Terrorbyte by Cat Connor Page A

my thinking to the one similarity, because it was easier for my brain to digest. Any contemplation about these murders being personal would overload my delicately-balanced psyche.
    My fingers played with the charms hanging from my bracelet and lingered on a small silver angel. Had I thanked Mac?
    â€œThanks for bringing this down for me.”
    â€œYou’re welcome. Why did you want it?” Mac asked, flicking the windscreen wipers on to high.
    â€œNot sure, it just makes me feel better, I guess.” I knew exactly why I wanted it. Each charm was bought for me by my father. Every time he went overseas the first thing he did was find a jeweler and buy me a silver charm. He carried the charm in his top pocket while he was away and put it on my bracelet when he got home. He always came home safe and sound. If one charm at a time protected dad, surely the whole bracelet had more power?
    I didn’t want the evil to get me.
    An hour into our journey, with a murky, gloom-filled, wet dawn well on its way, rain was coming down in sheets. Twigs and small branches tangled in the windshield wipers.
    â€œWhat’s that?” Mac pointed up ahead. I thought I could see a red glow but couldn’t make it out clearly. The wipers were going flat out and still I couldn’t see much past the hood. Squinting into the dim light didn’t help.
    Suddenly I knew what it was.
    â€œTail lights!”
    Mac’s foot hit the brake. We both lurched forward, seat belts locked. The car came to an abrupt stop.
    Offering a silent prayer to the ABS god, I hit the hazard switch at the same time as Mac. I grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment and swung my door open. My clothes were drenched through within seconds. The sodden fabric clung to me as I hurried to the shape, which I’d determined was a car wrapped around a tree. I heard Mac call out from close behind me. “Ellie!  You want road flares?”
    I turned into the sheets of driving rain hoping my voice would carry sufficiently. “Good idea, grab them!” I yelled.
    I reached the car and my wet hands slipped on the door handle as I struggled to open it. I kept slipping, almost going under the car several times. The ground seemed to be a giant mud slick. It was sucking at my boots and trying to pull me under.
    I tugged at the door again. It wouldn’t budge. I shone the flashlight in through the window. I could see someone inside and that the air bag had deployed and collapsed. An awful thought crept up on me: it could be Lee.
    â€œWhat kind of car is it?” I asked, still fighting with the door.
    Mac appeared next to me. “It’s not Lee’s car. Let me.” He handed me his flashlight so he could use both hands.
    I breathed a sigh of relief.
    He braced himself against the back passenger door and tried forcing the door handle up; the handle lifted but the door didn’t budge. Mac shoved his fingertips into a gap at the top of the door and pulled; the metal groaned but stayed fast.
    â€œCrowbar?” I suggested.
    â€œTrunk,” he replied. “I’ll get it.”
    He turned then stopped by the back door, which was unscathed compared with the front of the car, which was a twisted wreck.
    â€œShall I draw you a map to the trunk of your own car?”
    A wet finger flew in my direction. “One sec.” He pulled the rear door handle, the door sprang open. Mac disappeared into the car.
    I pulled my cell phone from my wet pocket and punched in ‘911’. As the operator answered, the driver’s door screeched then popped open. Perfect timing: I had zero clue where we were. I knew at some stage we’d left the highway but my tired mind couldn’t recall when or why.
    â€œMac, what road is this?” The irony of the question didn’t escape me. I was asking a directionally-challenged person where we were.
    Sometimes I have no idea what goes on in my head.
    He climbed out the passenger