Page 50 of Not This Place

choked the windshield as they barreled forward. She twisted in her seat, vision blurred by pain and grit. The car was out of control, shaking wildly as it crashed through the scrubland.

Her grip tightened on the gun, her index finger poised over the trigger as she aimed at Mattie's head.

"Pull over!" she shouted above the roar of the engine. Mattie swung his gaze to meet hers, eyes wide with terror or defiance, she couldn't tell.

Too late.

He swung his knife, trying to jam it into her throat again.

The car skipped, hitting an embankment, sending them both jolting forward.

She wasn’t sure when or how, but the trigger depressed.

A gunshot echoed through the confined space. A spray of red misted the front windshield as Mattie's lifeless body slumped onto the steering wheel. The car bucked and lurched, veering hard right as it skidded over rough terrain before finally coming to a jolting halt.

Rachel's breath hitched and her body slammed hard against her seatbelt, the air knocked from her lungs in a painful rush. Head spinning, she fumbled for the door handle then rolled out onto rocky ground.

The night air was cool against her flushed skin, and for a moment she lay there, breathing heavily as her thoughts played catch up. Leroy was dead. Mattie was dead. She was alone in an unfamiliar stretch of Texan desert with no idea where their boss' hideout might be.

And now, in the distance, she heard the sound of approaching sirens.

Backup. But too late.

Shit.

Still, as she lay there, gasping at the stars, a thought occurred to her.

A thread.

There was still a chance. But they had to move fast.

She cursed, pushing slowly to her feet, breathing heavily and spitting dust that layered her tongue.

Rachel tried to shake off the dizziness, but her vision swam as she got to her feet. The world tipped alarmingly, a hallucinatory desert landscape bathed in an ethereal moonlight that was just too sharp, too bright. She stumbled forward, clutching at the battered car for support.

She gritted her teeth and reached into the back seat. Her fingers closed around the cold length of her radio, bringing it up to her lips.

"Rachel!" Ethan's voice cut through the quiet static. "Rachel, talk to me!"

"Ethan," she gasped out. "Two men down... gunfire."

"What's your location? Rachel, are you hit?"

"No, I... I'm fine." Rachel wiped the back of her hand across her forehead. Sweat and dust mixed into a grimy paste on her skin. "See that cloud of dust? That’s me.”

She let the radio drop from her hands onto the sandy ground next to the car. She needed a few seconds to gather herself. Her heart pounded against her ribs like a caged bird trying to break free— adrenaline still pumping through her veins like molten lava.

The dirt path looked different now that it was bathed in red and blue lights, carving out harsh lines of shadows on the rough terrain.

Cursing under her breath for what felt like the thousandth time that night, Rachel moved to examine Mattie’s body still slouched grotesquely in the driver's seat.

She checked his pockets. Empty. NO wallet. NO identification. She checked the glove compartment—also empty.

She felt her anger mounting now.

These two, they were ghosts. No traces, nothing. They had planned it well. Their boss must be a ghost too. She checked the back seat, found a crumpled pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Nothing more.

A sharp static cut through the silence, and she picked up the radio.

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