Page 69 of Tourist Season
… but nothing happens.
“Ohshit.”
I pump the brakes. Nothing. I wrench the wheels back to theright so I can slow my descent along the wall of straw. And then there’s asnap. Panic seizes my chest.
“Fuck—not good—”
The car veers hard left.
“Look out—”
People on the left side of the road scream. They pick up their kids. Spill their beer. Toss their popcorn and grip their turkey legs. They gasp and shout and jump out of the path as I careen toward the sidewalk. There are no straw bales on this side of the curve. Nothing to stop me.
Not even Nolan.
He’s the one person I recognize among the tourists scrambling to get out of my way. He’s the only one standing nearly still, moving only enough to follow the motion of my car as I pass him in a moment that seems like it’s been stretched so thin that time and all the world have disappeared. It’s long enough to freeze the panic on his face. Despite his stillness, his expression seems frantic, as though his energy has been funneled into the fear that paints his face and haunts his eyes.
And that moment is ripped apart in a single heartbeat as I hit the curb with a jarring thud and then jump onto the sidewalk.
“Harper—” I hear him yell after me.
“Not safe!” is all I have time to reply.
And then I’m crossing the lawn to join Piper Boulevard, an even steeper road.
“Shit, totally not safe,” I say to myself between tight breaths that pull my chest taut. I jerk the steering wheel from one side to the next, but it has no effect. I pump the brakes, but nothing happens. My car barrels straight down the steep road. Bert’s worried commentary fades into the distance. The only thing I hear is therattle of my wheels and the clatter of Corpsie behind me and the occasional shout of startled passersby on the sidewalk as I rocket down Piper Boulevard, gathering speed.
That is, until I hear Nolan shouting my name, his voice growing impossibly closer.
“Harper,” he calls, dinging a bicycle bell to get my attention. I turn to see him pedaling furiously on a kid’s pink bike with multicolored tassels fluttering from the ends of the handlebars. “Aim for a hedge and cover your face!”
“No steering,” I call back, jostling the steering wheel with no effect. “No brakes!”
He gets closer, only a few feet behind me. Corpsie’s ribbons whip him in the face and he manages to grab a fistful and tug, pulling hard enough to detach the mannequin’s arm, which he discards on the road. When he refocuses on me, the panic is still etched into his features, his eyes not leaving mine. Not until they look past me and widen.
I turn and face ahead. I’m closer to the end of the cul-de-sac than I thought I was. Closer to the path that leads to Widow’s Point. To the cliff that drops into the sea.
Fuck.
“Nolan—”
“Undo your harness!”
I press the first button. The buckle sticks in the mechanism.
I’m picking up speed. The end of the road is only a block ahead.
“Your harness—”
“It’s stuck—”
“I thought you said you’d checked this thing—”
“Now isnot the time!” I frantically jam my thumb against the button and tug on the straps, but the harness only tightens acrossmy body. The sound of the waves crashing against the cliff rises above the squeak of my wheels and Nolan’s furious pedaling and the heartbeat roaring in my ears. I can smell the water and my breath catches as though I’m already drowning. I’m rocketing straight for the short path that leads to the edge, getting closer with every ragged inhalation.No, no, no.
“Keep trying. Loosen the harness all the way and climb out—”
“Nolan,” he’s just behind me when I turn toward his voice, wrestling with the belt, trying and failing to loosen it with shaking hands. I choke down a panicked sob. “I can’t swim!”
