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Authors: TAYLOR ADAMS
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asshole shot your GPS.
He wanted to do something he had never allowed himself to do – flip to the back of the book and read the solution. It was always reassuring to know that a solution existed (however cheap or poorly constructed) and that was comfort he sorely missed here. There might be no humanly possible way to overcome this situation, and if that was the case, what then?
“You said you’d think of something.” It was Saray’s sister – tall, waifish, dyed blue hair. Ash? He hadn’t gotten a good look at her when she was inside Roy’s Acura. Her voice was hoarse, and he knew she’d been crying, watching her sister bleed out.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She sniffed and said something unclear, choked with tears.
He knew his words were hollow. There were no words worthy of the moment. It came to him then, a crushing wave of guilt – why hadn’t he thought of something? A distraction? Anything? Sure, he’d intervened, but he might have actually made things worse. Failing any breakthroughs, he should have at least given Roy the go-ahead to try and save her, if he’d really wanted to risk it. He was certain the sniper would have shot Roy. Right?
Did I save a life? Or let one go?
He would have done it for Elle, he realized. In a heartbeat. He would have grabbed her and hauled her dying ass back behind the car. He wouldn’t have even thought about it. And Elle would have done it for him, too.
I told him not to save her.
He felt sick now; his stomach coiled and heaved. Elle’s teeth chattered against his shoulder and she sniffed again, wetly. She was crying but fighting to hide it. She didn’t like anyone to see her cry. Not even him.
“You’re an asshole, James.” It was Roy now. His voice shivered with rage. “You told me you were thinking of something. So I waited. I waited for you to think of something and now she’s dead .”
“I’m sorry.”
Elle stirred and put her lips to his ear. “Don’t listen to him.”
“You don’t . . .” Roy spat in the dirt. “You don’t tell people you’ll help them if you can’t. Your optimistic shit . . . You’re lying to them. You told me, so I waited. That’s on you, you piece of shit.”
“You did everything you could,” Elle whispered.
James closed his eyes and ignored Roy. He knew his wife was lying and that he had already screwed up terribly, but he appreciated it. He needed a new project now. He needed to busy himself, to do something, to keep his thoughts in motion. He couldn’t allow himself to lose momentum and dwell on his mistakes, on that poor girl he’d failed, because if he allowed himself to step into that quicksand he would never claw himself out.
“Don’t hate yourself,” Elle said. “Just keep thinking.”
Goose bumps crawled up his arm. She could read his mind sometimes.
Water , he decided. Drinking water for the survivors will be my project. He rolled over, grabbed the two Aquafinas and held one in each hand, swollen with hot liquid. One for him and Elle. One for Roy and Ash.
“She was right there.” Roy coughed. “She was ten feet away—”
James arched his back and two vertebrae popped like gunshots. He kneed his way to the rear of the Toyota and peered around the taillight to see Roy, huddled on his knees by the Acura’s grill, holding Ash by her shoulders. The vehicle sagged, something internal drip-drip-dripping a steady beat, forcing them to hunch even lower to stay out of the killer’s view. It was eerie seeing such a big man bent under the hood of the sporty car, shoulders sloped, spirit crushed. He couldn’t see Ash’s face, just a waterfall of blue hair in the indecisive wind.
“Water,” he said hoarsely.
Neither of them looked up.
He tossed the bottle – too hard. He watched in horror as it twirled over Saray’s dead legs, tumbled past both Roy and Ash before they could lunge for it, and – oh, thank God – wedged under the Acura’s front tire with a puff of dust. A few inches from
He wanted to do something he had never allowed himself to do – flip to the back of the book and read the solution. It was always reassuring to know that a solution existed (however cheap or poorly constructed) and that was comfort he sorely missed here. There might be no humanly possible way to overcome this situation, and if that was the case, what then?
“You said you’d think of something.” It was Saray’s sister – tall, waifish, dyed blue hair. Ash? He hadn’t gotten a good look at her when she was inside Roy’s Acura. Her voice was hoarse, and he knew she’d been crying, watching her sister bleed out.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
She sniffed and said something unclear, choked with tears.
He knew his words were hollow. There were no words worthy of the moment. It came to him then, a crushing wave of guilt – why hadn’t he thought of something? A distraction? Anything? Sure, he’d intervened, but he might have actually made things worse. Failing any breakthroughs, he should have at least given Roy the go-ahead to try and save her, if he’d really wanted to risk it. He was certain the sniper would have shot Roy. Right?
Did I save a life? Or let one go?
He would have done it for Elle, he realized. In a heartbeat. He would have grabbed her and hauled her dying ass back behind the car. He wouldn’t have even thought about it. And Elle would have done it for him, too.
I told him not to save her.
He felt sick now; his stomach coiled and heaved. Elle’s teeth chattered against his shoulder and she sniffed again, wetly. She was crying but fighting to hide it. She didn’t like anyone to see her cry. Not even him.
“You’re an asshole, James.” It was Roy now. His voice shivered with rage. “You told me you were thinking of something. So I waited. I waited for you to think of something and now she’s dead .”
“I’m sorry.”
Elle stirred and put her lips to his ear. “Don’t listen to him.”
“You don’t . . .” Roy spat in the dirt. “You don’t tell people you’ll help them if you can’t. Your optimistic shit . . . You’re lying to them. You told me, so I waited. That’s on you, you piece of shit.”
“You did everything you could,” Elle whispered.
James closed his eyes and ignored Roy. He knew his wife was lying and that he had already screwed up terribly, but he appreciated it. He needed a new project now. He needed to busy himself, to do something, to keep his thoughts in motion. He couldn’t allow himself to lose momentum and dwell on his mistakes, on that poor girl he’d failed, because if he allowed himself to step into that quicksand he would never claw himself out.
“Don’t hate yourself,” Elle said. “Just keep thinking.”
Goose bumps crawled up his arm. She could read his mind sometimes.
Water , he decided. Drinking water for the survivors will be my project. He rolled over, grabbed the two Aquafinas and held one in each hand, swollen with hot liquid. One for him and Elle. One for Roy and Ash.
“She was right there.” Roy coughed. “She was ten feet away—”
James arched his back and two vertebrae popped like gunshots. He kneed his way to the rear of the Toyota and peered around the taillight to see Roy, huddled on his knees by the Acura’s grill, holding Ash by her shoulders. The vehicle sagged, something internal drip-drip-dripping a steady beat, forcing them to hunch even lower to stay out of the killer’s view. It was eerie seeing such a big man bent under the hood of the sporty car, shoulders sloped, spirit crushed. He couldn’t see Ash’s face, just a waterfall of blue hair in the indecisive wind.
“Water,” he said hoarsely.
Neither of them looked up.
He tossed the bottle – too hard. He watched in horror as it twirled over Saray’s dead legs, tumbled past both Roy and Ash before they could lunge for it, and – oh, thank God – wedged under the Acura’s front tire with a puff of dust. A few inches from
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