The red line teased the empty marker within the gas gauge. Sarah watched it like a hawk. It twisted her nerves, making her gulp. She didn’t know if the muscle car could make it back to her folks’ house or not before running out, but she hoped it would.
A slew of questions assaulted her mind. She sifted through each, trying to figure out how the hitmen tracked her down. She wasn’t one hundred percent for sure that they worked for Bryce, but it was a fifty-fifty shot either way.
The detective who’d kidnapped Sarah and driven her to Bryce could’ve provided some intel to the mob boss. It wouldn’t have been that hard for him find other possible leads about where she would head if things got too heated in Boston.
Sarah took a deep breath, then exhaled through her nose. Her fingers adjusted on the top of the steering wheel. A knot formed in her lower back and shoulders. Stress punished the taut muscles, adding to the overall discomfort her body had been battling for the past few days.
The thrumming engine filled the silent interior of the throaty muscle car. Beads of sweat raced from her hairline and dripped from her eyebrows. The back of her hand wiped the wetness away.
She lowered the window to cool off. A gust of air whistled through the opening and rushed her face.
The Chevelle’s tires clattered off the steel grates leading onto the bridge. She drifted into the other lane as her mind continued to wander. Russell slipped into her thoughts as she corrected her course and got back on the right side of the highway.
Sarah couldn’t help but fear the worst for her husband, seeing as most everyone else she loved had been hurt or was now missing. The thought of facing an unknown future alone did little to keep her from dreading things to come, but she had no choice but to rise above and push on.
She passed the derelict barn and continued on toward her folks’ house. The Johnson’s place appeared around the sharp corner and through the swath of trees. Sarah searched the property, looking for Mr. Johnson.
The bloody scene she left and his crazy eyes loomed like a bad nightmare that added to the horribleness she had already been through.
Sarah flew past the entrance to the Johnson’s driveway and continued up and over the hill toward her folks’ property. She eased off the gas and massaged the brake.
The thrumming engine of the Chevelle wound down to a deep grumble. She pulled off the highway and into the grass before the driveway leading to her parent’s house. The car rolled to a stop, but she didn’t kill the engine.
She took a moment and surveyed the property for any sign or hint at trouble. The front yard and driveway, that wound around the back of the house, sat void of any cars or other movement. It looked just as she had left it earlier in the day.
Sarah checked the rearview mirror, then studied the highway up the road. Both directions had no traffic of any kind or vehicles parked on the sides of the highway. She waited a few more seconds, then shifted into first gear.
The Chevelle eased out of the grass and onto the driveway. Sarah turned past the large tree at the entrance and coasted down the drive. She ran through a mental list of quick to do’s, including getting fuel into the Chevelle.
The crunching of rocks under the thick-treaded tires sounded from the open window. She glanced out of the windshield, then out the passenger side to the tall weeds that grew past the fence.
Get inside, gather what you need, get the gas, then move on, Sarah said inside her head.
The muscle car eased past the side of the house and crept around the blind corner to the back half of the property. Sarah held a bated breath, unsure of what she might find.
The driveway had no cars of any kind and still, all seemed as it should. A small sense of relief washed over her.
Sarah turned the car around, facing the way she came in case she had to make a quick getaway. She backed close to the garage, shifted into neutral, and killed the engine.
The Chevelle fell silent. Sarah pulled the keys from the ignition and grabbed the shotgun. She left her rucksack in the passenger seat, then opened her door. It swung wide as she stepped out with the barrel of the shotgun trained at the sky. She pushed the door closed and shouldered the black tactical weapon.
Her breathing dialed up a notch for each step she took toward the French doors. She examined the broken glass and plank of wood that covered the busted portion. She licked the dry skin of her lips, reached for the doorknob, and turned.
The rapping of heavy footfalls flanked her as the door popped free of the jamb. She turned to face the incoming sound with the shotgun pressed to her shoulder. A flash of white speckled with red filled her gaze, knocking her back through the French doors inside the dim dwelling.
The back of her skull hammered the window panes.
Glass shattered.
The door flew inward and slammed the wall.
She hit hard on her back and skidded across the floor. The shotgun flew from her hands and clattered off the baseboards.
Sarah scrunched her face in agony. Her lids clamped shut. She laid flat on her back, then rolled to her side, grimacing.
The crunching of glass loomed from the open doorway. She opened her eyes, spotting a figure lurking outside. The sun was at the mysterious man’s back, making it difficult to tell who had attacked her. She did
