Already Dead Read Free Page A

the rifle safety that’d been drummed into her as a kid hadn’t included being casual with a trigger. A flick of this guy’s wrist and a bump from a pothole and she could have a bullet inside her. Maybe it would goright through and she’d be dead before her car slammed into the semi that was now towering above them in the next lane.
    No. That wasn’t going to happen. Zoe needed her to get home. Their new home.
    â€˜Have you finished?’ she asked firmly.
    â€˜Yes.’ It was little more than sound pushed out between locked teeth.
    â€˜You won’t throw yourself around if I let go?’
    â€˜No.’
    She loosened her fingers, testing him, ready to keep hold if he went off again. He didn’t. He sat facing forward, his breathing not so much panting as forced, frustrated exhalations.
    Hers, on the other hand, was hard and fast, pumped up by fear and adrenaline and an intensifying urge to get the fuck away from him. If he was ‘already dead’, what did that make her? Dead woman driving? If he thought he was going to die anyway, what was to stop him shooting her at the wheel or forcing them into a truck? Not a lot of difference between death by bullet or death by car.
    So you have to stop him doing that , she told herself. Somehow. For Zoe’s sake . Because Zoe couldn’t lose her, too.
    She fumbled for the window button.
    â€˜Hey!’ he hollered.
    â€˜I need some air,’ she snapped, keeping her thumb on the switch until the glass had disappeared and hot January air was blasting in her face. She pulled hungrily at it, sweat cooling on her forehead, the tips of her fingers tingling and trembling.
    Okay. Okay . She had to try to keep him calm until she could find a reason and a better place to pull over. And soon, because the fidgeting was starting up again.
    The talking had seemed to ease that – right up until he went ballistic. Had she caused it? She’d only asked him his name. And he’d gone nuts earlier when she’d asked if he was going to hurt her. Maybe it was best not to ask anything. Just talk without questions. Great. It was her life’s hobby to ask stuff. It was possible she’d never had a discussion that didn’t include questions.
    He was looking front and back and murmuring to himself again. Some kind of private debate this time. She couldn’t make out words, just the tone: reasoning followed by reprimand. Maybe she should leave him to it. Maybe he wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted. And she sure as hell could do without the talking. Every conversation she’d had in the last year had been laden with grief and loss and frustration and, right now, she had no idea what to talk about that wouldn’t wrench her heart or get her killed.
    â€˜What the fuck is that?’ His body had gone rigid, his gun pointed at the dashboard.
    She frowned. ‘The radio.’ He’d tried to kill it. Now he didn’t know what it was?
    â€˜No. That .’ The gun aimed lower.
    Taking her eyes from the road for a second, she saw the bottom edge of her mobile phone. It was plugged into a car charger, tucked into a recess, and the tip of the gun barrel was touching the lead that stuck out. Glancing at him, wondering how far his mind had slipped, she said, ‘It’s a phone.’
    â€˜What the fuck is it doing here ?’ There was anger in the way he said it. And something else. Confusion, bewilderment.
    She hesitated and, for a tiny moment, sci-fi movies and time travel and visiting beings slipped through her mind. Don’t be fucking stupid . He’d lost his mind, maybe he’d lost his memory, too. ‘It’s a mobile telephone. You take it with you.’
    â€˜No, no . How did you get it? How the fuck did you get it?’
    How had she bought it? ‘Everyone has one.’
    â€˜It’s bullshit. Fucking bullshit. It shouldn’t be here. Not here .’ He slammed the power lead