Neither Bobby nor Kit had been wearing seatbelts.
Kit came out the shattered windshield frame, his body skidding in the dirt. He finished his tumble with a certain finality, a total lack of motion that revealed his fate. Bobby ended up halfway out of the overturned car, his front half sticking out the rear window frame, his arms mangled, his neck twisted the wrong way. Neither of them moved an inch after they came to rest.
Slater exhaled.
The night returned to stillness.
58
King hissed, ‘Get the fuck out of the way,’ but it was too late.
Danny didn’t even have the chance to respond before Frankie pulled his gun, so any element of surprise was squandered.
Both King and Frankie took a step to the left together so they could hope to fire over Danny’s shoulder, but the young man moved with them, sliding across so he was in the way again.
Frankie said, ‘Danny, move.’
Danny didn’t take his eyes off King. ‘Nah.’
The night simmered.
Frankie said, ‘He wanted Bobby and Kit out of the way before he tried anything. Now he’s gonna shoot me, then you.’
Danny didn’t move.
For the first time he refused to look away.
King didn’t try to look anywhere else. He hoped he could communicate everything he wanted to say with a stare. Something passed between them, a deeper understanding. At least, he thought it did. He couldn’t be sure.
So he vocalised it. ‘If that’s the way I wanted it to go I’d’ve pulled the trigger already.’
Danny knew that. He didn’t acknowledge it, not even a slight nod, but he knew.
Frankie said, ‘He’s selling you some bullshit.’
Danny didn’t acknowledge that, either. King didn’t know who the kid believed. Frankie had his hooks in, after all. There was no denying that.
Frankie said, ‘Who took you in? Huh?’
King didn’t know why Frankie was so desperate to get Danny on his side. King simply needed Danny out of the way. Allegiances didn’t matter. Then it struck him in a moment of clarity. Whoever Danny picked he could just rush toward, allowing them to use him as a human shield. Neither of them would risk shooting him so they’d be forced to dive for cover, behind one of the nearby cars.
Danny still faced King, but spoke over his shoulder to Frankie. ‘You took me in.’
No one spoke.
Danny addressed King now. ‘What are you doing?’
‘What does it look like?’
‘You came here for this?’
‘Yeah.’
‘You think you’re doing the world a favour?’
‘Probably.’
‘Maybe you are.’ A pause. ‘But Frankie looks after me. You should walk away. Find someone else to help.’
King slowly shook his head. ‘That’s not gonna happen, Danny. Helping you is a second-order consequence. I’m only here for your coach.’
Because of Danny’s positioning between them, King had to aim the barrel directly at his head in case Frankie took a step to the right or left. On the other side, Frankie would be aiming his own gun at the back of Danny’s skull. King had to try to see through the young man in front of him, through to the monster behind.
Like some sick hall of mirrors.
Danny said, ‘If I go to him now, you’ll have to shoot me. There won’t be another option.’
‘I won’t shoot you.’
‘Even if I choose him?’
‘Yeah.’
No answer.
King said, ‘You think I’m lying?’
No answer.
King said, ‘What I told you on the mats. About always being there. I meant it. I’m not taking that back just because you make a decision I don’t think is right. So if that’s what you want to do, do it.’
Danny made his decision.
Started walking straight at King.
Choosing him.
It allowed King to lean to the side and aim over his shoulder, using Danny as a human shield, just as he’d anticipated. But he’d assumed wrong before. He’d thought the choice would be the same for both he and Frankie, that they’d both be unwilling to fire through Danny.
But when Frankie saw Danny make his choice, his face twisted into a grotesque mask.
Still aiming at the back of Danny’s head, he pulled the trigger.
Blood sprayed.
Danny pitched forward and fell into King.
59
Slater frantically patted himself down.
He was a solitary figure perched in shadow on the roadside.
It had been a shade over half a minute since his escape from the car, and already the consequences were revealing themselves. He was familiar with the sensation. It was that slow, dull ache that crept its way up the body, from the toes to the fingers and everything in between. Shock wears away, adrenaline dissipates, and it hits you that what just happened was real, it wasn’t a dream, and you’re about to start feeling it. Effectively, the brain catches up to the body.
Slater had to get in touch with King or Alexis before his brain caught all the way up and rendered him immobile.
He didn’t think that’d happen, didn’t think he was hurt that badly, but you never know…
A drilling headache flared to life as he finished the patdown and came up empty. His phone and wallet were nowhere to be found. It made sense given what he’d just been through, how forcefully he’d exited the car and then rolled, but the area of asphalt where he’d landed was empty, too. It must’ve happened as he forced the door open, tumbled out of the seat. He gazed across the road at the sliver of the crash scene in his field of view, most of it masked by the lip of the slope.
He could go down there, but everything was starting to hurt, and it’d be just his luck to descend into the pit and find he could no longer walk.
His temples flared. Pain pulsed behind his eyeballs.
Blood ran down his forearm into his palm, from where rolling across the road had scraped skin away. He shook his hand,
