Ice Storm Read Free Page A

disappear into the darkness of the alleyway. Only to find it was a dead end, lit by the fitful August moon.
And then they were there. A handful of them, some younger than she was, but she didn’t make the mistake of thinking they were harmless. They were blocking her escape, and she froze, a thousand thoughts running through her mind. If she disappeared, no one would notice, no one would ask. Her father had already forgotten about her, and while her friends back in
Vermont
might worry, it would be too late when they realized something was wrong.
    No one was going to save her; no one was going to miss her. She was on her own, and she was either going to die or be hurt very, very badly.
    “I don’t have much money,” she said in a deceptively calm voice.
    “Not interested in money,” one of them said, as they crowded together, advancing on her. “Who wants first go?”
    “Me,” said one of the younger ones, a skinny little rat with bad teeth and a feral look in his eyes. He was already reaching for his belt, and she opened her mouth to scream for help.
They were on her, slamming her onto the littered street, pawing at her, pressing her down, and no matter how she tried to kick or punch, someone always managed to stop her. She felt something sharp against her throat, and the young one grinned down at her. “I don’t mind cutting your throat first. I ain’t picky. I like a good fight, but if you want to lie there and bleed while I do you I’m not arguing.”
    “Please,” she whispered, feeling the blade against her skin. She felt hands pulling at her jeans, trying to yank them down, and she kicked out, connecting with something painful, judging by the yelp of agony.
    The boy straddling her turned and snarled, like a dog whose meal is threatened, and for a moment the pressure of the knife lessened. She slammed her head against his, feeling the blade knick her skin, knocking him off her and trying to roll away. But there were too many hands, too many bodies, and she knew there was nothing she could do but—
“Move away from her.” The voice was cool, deadly and blessedly American. Enough of a shock to stop the pack of teenagers from ripping at her. The ringleader rolled off her, peering into the night. ‘And who’s going to stop us? There’s one of you and seven of us, and I think you’d be smart to just keep on the way you were going. You can have a taste of what’s left.”
    “Move away from her:’ he said again, stepping into the light. “Or I’ll make you.”
“You and what army?”
    The scene was crazy, dreamlike. There was a flash of light, and the boy was flung back, away from her, as if by unseen hands. A moment later the sound of a gun cracked the darkness, out of sync. And then they were scrambling away from her, disappearing into the shadows, and a moment later all was silent.
    “Are you all right?” The man moved out of the darkness. In the bright moonlight he looked ordinary enough. Tall, in jeans and a T-shirt, maybe five years older than she was. Nothing to scare a gang intent on rape. But he had scared them. He saved her—he was one of the good guys. He reached out a hand to her, and for a moment she wanted to shrink back, away from him. She was being stupid, and she took his hand, letting him pull her to her feet.
    “Are you all right?” he asked again.
    “Yes,” she said. A lie.
    “How did you get them to run?”
    He was taller than she was, lean and harmless looking. Not the type to frighten a bunch of creeps bent on rape.
    “Car backfired,” he said easily. “They must have thought I had a gun.” He was still holding her hand, and she jerked away, suddenly nervous.
    “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. He tilted his head.
      “If that’s what you prefer. And you can tell me something about yourself, and why you aren’t having hysterics over the fact that you just narrowly missed being raped and murdered.”
“I’m practical, and having hysterics won’t help