.
The man doesn't respond.
"There's a car."
He checks the mirror.
His body changes.
Tenses.
Shoulders square.
Hand moving from thigh to wheel.
Grip tightening.
"Black Escalade," I say.
"Coming fast."
The Escalade is gaining.
Fast.
Too fast.
Tinted windows.
Blacked out.
Menacing.
It pulls into the left lane.
Parallel to us.
Thirty yards back.
Twenty.
Then I see it.
The passenger window rolling down.
A hand.
Gun.
"Gun!" I scream.
The sound explodes before I finish the word.
Crack-crack-crack.
Bullets hit the truck.
Metal screaming.
Rear window spiderwebs.
Livia jerks awake.
Screams.
"Get down!" I yell.
I pull her.
Try to shove her onto the floorboard.
She's frozen.
Paralyzed.
The man swerves.
Hard.
The truck lurches left.
Then right.
Tires screaming on asphalt.
More shots.
Crack-crack.
Rearview mirror shatters.
Glass sprays.
I shield my face.
Arms up.
"Hold the wheel," he says.
His voice.
First time.
Muffled by the mask.
But clear.
Commanding.
Deep.
"What?"
"Now."
He lets go of the wheel.
Reaches under his seat.
Pulls out a gun.
Black.
Heavy.
Semiautomatic.
I scramble.
Between the seats.
Livia screaming behind me.
High.
Terrified.
I grab the wheel.
My hands over his.
Warm.
Calloused.
He guides me.
"Keep it straight."
"Okay."
"Don't let us drift."
"Okay."
He checks the mirror.
The Escalade is still there.
Still shooting.
Still coming.
He rolls down his window.
Wind rushes in.
Hot.
Dry.
Deafening.
He leans out.
One hand on the door.
The other holding the gun.
Aims.
I can't look.
Have to look.
Have to drive.
The road blurs.
My hands shake.
The wheel vibrates.
Livia's screams fill the cab.
High.
Endless.
Three shots.
His.
Loud.
Sharp.
Different from theirs.
Controlled.
Precise.
The Escalade's passenger side window explodes.
The shooter—there was a shooter, I saw him, young, Hispanic, tattoo on his neck—jerks.
Once.
Twice.
Blood sprays the interior.
He slumps.
Gone.
Dead.
The Escalade swerves.
Recovers.
Keeps coming.
But no more shots from the back.
Just the driver now.
"Get back," the man says.
He pulls himself back in.
Rolls the window up halfway.
"Trade places."
I scramble back.
Falling.
Livia catches me.
Pulls me down.
We huddle on the floorboard.
Arms around each other.
Shaking.
The man drives.
Fast.
Faster.
Engine roaring.
The Escalade pulls up.
Left side.
Driver's side.
Window to window.
I see the driver.
Older.
Gray hair.
Angry.
Screaming something.
His window is down.
His gun is up.
Pointing at us.
Pointing at the mystery man.
"Give them over!" he screams.
His voice carries over the wind.
"Give them over now and you live!"
The mystery man looks at him.
Meets his eyes.
Then he laughs.
Actually laughs.
Low.
Amused.
Like this is funny.
Like this is a game.
He raises his gun.
One-handed.
Aimed across his own body.
Through his own window.
Into the Escalade's window.
The gray-haired man's eyes widen.
He pulls his trigger.
Click.
Or maybe I imagined it.
Maybe the sound is lost in the wind.
The mystery man's gun doesn't click.
It fires.
Once.
The gray-haired man's head snaps back.
Red mist.
The Escalade veers.
Hard right.
Off the road.
Dirt flying.
Then it's rolling.
Tumbling.
Down an embankment.
Into the desert.
Gone.
Silence.
The wind.
The engine.
Livia's whimpers.
My own heartbeat.
Pounding.
Painful.
The mystery man rolls his window up.
All the way.
Sealed.
Safe.
He checks the mirror.
Once.
Twice.
Clear.
"Get back in the seat," he says.
Same voice.
Calm.
Unchanged.
Like he didn't just kill two men.
Like we didn't just almost die.
"Buckle in."
I stare at him.
At the back of his masked head.
At his hands on the wheel.
Steady.
No shaking.
No tremor.
Like this is normal.
Tuesday.
"Who are you?" I whisper.
He doesn't answer.
Just drives.
I climb back onto the seat.
Pull Livia up with me.
We buckle in.
Hands still shaking.
Bodies still vibrating.
I watch him in the mirror.
Those blue eyes.
Finding mine.
Again.
Checking.
Measuring.
"Thank you," I say.
Third time.
Still inadequate.
Still insufficient.
He blinks.
Once.
Then back to the road.
We drive.
The desert stretches forever.
Red and brown and empty.
The truck eats the miles.
And I sit in the back.
Holding Livia.
Alive.
Shaken.
Confused.
Wondering if I was rescued from one monster by another.
Or something else entirely.
The sun moves across the sky.
And he still doesn't speak.
Still doesn't remove the mask.
But he gave us water.
And crackers.
And bodies.
Two of them.
Lying in the dirt behind us.
For us.
I don't know what that makes him.
I don't know if I want to know.
But for now.
For this moment.
We're alive.
And the road goes on.