A bullet ripped through the trees, just above my head. The gunshot was crisp and loud.
CRACK! It reported again. CRACK CRACK CRACK!
They were shooting at us now! Shooting. At. Us!
Sammara, don’t stop.
With horror I realized I was losing my wind. I was slowing down…
Then again, if they were shooting at us that meant that they’d have to stop, or at least slow down. They couldn’t be aiming while running. Not at the speeds we—
“Ummph!”
Suddenly I was swept from my feet… and thrown over two broad shoulders. For a few confused seconds, all I could see was a bouncing mop of dirty blond hair.
Dakota.
I wanted to protest. To tell him to put me down, and let me continue running…
Only my legs felt like jelly. Already I could feel them going dead, filling up with lactic acid that would make them useless.
“Here! Through here!”
Ryan’s low hiss guided us, and the next thing I knew we were ducking through a break in a bramble patch. Sticks and branches reached for us like cruel, indifferent claws. I could feel them raking away at my arms and legs. Pulling them in, I turtled up on Dakota’s shoulders and covered my face.
“Now down, toward the road…”
By the time I opened my eyes we were out in the open again. Dakota continued carrying me, as if I weighed nothing.
“The car?”
“About a mile,” Ryan replied. “Maybe less.”
“If it’s even… still… there,” Dakota gasped.
“No talking,” Ryan admonished. “Just run.”
Looking behind us, I saw no sign of our pursuers. No more shots rang out. No more flashlights cut the forest.
“Dakota, please let me go,” I said. “You’re slowing down anyway. At this pace I can keep up.”
For once, he listened without argument. He dropped me feet-first to the pavement, and I hit the ground running. Together we jogged, the three of us, for another several minutes in silence.
The forest road was uncharacteristically dark, even in the moonlight. For some reason, I couldn’t believe it didn’t have streetlights.
“Gotta… be… close…” Ryan spat.
Finally we crested one last turn, and our tiny car faded into view. Its headlights were eyes, its grill a stoic, unflinching mouth. The vehicle stared back at us impassively, completely oblivious to what we’d just been through.
We reached it at the same time, with all the glory of finishing a marathon together. The metal door handle was cold and reassuring beneath my hot, sweaty hand.
“I’m driving,” I huffed.
Fifty
SAMMARA
The sign above us declared two simple words: ‘The Imperial’. But it only took one quick look at the paint-chipped walls, and the sagging roofline, to know there wasn’t a single imperial thing about it.