The trees and buildings before the station blocked her view. She craned her neck, struggling to see the parking lot. The digital sign below the larger one sat black and void of any dark-red numbers illuminating the price per gallon of fuel.
The pumps had no vehicles parked next to them or in front of the station for that matter. The business didn’t appear to have any lights on either.
Sarah pulled into the station, parked alongside one of the fuel pumps, and examined the screen facing her. They weren’t digital, but one of the old school kinds where the numbers flipped over. They didn’t have that orange hue she remembered them having, but she figured she’d check it out just the same.
She killed the engine, removed the keys, and opened her door. A slight breeze blew against her face. Sarah took a deep breath and exhaled. She scanned the area for any movement, but spotted none.
A tan sedan sat parked on the far side of the station. She looked at the two windows near the corner of the building, then at the front entrance. A sign hung from inside that said closed.
Sarah studied the pump, pushing buttons and lifting the nozzle from the side of the unit. She pressed the lever, but nothing happened.
A grumble slipped from her dry lips. Her body deflated, shoulders sagging with defeat that seemed never ending. She secured the nozzle back into place on the pump, then eyed the station once again.
The subtle sounds looming from her stomach grew louder. Exhaustion clung to her like a weight, making any small movement feel like a chore. She struggled to think straight, battling the fatigue that sought to pull her down.
The inside of the store had to have food. At this point, she didn’t care much for what she shoveled into her mouth. Something was better than nothing.
Sarah slipped through the narrow gap between the pump and the steel pole, holding the large covering above her. She looked to the far corner of the store, then the other side as she walked toward the entrance.
The grumbling of a vehicle approaching caught her ear. She paused shy of the glass door, turned, and searched for the car. Her hands gripped the keys a hair tighter. The jagged ends bit her palm. Her free hand reached for the grip of the Glock in her waistband.
The black SUV from before materialized past the edge of the trees and building next to the station’s entrance. It drove at a modest speed. An uneasy feeling washed over Sarah as she watched the vehicle pass by.
Keep going. Don’t stop, she thought.
Sarah inched her way back toward the pumps, leaving the station and any food or other resources behind.
The brake lights of the SUV flashed a bright red. It made a wide arch in the middle of the street, and sped toward the gas station.
Sarah ran for the Chevelle in a dead sprint. Her small frame pushed through the opening to the driver’s side door. She jerked the handle up and pulled, then dropped into the bucket seat behind the wheel.
The SUV pulled into the parking lot of the gas station and raced toward the muscle car. Her hands fumbled the keys, unable to slip the correct one into the ignition. She glanced up at the inbound vehicle that came to a screeching halt in front of the car.
The back doors opened. Two men dressed in black suits emerged with pistols drawn. They didn’t look like Samuel Kinnerk’s men, the Irish Mob boss who had killed her daughter, Jess, and almost kidnapped Sarah. They appeared more refined—not the scruffy looking types she had run into days before.
Sarah worked the correct key into the ignition and turned the engine over. It jumped to life as the two suits swarmed the car. Fear swarmed her, stealing her breath, and making it hard to think.
The large, bald-headed man stood in front of the rumbling muscle car with his piece trained at the windshield while the other taller, muscular goon approached the passenger side door. His dreadlocks hung around his dark face like spider legs. He leaned over, peered through the window, then grabbed the handle.
Sarah shifted into reverse and hit the gas before the passenger side door could open. The back tires squealed as the muscle car pulled away from the two suits.
The bald man charged the car with his pistol trained at her. Dreadlocks kept pace, running alongside the Chevelle. He hammered the window with his piece, but it didn’t give.
She pumped the brake, then wrenched the steering wheel counterclockwise. The front end of the Chevelle swung about, facing the road. The passenger side wheel well slammed Dreadlocks in his hip, knocking him hard to the pavement.
Baldy rushed the driver’s side door, closing in fast.
Sarah shifted the car into drive and pulled away.
The palm of his hand slapped the window as she darted out onto the road. The Chevelle swerved from side to side. The shotgun tipped over and hit the dash, tightening her nerves that much more.
The SUV followed Sarah out of the gas station and onto the street. She cut her gaze to the rearview mirror, then back to the road ahead of her. Her foot pressed the pedal to the floor, keeping her at a distance from her pursuers that slowly dwindled away.
Sarah plowed through the intersection without braking. She gave two quick glances to the streets on either side for any cars. A yellow hatchback approached from the west and stopped shy of T-boning the muscle car.
She wrenched the wheel, pulling away from the smaller, compact car. The Chevelle swerved again, darting into the other lane of the road at full tilt.
The black SUV missed the front end of the yellow car by mere inches and continued pursuit. It gained on
