Page 330 of The Lies We Play

Creed says, “Hal.”

“I see them.”

“They’re moving up,” Liv says.

The headlights come fast.

Too fast.

The lead chase car, the one that’s been holding four lengths back since the parkway, drops into the right lane behind me. The second car closes on my left.

I’m being boxed in before I’ve decided whether to let myself be boxed in.

I floor it.

The car jumps. The engine takes the order without complaint. We hit ninety in two seconds, and the lead car falls behind for a beat.

For one stupid beat, I think this is going to work.

Then the car on my left matches me.

Then it pulls ahead.

Then it cuts the wheel.

I jerk right.

The bumper kisses the bumper.

Metal speaks to metal in a scream too brief to be useful, and Liv makes a sound that isn’t a word. The wheel goes light in my hands for one terrifying half second before it comes back.

“Hal.”

“I’m okay. We’re okay. I’m okay.”

“They—”

“I know, nothing is going to happen to you,” I assure her.

Creed is saying something. I can’t hear him. Blood pounds in my ears. The rain is louder than the speaker. The wipers slap at the windshield. The second car has dropped back, giving itself room to come at us again.

I take the exit.

I take it without signaling, without slowing, with the wheels skipping once on the white line. The two cars behind me overshoot the ramp by half a length, and that is the only gift the road gives me all night.

Now I’m on a service road.

Two lanes.

Unlit.

Trees on both sides.

The tarmac is twelve miles down this road if I don’t get lost and nine miles if I do.

“Hal. Hal, talk to me.”

“I took the exit.”