was so afraid my heart was slamming in my chest! Then I saw it up ahead—a huge metal dumpster. He jerked the wheel to the right, slamming forcefully into the Taker, who had no room to go anywhere. We sailed past the dumpster as the Taker and his car were pummeled in the head-on collision.
"There could easily be more of them behind us," I said to him urgently.
He nodded, taking the highway on-ramp and accelerating to 90 miles per hour.
The highway was eerily empty. Three exits later, we pulled off. In the southern states you're never far away from the sticks, so we quickly ended up in the middle of nowhere. We took some random turns and tore down a country road until the pavement turned to dirt, and the wheels of the van churned up a thick cloud of brown dust in their wake. Just then a little boy ran into the middle of the road, retrieving a ball that had rolled away from him. He looked up at the oncoming van and froze like a deer in headlights.
"KID!" I shouted, pointing.
The bookstore guy pulled the wheel hard to the right while laying on the brake.
What else could he have done? I wondered. Nothing, I answered myself as the van arched up through the air, flipping onto its roof. I would have done the same thing to have missed the kid.
I was thrown like a rag doll, but I did my best to protect my head. The van skidded from its propulsion across the road into the tall grass and then rolled onto its side as it plunged into the ditch.
The passengers pulled themselves through puddles of spilled lattes and out of the smashed back window of the van, lugging their injured friends with them as they ran in small groups back toward some of the houses that dotted the countryside. I planned to head into the woods until the danger had passed.
I grabbed my pack and started to pull myself up when I heard the bookstore guy's voice. "Please don't leave me here. You said it —another Taker could be close behind."
I quickly turned to protest, "I'm going alone."
That's when I noticed his leg—covered with a dark liquid above his knee. "Were you hit?"
"Yeah —one of the bullets. Upside, it was a straight-through shot." He shifted his leg so I could see the entrance and exit wounds and how the bullet had lodged itself into the van's seat cushion.
I turned for help, but everyone was gone. And he was right; another Taker could be right behind the first. I was his only hope. But I would be his undoing if another Taker tracked me. Or he would be my undoing because he would slow me down. Still, I couldn't just leave him.
"Fine." I helped him get to his feet. "Can you walk?"
"Oh, I can walk," he said seriously. "I'll run to get away from those guys!"
"Good, we'll probably have to." He was strong. Even injured like he was, he was able to propel himself out of the back window mostly on his own—I only helped steady him. I leaned him against the van and pointed him in the direction of the houses that everyone else had run toward. "They all went that way. Go on, start limping—I'll catch up with you," I said, hoping to get rid of him as I ducked back into the van to grab my backpack.
"Get mine too? It's the black Columbia under the seat we were sitting at," he called in.
"What are you still doing here?" I said annoyed. "You're supposed to be heading for help!" I reminded him as I took hold of his pack and brought them both out. "No, instead you're going to stand here and bleed all over the place."
"I don't want to leave you alone out here," he replied.
" I am fine . Now, I can't go over to those houses, but you can. You'll be able to call an ambulance."
"Right, and those crazy guys who shot at us and burned up the bookstore in seconds wouldn't hesitate to overtake a house. Whatever your plan is —I'm in."
What I didn't have was time to argue. I rolled my eyes angrily. "Fine." I slung his pack over one of my shoulders, my pack over the other one, and started to tuck my right arm under his shoulder across his back.
"No." He
"There could easily be more of them behind us," I said to him urgently.
He nodded, taking the highway on-ramp and accelerating to 90 miles per hour.
The highway was eerily empty. Three exits later, we pulled off. In the southern states you're never far away from the sticks, so we quickly ended up in the middle of nowhere. We took some random turns and tore down a country road until the pavement turned to dirt, and the wheels of the van churned up a thick cloud of brown dust in their wake. Just then a little boy ran into the middle of the road, retrieving a ball that had rolled away from him. He looked up at the oncoming van and froze like a deer in headlights.
"KID!" I shouted, pointing.
The bookstore guy pulled the wheel hard to the right while laying on the brake.
What else could he have done? I wondered. Nothing, I answered myself as the van arched up through the air, flipping onto its roof. I would have done the same thing to have missed the kid.
I was thrown like a rag doll, but I did my best to protect my head. The van skidded from its propulsion across the road into the tall grass and then rolled onto its side as it plunged into the ditch.
The passengers pulled themselves through puddles of spilled lattes and out of the smashed back window of the van, lugging their injured friends with them as they ran in small groups back toward some of the houses that dotted the countryside. I planned to head into the woods until the danger had passed.
I grabbed my pack and started to pull myself up when I heard the bookstore guy's voice. "Please don't leave me here. You said it —another Taker could be close behind."
I quickly turned to protest, "I'm going alone."
That's when I noticed his leg—covered with a dark liquid above his knee. "Were you hit?"
"Yeah —one of the bullets. Upside, it was a straight-through shot." He shifted his leg so I could see the entrance and exit wounds and how the bullet had lodged itself into the van's seat cushion.
I turned for help, but everyone was gone. And he was right; another Taker could be right behind the first. I was his only hope. But I would be his undoing if another Taker tracked me. Or he would be my undoing because he would slow me down. Still, I couldn't just leave him.
"Fine." I helped him get to his feet. "Can you walk?"
"Oh, I can walk," he said seriously. "I'll run to get away from those guys!"
"Good, we'll probably have to." He was strong. Even injured like he was, he was able to propel himself out of the back window mostly on his own—I only helped steady him. I leaned him against the van and pointed him in the direction of the houses that everyone else had run toward. "They all went that way. Go on, start limping—I'll catch up with you," I said, hoping to get rid of him as I ducked back into the van to grab my backpack.
"Get mine too? It's the black Columbia under the seat we were sitting at," he called in.
"What are you still doing here?" I said annoyed. "You're supposed to be heading for help!" I reminded him as I took hold of his pack and brought them both out. "No, instead you're going to stand here and bleed all over the place."
"I don't want to leave you alone out here," he replied.
" I am fine . Now, I can't go over to those houses, but you can. You'll be able to call an ambulance."
"Right, and those crazy guys who shot at us and burned up the bookstore in seconds wouldn't hesitate to overtake a house. Whatever your plan is —I'm in."
What I didn't have was time to argue. I rolled my eyes angrily. "Fine." I slung his pack over one of my shoulders, my pack over the other one, and started to tuck my right arm under his shoulder across his back.
"No." He
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