Girl, Stolen

driven had been an automatic. What if this was a stick? She had no idea how to use a clutch.

Leaning forward, Cheyenne felt to her right. No gearshift knob. Just the hump in the middle of the floor. The car must be an automatic. But where was the lever to change gears?

The rock banged down again.

Another flash of memory. Her grandma’s old car, so old it didn’t have seat belts. And the shifter was on top of the steering wheel. Sending up a silent prayer, Cheyenne pushed down one of the wands branching off the steering column. In answer, a sweeping sound. The windshield wipers.

“Hey!” Roy yelled. “Hey!”

She pushed the lever back up. The second wand felt thicker. It shifted down a notch with a satisfying clunk. Then the car moved, all right, but it bumped backward.

Cheyenne jammed both feet on the brake.

“Hey!” Roy yelled again. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

What was she doing? This was ridiculous. Maybe she should just give up.

She saw movement in her sliver of vision, so it wasn’t a surprise when the rock slammed down on the window again. Only this time, Cheyenne thought she heard a cracking sound.

She pulled the knob down one more notch. Nothing. A third notch. The car jerked forward. Even though her foot wasn’t on the accelerator, it was moving. The front tires crunched over the gravel and rolled onto the smooth surface of the road.

Roy was still yelling, but Cheyenne ignored him. She concentrated on straightening out the car — driving only by sound — so that all four tires were on the road. Only then did she gingerly put her foot on the accelerator. She was too afraid to go fast. If she went off the road and ran into a tree, then Roy would be free to do whatever he wanted to her. Her left front tire chattered in gravel. She jerked the wheel, heard Roy curse on the other side of the window. When the right tire left the road, she corrected more gently.

Outside she could hear Roy’s footfalls. First he was walking beside her, and then running. Each of his steps spurred her to press the pedal a millimeter farther down. When a tire left the road, she adjusted the steering wheel infinitesimally. And then Roy began to fall back.

Cheyenne was just starting to let herself hope when a new sound made her jump. It was the electronic shrill of a mobile.

What should she do? She felt paralyzed. Who could be calling Roy? TJ? Jimbo? Some friend of Roy’s? Whoever it was, she was sure the kind of people who would call Roy would not be the kind to come to her rescue. There was no point in answering it.

Without thinking about it, Cheyenne had lifted her foot off the accelerator. The car began slowing down until it was barely moving.

Then Cheyenne realized something. Once whoever was on the line hung up, she could use the phone to dial 9-1-1. But to do that, she had to find it.

As she was turning her head, trying to get a fix on the sound, the phone gave one last bleat and then stopped. The ringing seemed to have come from the floor of the car. Putting her foot on the brake, she began to rake her fingers through the crumpled papers that littered the floor. She found a wrench, a screwdriver, some tool she couldn’t identify. Finally, her fingers closed around the phone. It was the same bulky phone Roy had handed her the day before.

She had just pressed the number nine when she heard another sound. Roy’s footsteps. Running, but with an odd hitching gait. Listening to them, Cheyenne knew for sure that she had shot him. All the same, he was catching up with her.

She pressed the one key twice, then several buttons before she finally found the send key and heard the tones as it went through. Holding it between ear and shoulder — the bulky size was actually useful — she grabbed the steering wheel.

“Nine-one-one.” A woman’s voice.

The rock slammed down on the window again. Cheyenne thought she felt a tiny pebble of glass bounce off her cheek.

“I need the police. Oh, please hurry!” She began to inch the car forward again. But she knew she could never go fast enough.

“What is the nature of your emergency?”

The words ran out of her like water bursting from a dam. “My name’s Cheyenne Wilder and I’ve been kidnapped and now I’m in a car and I’ve locked the doors but the kidnapper is outside and he’s trying to smash open the window with a rock!”

“Does he have a weapon?” The woman’s voice was still calm.

“Just the rock. But the window’s starting to crack!”

“Do you have the keys?”

“Yes.”

“Can you drive away?”

“I’m trying, but the thing is, I’m blind.”

“Blind!” The dispatcher took a deep breath. “Okay, tell me where you are, Cheyenne.”

“That’s the thing. I don’t know.” This time when the rock crashed down, there was a splintery sound. The window was cracking. She had to get away. Cheyenne pressed the accelerator a little farther. The right front crunched on gravel. She adjusted, but not enough. The right rear tire had left the road as well. She angled away from the sound. “I’m somewhere within an hour’s drive of the Woodlands Experience shopping center. I’m on a road next to some woods. It’s paved and has gravel shoulders. And it’s quiet. I’ve only heard one car in the past half hour.”

“Okay, I can see which mobile tower is relaying your call. That narrows it down — but not enough. We’ve still got a five-mile radius to cover. I’m alerting all units in your area to see if they can find you.” Cheyenne heard her relay instructions.

Another blow smashed the window. Cracks spread, making a sound like cellophane uncrinkling.

“Cheyenne!” Roy howled. “Cheyenne!”

“Is that him?” A hint of shock crept into the dispatcher’s carefully dispassionate voice.

“Yes!” Cheyenne panted. “Please hurry!”

“We’re coming, Cheyenne.”

After an endless stretch of time that was probably less than a minute, something wailed faintly in the distance. “Wait! I hear a siren!”

“From which direction? I’ve got four cars, but they are spread over a pretty wide area.”

“I think south, but I’m not sure.” Cheyenne thought of something. “Can you ask them to turn on their sirens one at a time?”

“Yes, but what—” and then understanding broke. “Yes! Hang on, I’ll ask them to go one at a time. And you tell me which one you hear.”

“Car one,” the dispatcher said. Silence.

“Nothing,” Cheyenne said. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to hear, so she lifted her foot from the accelerator.

With one hand, Cheyenne reached over and ran her fingers over the pane. It felt like a web of pebbles. The rock smashed down again just as she was touching the glass. And suddenly there was cold air pouring into the car. The hole was only as big as a dime, but she knew that wouldn’t last.

“Car two.”

“Still nothing.” Cheyenne had never felt more alone in her life.

“Car three.”

And finally she heard its wail.

“That’s it! And it sounds closer than it did before.”

“Got it!” the dispatcher said triumphantly. “We’re coming!”

Then a hand punched through the window and circled her throat, squeezing Cheyenne back against the headrest. The phone fell to the floor of the car. Where was the gun? She didn’t remember, and when she swept her hand over the seat, she couldn’t find it. Roy’s hand tightened. She couldn’t scream — she couldn’t even breathe — but she could hear the wail of the siren getting louder.