Page 300 of Mario
Less noise, and, more importantly, less chance.
My pulse pounds in my ears. Once they get me somewhere private, it is over. Whatever they plan to do, it will happen there.
Shove me into a car trunk, take me wherever, and do whatever. Or maybe they’ll just kill me and leave me for dead right there in the parking lot.
I cannot let them get me out of this park.
My mouth goes dry.
Think.
Think.
I took self-defense classes during college.
Not enough, damn it. And not recently enough either.
And definitely not while pregnant and terrified and nauseated and stupid with regret.
But some of it comes back in fragments.
Do not try to win.
Do not fight fair.
Make noise.
Put space between you.
Just get away.
The point is not to take anyone down permanently. The point is only to put someone down long enough to get away.
Eyes. Nose. Throat. Groin. Knees. Feet.
It all runs through my mind in a jumble, and I try to separate the thoughts.
The important thing is to commit. Once you decide, commit.
My fingers curl once at my side.
His left arm is crossed over his midsection to press the gun to my left side, while his right grips my arm. Cindy is close on my right, but she’ll have to take half a step behind because the path narrows in a few feet.
The parking lot is maybe twenty feet away.
I swallow.
Mario, I’m sorry.
I do not let myself think after that.
The moment the path narrows, I stumble.
The man’s grip shifts to keep me upright, and in that half second, I turn into him instead of away.
My heel comes down hard on his instep. At the same time, I drive my elbow back into his ribs with everything I have.
He grunts, and the gun slips away from my side for just a moment, but it’s not enough.
