jacket, and then the car was rolling and I was being snapped left and right, up and down against my seat belt. My head hit the side window, and I didn’t know anything else.
6
Monday, December 18
I woke with a sudden gasp, my eyes flying wide. I was suspended at an odd angle, up in the air, my seat belt keeping me from falling toward the passenger door. Through that window there was only the snowy ground. Through my own window, sky. I jerked my head toward the backseat, but there was no one there. The rear hatch was open, showing me a view of a rocky stream bed. But I couldn’t see the entire backseat.
Was my attacker still there, crouching, waiting to spring on me?
I was shaking, and then I remembered the needle and quickly looked to my shoulder to see it still there, the tip embedded in my flesh but the plunger still extended. Carefully I grabbed it and pulled it out, sucking air through my teeth as I did, not in pain, but in fear some of the drug would seep into my flesh. I didn’t want to toss the needle, but I wasn’t going to pocket it, either, and risk injecting myself by accident. I aimed toward my shopping bags, which had landed against the passenger door, and dropped the needle into one of them.
I had to get help. I had to get out of this car. I had to make sure the killer wasn’t still in the car. I didn’t know what to do first.
I thought of my phone and thanked my stars I kept the thing clipped to my waistband. Still there. Thank God.
I pulled it out, found Mason’s number and texted 911. Then I hit the “send location” button and sent it.
Snapping the phone back onto my hip, I tried to make as little noise as possible as I wriggled around to get my legs and feet more or less between me and the passenger side window, which was down to my up. I wanted to land upright once I got free of the seat belt, so I could get out of the car as fast as possible, and I didn’t want to make any noise and rouse the possibly unconscious killer who might or might not still be in my backseat.
I hope he’s fucking dead back there.
The car was still running. What a trooper. I could get out faster if the window was open, so I risked waking my attacker by hitting the button. The driver’s side window began to open, and I let go of the button to let it continue down on auto while I quickly reached for the seat belt buckle. The belt was currently supporting my full weight, so I pressed one leg to the dash, the other to the back of the passenger seat to lift myself a little, and I wrapped one arm out the window and up over the roof of the car. Then I hit the release. The buckle snapped loose and I dropped a little, but I managed to catch myself. Frantically I wriggled out of the shoulder harness, my eyes glued to the backseat, though I still couldn’t tell if the killer was back there. I got my other arm out the window and pulled myself through. Once I managed to hook a foot in the steering wheel— don’t hit the horn, don’t hit the horn, don’t hit the horn —it went faster. I pushed up and out, hit the horn and scared myself shitless, and finally got clear, pulling my feet out behind me like the devil was going to grab them. I ended up facedown on a steep slope, my feet on the fender of my car, which was lying on its side. I strained to see into the backseat, but the sun reflecting off the glass made it impossible. I looked around outside. Where the hell was he? Where was the killer?
I wasn’t waiting around to find out. The slope to the road was steep, but I was determined. I started clawing my way up. As I went, I noticed the snow was turning awfully bloody. My head, I thought, but I didn’t have time to worry about that now. I felt like someone was pursuing me, that tingle up the spine that makes you walk super-fast when you come up the basement stairs in the dark, only to the power of ten. I was scrambling like a king crab in mating season, scuttling up that slope like Spider-Man on crack. Making up
6
Monday, December 18
I woke with a sudden gasp, my eyes flying wide. I was suspended at an odd angle, up in the air, my seat belt keeping me from falling toward the passenger door. Through that window there was only the snowy ground. Through my own window, sky. I jerked my head toward the backseat, but there was no one there. The rear hatch was open, showing me a view of a rocky stream bed. But I couldn’t see the entire backseat.
Was my attacker still there, crouching, waiting to spring on me?
I was shaking, and then I remembered the needle and quickly looked to my shoulder to see it still there, the tip embedded in my flesh but the plunger still extended. Carefully I grabbed it and pulled it out, sucking air through my teeth as I did, not in pain, but in fear some of the drug would seep into my flesh. I didn’t want to toss the needle, but I wasn’t going to pocket it, either, and risk injecting myself by accident. I aimed toward my shopping bags, which had landed against the passenger door, and dropped the needle into one of them.
I had to get help. I had to get out of this car. I had to make sure the killer wasn’t still in the car. I didn’t know what to do first.
I thought of my phone and thanked my stars I kept the thing clipped to my waistband. Still there. Thank God.
I pulled it out, found Mason’s number and texted 911. Then I hit the “send location” button and sent it.
Snapping the phone back onto my hip, I tried to make as little noise as possible as I wriggled around to get my legs and feet more or less between me and the passenger side window, which was down to my up. I wanted to land upright once I got free of the seat belt, so I could get out of the car as fast as possible, and I didn’t want to make any noise and rouse the possibly unconscious killer who might or might not still be in my backseat.
I hope he’s fucking dead back there.
The car was still running. What a trooper. I could get out faster if the window was open, so I risked waking my attacker by hitting the button. The driver’s side window began to open, and I let go of the button to let it continue down on auto while I quickly reached for the seat belt buckle. The belt was currently supporting my full weight, so I pressed one leg to the dash, the other to the back of the passenger seat to lift myself a little, and I wrapped one arm out the window and up over the roof of the car. Then I hit the release. The buckle snapped loose and I dropped a little, but I managed to catch myself. Frantically I wriggled out of the shoulder harness, my eyes glued to the backseat, though I still couldn’t tell if the killer was back there. I got my other arm out the window and pulled myself through. Once I managed to hook a foot in the steering wheel— don’t hit the horn, don’t hit the horn, don’t hit the horn —it went faster. I pushed up and out, hit the horn and scared myself shitless, and finally got clear, pulling my feet out behind me like the devil was going to grab them. I ended up facedown on a steep slope, my feet on the fender of my car, which was lying on its side. I strained to see into the backseat, but the sun reflecting off the glass made it impossible. I looked around outside. Where the hell was he? Where was the killer?
I wasn’t waiting around to find out. The slope to the road was steep, but I was determined. I started clawing my way up. As I went, I noticed the snow was turning awfully bloody. My head, I thought, but I didn’t have time to worry about that now. I felt like someone was pursuing me, that tingle up the spine that makes you walk super-fast when you come up the basement stairs in the dark, only to the power of ten. I was scrambling like a king crab in mating season, scuttling up that slope like Spider-Man on crack. Making up
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