With the pinkie and thumb of his right hand — his only functional digits — Elias fished the keys and driver’s license from Wren’s sweatshirt pocket. She didn’t carry a wallet, nor did she carry additional syringes. However, her address would suffice.
Wren Halifax
16902 Fir Drive
Sandy, OR 97055
A fake name? Probably a fake address too. Still, the location wouldn’t take long to reach by car, assuming he could operate the vehicle.
He checked the pulse in her neck. Satisfied, he rose and set off toward Carter Avenue. The private road dead-ended at the trail leading to his home — his former home. The NO TRESPASSING sign deterred curious, law-abiding citizens. Most likely, she’d parked there. But, how did she find him in the first place?
He ducked under a tangle of vines and walked faster, keys jangling on the hook formed by his pinkie.
Crickets chirped and frogs croaked, a harmony that usually soothed his nerves. But not tonight. The girl had ignited a firestorm in his gut, one that spurned the salve of nature’s melody. Food would help — the drive-through of course, considering that he resembled a victim in a low-budget horror flick.
He stopped.
A distant cracking, followed by a crash like that of many branches and leaves slamming into the ground. Then silence. Even the insects paused their symphony.
Trees fell, occasionally. Why should tonight be any different?
He continued through the forest at a brisk pace and finally reached the road. Her car, the gray Corolla at the end of the cul-de-sac, sat halfway in the grass with both doors ajar. It had seen better days. A rusty fender curved over a rear tire with low pressure, and the plastic covering a front headlight was shattered like glass.
Nevertheless, it would suit his needs just fine.
He hopped in and closed both doors, then fumbled with the keys. In spite of uncooperative fingers, he managed to start the engine. He threw the car into reverse and —
Elias, wait. Wren’s voice penetrated his mind.
He slammed on the brakes. C’thunk — the car stalled.
What the hell? Other than the sway of oak canopy in the breeze, nothing moved. I must be hallucinating. Drasp had a lot of side effects, but hallucinations weren’t normally —
You’re not hallucinating.
He jerked back; his skull pounded against the headrest. “What the fuck is going on.”
Please, Elias, just get out of the car.
He jammed a foot on the clutch, fired up the engine and floored the gas. The right front tire squealed against the pavement, then smoked, but he didn’t move.
I just want to talk. Her mental voice implored, as clear as if she were sitting right beside him.
Get out of my head!
Clutch. First gear. Gas pedal. The car tore forward, dirt and rocks thunking against the undercarriage until all four tires met asphalt. Using his good thumb, he spun the steering wheel and accelerated toward Kingston Avenue.
You shouldn’t try to drive until your hands heal.
Upshift — his hand slipped off the gear stick, revving the engine in neutral. He tried again. Grating and grinding accompanied second gear. The car lurched —
YOU ARE READING
Draconic Amnesty
خيال (فانتازيا)Thump — a faint vibration in the earth followed a gust of wind. Four dinosaur-foot-shaped depressions appeared in the grass. Further away, past the depressions, goal posts and trees blurred as if hidden behind slightly translucent glass. Then, it wa...
