Things We Never Saw Coming

Bullets

Sunday, 11pm

“The Beacon Hills Murderer has once again taken a victim. Police are still searching for any sort of clue as to who is behind these killings, but have officially declared the seven individuals murdered to be victims of a serial killer. Police urge everyone to avoid travelling alone after dark.”

“Stiles, you ready to go?”

Stiles flipped off the TV and grabbed his bag off the counter. “Yeah, I’m ready,” he said, and followed Derek out of the bar. “Hold on, I just gotta’ lock up,” he said, pulling his keys out of his pocket. He turned the key to The Onyx in the lock until he heard the click of the gears. Just to be sure, he jiggled the doorknob. “Okay, let’s go.”

Derek grunted and started off towards the far end of the parking lot. He seemed distracted—his head swung slowly side-to-side as if he was looking for something. Stiles felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He looked around, but there was no one in the parking lot except himself and Derek. He was about to speak, but the sound of a gunshot wiped his question from his mind. He dropped instinctively, covering his head with his hands to protect himself. Derek hit the ground hard beside him, snarling like a wild animal as he clutched at his arm.

Something in Stiles—whether it was fear or bravery, he couldn’t be sure—forced him to get up. There were a few cars left in the parking lot, but not many. The shooter would pick them off in an instant if they remained out in the open like this. “Come on,” he hissed to Derek, grabbing his uninjured arm and pulling him up. Together, they stumbled behind a silver SUV parked only a few spaces away from Derek’s car. Another shot was fired, and Stiles heard the bullet tear through the back bumper of the SUV, missing his shoulder by inches.

“Give me your keys,” Stiles ordered, holding out his hand to Derek. Derek paused for a moment before reaching into the pocket of his leather jacket and producing his keys.

“What… what are you doing?” he asked through clenched teeth. Blood dripped off his fingers onto the pavement—the bullet must have gone deeper than Stiles had thought.

“We’re going to make a break for your car,” Stiles said. “You’re going to run as fast as you can and hop into the passenger’s seat. I’ll drive us out of here—we’ll go out the back way. Can you run on your own?”

Derek pushed himself up to a crouch. He nodded. Stiles pulled his jacket off and threw it out from behind the SUV. Two bullets tore through the jacket. “Now!” Stiles sprinted as fast as he could towards Derek’s car, clicking the UNLOCK button as he ran. Derek moved with inhuman speed, practically hurling himself into the car as Stiles slid in behind him.

“Drive!” Derek barked as Stiles fumbled to get the keys into the ignition. He was staring out the side window nervously. “Now!”

Stiles jammed the keys into the ignition as another bullet shattered the back window. Derek’s car roared to life, and Stiles slammed his foot into the gas pedal. They tore out of the parking lot, Derek clutching onto the dashboard like a cat in a windstorm while Stiles skidded the car over the sidewalk and onto the road. Another bullet buried itself in the back of the car, but they were soon out of the shooter’s range.

Stiles’ heart pounded in his chest as he clutched the wheel with both hands and continued down the road. He didn’t know where he was going, or how fast he was driving, nor did he care. The only thing that mattered was putting as much distance as he could between himself and the shooter. “What the Hell was that?” he demanded as Derek detached himself from the dashboard. Holy shit, the guy had actually left claw marks across the dash. Wow.

Derek didn’t answer. “Turn left,” he commanded, and Stiles nearly flipped the car making the turn. Derek clutched at his injured arm like a lifeline. Stiles had almost forgotten that Derek had been shot.