Page 46 of Runt's Haunted Ride
"Get the guns!"
A woman screamed. And the music played on.
Jack pulled me through the chaos, moving with purpose. He headed straight for a closet. The door was already open, other members grabbing guns and ammunition.
Jack didn't hesitate. He grabbed two handguns and shoved them into his waistband, then snatched three boxes of ammunition and stuffed them in his jacket pockets.
"Runt!" Fang's voice cut through the noise. "Where the fuck do you think you're going with the bird?"
Jack spun, putting his body between me and the man. "Keeping her safe. That's my job, remember?"
CRASH.
The front window exploded inward, and a Molotov cocktail sailed through, spreading flame across the floor.
"GO!" Jack shouted at me. Pulling my hand, he headed to a door on the other end of a big room. Through windows, I could see the clowns circling the building. All five of them, their colored hair blazing in the firelight, their filed-tooth grins visible even from a distance.
Jack stopped and opened the back door a bit, peering through it. He took a gun. "Hold on to my belt. Whatever happens, don't let go."
I slid my hand under his belt, and we stepped through the door. The October air was thick with smoke and the smell of gasoline. Flames licked at the sides of the clubhouse. Gunshots rang out as Silverbacks began firing.
"This way," Jack said, pulling me toward the darkness beyond the parking lot.
We ran through the shadows, staying low. Being shifters, we could both see through the night. Jack knew every inch of this property, moving with confidence. He led me on a zigzag path around a garage, through parked cars and motorcycles, until we reached a colossal motorcycle. Jack yanked the backpack from his shoulders and stuffed it into the saddlebag in one smooth motion.
"Get on," he commanded, swinging his leg over the bike.
I climbed on behind him, wrapping my arms tight around his waist. The leather of his jacket was cool against my cheek, and I could feel his heart pounding.
The engine roared to life, the rumble loud in the night. I hoped no one would notice with the fire that was now blazing and the sound of gunfire.
"Hold on to me tight," he said over his shoulder. "Follow my movements."
Then we were moving, tearing out of the parking lot as the Silverback clubhouse burned behind us. I looked back once and saw the green-haired clown standing in the middle of the chaos, holding his torch, watching us go with a terrible grin. He raised his free hand and waved.
Then we were on the road, the bike eating up asphalt as Jack sped us on.
"Where are we going?" I shouted over the wind.
"Mountain pass," he called back. "Once we get across the Forge Bridge, there are a lot of remote roads, places to lose anyone following us. Then we'll figure out our next move."
The bike flew along roads Jack had traveled a thousand times before, and I knew he could navigate them blindfolded. The October night whipped past us, cold air stinging my cheeks despite the hood pulled up over my head.
But something was wrong.
It took me a moment to realize what it was. The darkness. It was too dark. Too complete.
"Jack," I said against his back. "The sky."
I felt him tense, felt the subtle shift as he glanced up without slowing down. There were no stars. No moon. Not even the ambient light pollution you'd expect from the town we'd left behind. It was like riding through a void, with only the Harley's headlight cutting through absolute blackness.
"What the fuck," Jack muttered.
Then I saw them.
Eyes. Glowing yellow eyes in the darkness on both sides of the road. Dozens of them. Hundreds. Pacing us as we rode.
"Jack!"
