Katrina kept shining the light, leaning farther out the window.
“Did you hear me? Roll up the windows and lock yourselves—”
Then she saw it: a fragile wink against the flashlight’s thin beam. Could it be? She hardly dared believe it. Her heart soared. She stretched forward, her fingers curling around the keys.
Finally!
Now all she had to do was— Too late!
Wheezing and huffing, the monster reached the truck. “You little bitch!” he roared, towering above her.
And then she noticed the knife in his meaty hand.
Jesus!
He lunged.
No!
Scuttling backward, she hit the side of the truck, then scrambled quickly beneath the bed.
He dropped to all fours.
Oh crap!
Heart thudding, pulse pounding, she scooted to the far side of the pickup. She could barely breathe, the air was so full of dust and oil. She scraped her butt against the ground but didn’t care. She still clutched the damned keys in a death grip. From inside the cab came frightened screams. Ruthie freaking out. If only Kat had brought her damned phone. If only Shiloh hadn’t dropped the keys. If only– A long arm extended beneath the truck, swinging in a broad arc, the knife slicing low to the ground. Shiloh pressed against the tires and sucked in her gut. Then, seeing how near the tip of the blade came, she rolled through the open space between the wheels, her shoulder jarring against the undercarriage.
Another fast swipe of the knife, the blade hissing as it cut through the air.
Shiloh threw herself to her feet. Yanking on the passenger door, she wrenched her shoulder.
Locked.
“Open up!” she screamed and beat on the window with her fist. “Ruthie, dammit, open the damned door!”
Ruthie’s white face appeared.
Click!
The door flew open, and Shiloh jumped in, nearly flattening the smaller girl. “Lock it!” she ordered as she climbed over the others to fall into the driver’s seat. In the side-view mirror, she caught the ghastly shape of the assailant as he struggled to his feet. “No way, fucker!” She jammed the key into the ignition and pumped the gas as Ruthie, for once, did as she was told and locked the passenger door. “Hold on!”
Thud!
The entire truck shook. As if he had kicked the back panel or— Threw himself into the bed?
No, no, nooooo!
The damned truck didn’t start.
“God damn it!” Katrina cried.
Shiloh twisted the key so hard she thought she might break it.
Again she pressed down the accelerator, remembering Larimer Tate’s warning “Now, don’t flood the damned thing. This here’s a classic. 1964.”
Shit, shit, shit!
“Don’t do this,” she said as the engine coughed and died.
“What’s wrong?” Ruthie wailed, then looked through the small window cut into the back wall of the cab. Her face drained of all color, and she started to hyperventilate. “Oh no! Oh no! He’s . . . He’s in the back!”
Shiloh gave it another go. “I know.” Come on, you miserable bucket of bolts—The engine sputtered to life just as a meaty fist bashed against the small window in the back of the cab, a window that was already cracked, and stupid-ass Larimer Tate had never bothered to fix it.
Ruthie squealed and jumped.
“Get us the hell out of here!” Katrina ordered.
Shiloh hit the gas.
The pickup lurched forward, bouncing over the dry grass and rocks. The fist kept pounding.
Craaaack!
The window split, then began to splinter, glass falling out of the frame.
“Nooo!” Ruthie leaned hard into Katrina.
Shiloh gunned it. “Son of a bitch!” Driving like a maniac, she cranked hard on the steering wheel while stomping on the accelerator, driving in tight circles, only to slam on the brakes and jam the truck into REVERSE.
The pickup shuddered and shook, its rear end fishtailing, its wheels spinning wildly, kicking up great plumes of dust.
It didn’t matter.
No matter what she did, the creep held on to the opening with one hand and rammed the knife through with the other, swiping crazily in the air, the blade slashing through the interior.
Son of a bitch!
Ruthie was on the floor in front of the passenger side, Katrina huddled near the door. Shiloh tried to avoid being cut as she steered back and forth in wild arcs, hoping like hell to throw him out of the truck’s bed.
Still the bastard clung on.
Still the knife swung furiously through the cab, hissing with each cut.
“Open the glove box! For God’s sake, grab something! Hit him! There’s . . .”
Bam!
“Oh crap!” The front wheel hit the side of a boulder, bouncing off. The truck went airborne for a few seconds and even Katrina shrieked.
Landing hard, the Dodge shuddered, its tires spinning. With a jolt, the truck sprang forward.
The psycho screamed as if his arm were being torn off, but somehow he hung on and kept slashing.
Who was this maniac? No time to think about it. “Get the hammer! In the box!” she yelled over Ruthie’s terrified screams. “Get it!” She cranked on the wheel hard. The back end of the truck spun. Katrina’s head bounced off the passenger window. Crack!
Ruthie howled. “She’s hurt!”
“She’s fine!” Shiloh snapped. “Get something!”
Katrina opened the glove box.
The arm swung again, this time connecting, slicing into Shiloh’s shoulder. She yelled and swore as hot pain radiated and blood began to run down her back. “You son of a bitch.”
At that moment, Katrina pulled a screwdriver from the glove box, and when the hand appeared, she jabbed the head of the tool deep into the flesh of the back of his hand. As she did, Shiloh hit the gas again and aimed for a huge mound just in range of her headlights.
Yowling, the man yanked back his arm.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Katrina whispered as the hillock loomed into view and the truck sped forward.
“Getting rid of bad news.”
Katrina sucked in a breath and whispered, “You’re going to kill us all.”
Ruthie started screaming.
“Hang on!” Shiloh set her jaw, tromped hard on the accelerator. The truck hit the rise full throttle. Speeding up the incline, Shiloh sent up a prayer that she wasn’t about to kill her friends. The truck went airborne.
“Holy shit!” Kat yelled.
They soared over a shallow creek bed, the truck landing hard, tossing them about, jarring their spines and rattling their bones. Ruthie squealed. Katrina’s head hit the roof. Shiloh clung to the steering wheel with all her might.
The freak in the bed flew out, his body thudding against the ground.
Praying they hadn’t broken an axle, Shiloh floored it.
“He’s gone?” Ruthie stammered against the jarring ride as she crawled upward onto the seat and peered through the shattered back window to the night beyond.
“Finally,” Kat whispered, rubbing her head. “Jesus.”
“Don’t take the Lord’s name in . . .” Ruthie started, then shook her head as she stared into the darkness. “Where is he?” She shuddered, and rubbed her arms, then more panicked, repeated, “Where is he?”