“You have to charge it every night, when you go to sleep,” Chrissy informs me, sounding a bit more like her old self. “Put a charger next to your nightstand.”
“Really not the time to lecture me on proper iPhone maintenance.” I sigh. “And I don’t have a bed, remember? Homeless, for the time being.”
“What?”
“It’s a long story. Chase gave up my lease and now I have to either move in with him or find a new place—”
“What?!” Her voice goes up an octave. “You don’t tell me anything!”
“Chrissy, it’s really not the time—”
My words cut off abruptly when something rams into us from behind, sending a jolt through the entire car.
“Shit!” I glance back just in time to see the Mercedes — its shiny silver front crunched in from the impact — preparing to charge us again.
“Hold on!” I yell, my hands curling tighter around the wheel as I brace for another hit.
I’m so worried about the danger coming from behind, I don’t even think about what might be coming at us in the front. My eyes go wide as I see a large black SUV fly onto the access road, its turn so sharp it nearly goes up on two wheels. It’s maybe the length of a football field away — a distance rapidly shrinking, at this speed — and it’s heading straight for us.
I can’t brake; going this fast, there’s no time. Plus, there’s the small matter of Vanessa.
As soon as I think her name, the Mercedes slams into us again, its impact hard enough to give me whiplash, not to mention make my already-struggling car start to wheeze in a not-so-good way. Distantly, I hear Chrissy trying to soothe Winnie in the backseat, but I can’t spare much thought to them. Not with the SUV bearing down on us, coming closer and closer with each second, like some deadly game of chicken sure to end with all of us in the hospital. Or worse — the morgue.
“Who is that?” Chrissy shrieks.
“Not sure, but I don’t think they’re on our side!”
“Of course not!” Her voice is laced with pain — the sign of another contraction rolling through her. “That would be too.” Deep breath. “Damn.” Small moan. “Easy.”
Her contractions are coming closer — five minutes apart, maybe less.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I curse under my breath, watching the road rapidly disappear between me and the SUV. When the space shrinks to fifty yards, I start to lay on my horn.
“Get out of my way,” I chant, over and over. “Get out of my way!”
“Move, asshole!” Chrissy shouts, feeling a bit less magnanimous. “This… is… so not… the time… to fuck… with me.”
Each of her words is punctuated by a scream of pain.
I blast the horn again — one long, suspendedbeeeeeeeeeeeeep— but the SUV doesn’t move to the side of the narrow road. If anything, it starts coming faster.
The Mercedes rams us again from the back, so hard I almost lose control of the car.
Shit.
“Chrissy, hold on.” I swallow. “And hold Winnie.”
“Run the fucker off the road!” Chrissy yells back at me. “And then let me out.” Deep breath. “So I cankill.” Small scream. “That…blonde…bitch!”
Really helpful, Chrissy.
I tug once on my seatbelt, making sure it’s clipped tight, and watch the road dwindle.
Thirty yards.
Twenty-five.
Twenty.