Page 9 of Captive of Outlaws

Rolling hills fly past dark stretches of farmland, with the occasional golden windows of a house. I’m headed toward the woods, which I guess is as good a direction as any. The Mustang will be able to handle those winding country roads better than the tank behind me. I glance in the rearview. It’s still coming and gaining on me. Not by much, but enough that I panic and give it more gas, as much as I dare, and kick up into fourth. My ponytail holder, which is actually just a piece of twine, gives up the ghost and snaps free, letting my hair fly in the cool night breeze.

Above me, stars pepper the sky in a way that would be beautiful if I had time to notice and wasn’t chugging adrenaline through every possible vein, didn’t have every nerve ending on fire.

No, I need to focus.

I look ahead to where the road comes to a T intersection, the Mustang’s headlights illuminating the yellow two-arrow sign. I chew my lip, knowing I have to make a decision.

Left takes me in towards town, the county seat, which is just bad news. I get closer to the Fox Hunt Club, to John, to the sheriff, to anyone who knows me and would stop me—aka anyone who knows I shouldn’t be driving—and it’s not like a bright orange Mustang isn’t gonna attract attention. Tothe right is, well, nothing: woodland and hills. Fun roads to drive, maybe, if I’m not in a dead panic.

But again, my best chance of losing this guy.

I hesitate too long. The SUV is even closer in the rearview. So I do it, swinging the wheel to the right, and giving the engine absolutely everything I have. A whining honk sounds behind me, the high beams of the SUV flickering on and off. No blue and reds yet, but I guess they’re trying to avoid attention. Not like there’s anyone out in this neck of the woods to notice. And not like anyone would bother giving the sheriff trouble even if they do.

A gap in the tree line approaches at a breakneck speed as I zoom into the forest. The road immediately narrows, the guardrail lowering, dented and rusted from years of floods, winds, and drunk men coming back from the club and steering a little too close to the edge. Fortunately, I’m sober as a judge—well, not any judge in Sherwood County, but still—and have the advantage of that adrenaline guiding my every move. Panic abates a little as my instincts return, my muscles falling into the familiar rhythm of shifting, accelerating, turning the wheel. Fixing cars is all well and good, a satisfying intellectual puzzle that lets me use my hands, get down and dirty. But driving...driving is something else. It’s freedom. It’s expression. It’s movement and motion and power.

I fucking love it. And I’d forgotten just how much.

Wham.Something slams into the rear of the Mustang, bucking me forward into the steering wheel—because of course my dumb ass isn’t wearing a seatbelt. Bruise blooming across my ribs, I claw myself back to sitting just in time to realize two things:

The fucking Rover caught up to me and rear-ended me.

And I’m about to drive off a cliff.

Shit!

Instinct takes over. I hit the brake and swing the wheel wildly, tree trunks whirling past me and brush scattering under my squealing tires and fanning out in a plume into the dark space I very nearly plummeted into. I yank into gear and stomp the gas like a madwoman, grinding through the gears but not stalling out—thank you Jesus—and the Mustang, beautiful girl that she is, streaks out of there like a real thoroughbred.

Heart throbbing in my throat with anxiety, I glance in the mirror. The Range Rover wasn’t so lucky—not so unlucky that it drove off the cliff instead of me, but looks like it had to brake pretty hard to avoid it. That stupid extra-long wheelbase is struggling to turn, and I’d pump a fist in victory if my whole abdomen weren’t sore as fuck from the impact of the wheel.

Go. Go. Go. The single syllable is repeating in my brain, the urgency of that one order all that’s consuming my thoughts. I don’t think I can outrun these guys—not with the half-pint of gas that’s left—so I’m going to have to be creative. If I can just put enough distance between us, then find a clearing, a bank by the side of the road somewhere in these woods, I can pull off, kill the engine, and try to hide.

Not a great time to have a flame-orange car. But it beats running out of gas in the middle of the road.

I accelerate, the pain sharpening in time with my focus. My headlights flood a split in the road, a turnoff I hadn’t noticed the first time I’d driven this way, and this time I take the left fork, the road not traveled. It’s even rougher and bumpier than the main road, sending my teeth clacking as soon as Iturn, but I’m almost grateful for it. Dust rises up like ghostly figures in my headlights, the trees around me denser, and I realize almost too late—

“Shit!”

The headlights are a dead giveaway. I suck in a breath and kill them, not slowing down and just hoping I can drive by feel. The rumble under my tires is reassuring, consistent, and I can’t hear anyone behind me, can’t see any lights. But deeper into the forest is better. I’m still barely a mile off the highway, and maybe a quarter mile from the main dirt road through the trees.

Still, I let myself ease off the gas, just a little. Downshift a gear, then two. I hear the symphony of sounds that makes up the quiet of a night in the woods: crickets, owls, a rough, ragged sound that I realize is my own breathing.

I’m just about to downshift into first when I see it.

A flash of sleek fur, dashing into the road. Auburn colored, an animal—a fox. But no, it’shuge, too big to be any fox I’ve ever seen. Practically as big as a wolf, and with the thick, muscled form to match. It’d easily reach my waist if I were standing next to it.

And its eyes...

Twin orbs, gleaming,glowingalmost moon-bright.

I’m so startled by the sight of them that it’s a full two heartbeats before I jam my foot onto the brake.

“Shit,” I whisper, then cry “Move!”

The Mustang sputters, protests, and skids to a stop. Beneath me, I feel the telltale rattle of a stall, and sure enough, the engine whines once and dies.

Meanwhile, the wolf...fox...thingdoesn’t move. Doesn’t bound away, doesn’t even flinch.

In fact, I swear to God, it gives me alook.

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