If We Survive The Night

Drive

Casey

The street is quiet, save for the distant murmur of traffic, so our footsteps on the concrete pavement seem too loud. We've made quite some noise descending the iron fire stairwell, and I find myself quietly praying the attacker is acting alone. If others await him outside, they must have heard us. Anyway, the guy must have entered the apartment by now, and found us gone, so he'll be outside any moment. That speeds me up, and even without my shoes on, I get to the car before Jaden.

The car lock beeps, and we get inside. Behind the wheel, Jaden checks his phone, and I feel like slapping him.

"What're you doing?" I snap. "Drive!"

He tosses the phone aside and starts the car. I click my safety belt, glaring at him, then twist to look back. There's no one on the street so far. Will the guy dare to just come out and shoot us here? There could be witnesses, even this late. I check the windows—no lights, no faces watching us. The locals have clearly mastered the art of minding their own business. They must have heard something. The guy was shooting at our door, which could surely be heard outside, and yet the apartment buildings stand dark and—seemingly—asleep.

Jaden puts the car into drive, and I feel the tangle of fear in my chest relax a bit as I watch his house grow smaller in the rearview mirror.

"She was right," I say. "They're after me."

"We don't know that."

"You saw him!"

"We don't know who he was. She said cops are after you, but we don't know if he's a cop." He steps on the accelerator, running the red light—luckily, we're the only car at the intersection. "We only know someone is after you."

"Hey, easy," I say. "Red lights are still a thing." He doesn't react, so I add, "Where're we going?"

"What do you think?" he says with an edge. "Police. Finally."

"But what if that guy really was..."

"Get real, it's not like every cop in the city is after you! Even if one of them is, he won't do anything with the others present, so we must get you to the station."

"All right," I say, wounded by his aggressive tone. I liked him more when he was hugging me in that bathroom, telling me they wouldn't get me. On the other hand, he's now actively trying to prevent them from getting me, so I let his attitude slide.

"Check out that car," Jaden says, glancing in the rearview mirror.

I look at my mirror and see the headlights behind us. The streets are mostly empty, but I have seen a few cars since we started driving, so this could be nothing. Still, unease fills me again as I watch the headlights get steadily closer.

"Take a turn," I say.

"Shut up," he says, but tuns at the next crossing. We drive past lower buildings now, closed shops and garages. In my rearview mirror, the road remains empty. I let out a sigh of relief.

"Okay." Jaden slows down and stops at the red light. "It was nothing."

I eye the closed shops around us, and the junkyard across the road. "We better get to bigger streets."

"Heading there." His hand finds mine, squeezes it briefly. "We're doing fine."

I look at him and try to smile. His hand on mine feels reassuring. I put my right hand on his, squeezing his fingers. He just watches me, and I can't quite read his expression.

"Green light," I say.

He removes his hand and puts the car into drive. Then, before I can grasp what's happening, light floods our car, and then something rams into us from behind. I see the poles of the junkyard gates fly toward us, and then the airbag deploys, and I can see nothing else.

When I open my eyes again, it feels like some time has passed. My face hurts, like I've been punched. The deflated airbag covers my knees, partly concealed by the glove box that's now closer than it was. The windshield is shattered, and I can see up close the metal mesh fence of the scrape yard, and the piles of wrecked vehicles to the other side of it. It strikes me as funny, crashing a car at a place like this, saving them the trouble of towing the wreck here.

How did we get into a car crash? We weren't even driving when it happened. Jaden stopped at a red light.

Jaden?

I wrestle one hand from under the airbag and rub my face, hoping to clear the fog in my head. Then, slowly, I turn to look at him.

He's sitting with his head tilted back against his headrest, his eyes closed. I can see a trail of blood on his cheek—a slow trickle, probably from a cut concealed by his thick hair. I don't see any wounds. He probably got cut by the broken glass, or the airbag hit him too hard. For all I know, I might have blood on my face, too.

I reach out, wipe the trickle off his cheek. His head tilts limply to the other side. It's because of me that he's here now, injured in a crash. He's been trying to help and look where it's gotten him. It's my fault, and now I'm trapped in a wrecked car, with the only person I currently care about sitting next to me, unconscious. I mean, he can't be dead, right?

I search for the door handle, but it's not where it used to be. I find it eventually, and try to pull, but it's stuck. Suddenly, the car gets darker as someone's figure appears next to my glassless window. All I can see is the torso clad in a shirt that looks like a police uniform, but I can't see the face from where I am. I can't move, not with the chair and the door and the glove compartment all rearranged around me. I just sit and stare at the buttons on the man's shirt until, finally, he bends down, and our eyes meet.