Page 28 of The Wrong Drive-
Holy shit.He lost his brotherandhis parents in the same freaking month? How could anyone be so fucking unlucky? Mystomach churns with empathetic nausea. I take a deep breath and stop there, seeing a college degree hanging on the wall near the window.
Thomas Robert Martin.
I run my hands over my face. That must be theotherbrother? Is this his room? I mean,hisdegree is hanging on the wall. God knows what Turner went through. No wonder he locked himself away from the world. My eyes land on a typewritten letter, laying on the far corner desk then.
I shouldn’t pry anymore.
I take a step toward it. However, I freeze when I hear a creak from outside the room.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
The door flies open before I can move, and Turner’s frame fills the doorway. He’s still dressed in his winter gear, and there’sstilla rifle in his hands.
“What thefuckare you doing?” he explodes, his voice causing me to shrink backward.
I hold my hands up in surrender, but notice his eyes are elsewhere, taking in the pictures on the shelves. “Turner, I’m sorry…I was just trying to see out the window?—”
“Getout.” He raises the rifle, pointing it the center of my chest. His eyes are dark. And empty. Focused only on my chest.“Get out.”
“Okay,” I choke on the word, my heart in my ears. But I can’t leave. He’s blocking the door. “I just…I just need to slip by you.”
He doesn’t budge and as I gather the courage to meet his gaze, his eyes snap back to mine… But they’re so…dead.
“Turner…” My voice trails off. “I’m sorry.”
But it’s like he doesn’t hear me, even as he takes another step toward me. The barrel of his rifle is only a few feet from me now, and I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I stagger backward and to the right, trying to dodge the end of his gun.
And that’s when it fires.
A scream lights up my lungs, and I lunge for the door as a second shot sounds. Panic sears through my body as I hear the bolt action from somewhere behind me.
“Get out!” Turner shouts.
His voice sounds like he’s shouting above the volume level of a concert, but shots just keep going off, shaking the walls of the cabin. As I stumble down the stairs, I nearly crash into Gunner, who’s runningtowardthe sound of Turner shouting from behind me.
As I make it to the kitchen, the sound of upbeat pop music still plays in the chaos. Over the noise, I hear his thundering footsteps coming down the stairs. He continues to shout the same two words over and over.
I don’t get it. But Idounderstand the sound of another two rounds firing off in the stairwell.
He’s going to fucking kill me.
Gripping my parka, I make a dash for the front door, ripping it open to the chilly air outside. The wind is so harsh that it burns as I take off into the deep snow. It buries me up to my knees, and I cry out in frustration as the shots keep sounding from behind me. Gunner starts barking, and all I can think about is making it to my truck.
Maybe I can dig it out and hide.
But is that an obvious place?
I spot a barn in the opposite direction, and part of me thinks of trying to go that way, but I realize no matter what, Turner has the upper hand. He’s ex-special forces for fuck’s sake. I’m no fucking match for him.
It’s a sobering thought—almost as sobering as dancing with him in the kitchen only an hour ago. I trudge forward, trying to remember where the hell the driveway is. The wind blows, and Ican’t tell if another round has gone off, or if it’s just in my head. As soon as I make it to the tree line, I stop and pull on my coat.
I peer back toward the house, expecting to see Turner on the front porch like the first afternoon. But he’s not there. My teeth chatter as I pull my hood up, my legs burning from my already soaked jeans. I squeeze my eyes shut, just long enough to gather my wits.
Everything is silent. Not a single natural noise fills the woods, and I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. I tighten the strap around my face to hold the hood, and start deeper into the woods, the sound of Gunner’s bark jarring me.
Please don’t lead him to me.
Tears slide down my cheeks as I trek into the darkness. Another shot fires, and this time, it sounds as if it’s farther away. I breathe a little easier, but refrain from slowing my pace.When did Turner say it would start to snow again? Tomorrow?
