On My Way - Eve Langlais Page 0,15

my next-door neighbor, Jace technically counted as the closest, but I hated asking him for anything, and I didn’t actually have his phone number, nor did he seem like the type to be listed.

Still, just in case, I spent two percent of my battery trying to locate a number for him. Failed. I had three percent left and a crushed car that wouldn’t go anywhere without a—

“Tow truck!” I’d call for a tow and have the driver drop me off at the house.

I rang the first number that came up on my search. It rang once. Twice. After the third, it went to voicemail, and before I could leave a message, my phone died.

I glared at it. Seriously? “Fuck off!” The potty language spilled from me. The only thing truly strong enough to commemorate the moment.

Some days, I hated technology. Stupid stuff never worked when you needed it.

A gust of cold wind caressed me with icy fingers. It rustled the branches of the trees. Whispered to me. Enjoy the walk.

Ugh.

Not how I wanted to end my day. I should grab my jacket because it would be chilly. The pungent aroma of gas had gone past the point of strong smelling to downright nauseating. Could a person die from breathing in too many fumes? Or would I just get high? I definitely wouldn’t be lighting any matches.

I tucked my face inside my shirt and ran to the passenger side to grab my jacket. Opening the door, I saw the airbag hadn’t deployed on that side and would have been an easier choice to snare my phone.

My jacket lay in plain sight. As I grabbed it, I heard a noise. The crunch of something stepping on leaves in the woods.

Whirling with my coat clutched in front of me, because it made such a good shield, I stared blindly. The headlights made it impossible for me to penetrate the gloom—meanwhile I was highlighted like a stripper on stage.

Probably a raccoon or a forest animal. Nothing to worry about. Unless it was a killer zombie beaver. I was pretty sure I’d seen them using the downed tree trick in a horror movie I’d watched a few years ago. Great big teeth, gnawing wood to a pulp and then shoving the tree over to trap victims for them to devour.

Not the best thing to remember in the woods, at night.

“Go away,” I said in a tremulous voice. Not scary at all and yet I’d been taught most animals would avoid humans. Scurry away.

Unless it was a cougar. Cougars ate people.

The big bucks with their tined horns would gore.

And moose tossed humans around like ragdolls.

Why couldn’t I imagine the woodland animals as cute and fuzzy and gentle?

Holding my breath, I listened. Nothing moved or made crunchy noises. The wind licked past my cheeks, coldly chuckling.

A shiver racked me. I needed to stop standing around. I’d freeze to death if I didn’t get somewhere warm. And at this point, that meant my house. How far from here was it?

I turned from the forest to give my car one last look. I slammed the passenger door shut for no reason other than it seemed sloppy to leave it open. In the window’s reflection, I didn’t see much other than a fireball arcing toward me.

As I turned to gape—because that’s what my dumb ass does in emergency situations—I had time to think, That’s it. I’m dead. The newspaper blurb would read: Fried Like a Chicken but Smelled Like Bacon.

Just before it would have lit me like a firecracker on the Fourth of July, something slammed into me and I hit the ground as the world around me went up in a fiery whoosh.

5

Face down on the dirt and gravel, I had time to reflect on a few things. First, the stupidity of not moving away from a car leaking gasoline.

Second, the fact the ground was hard.

And third, was it me, or had it gotten hot outside?

I didn’t need to see the fire to feel it. The acrid smoke tickled the nose and lungs. The heat warmed the bottoms of my shoes.

As for the body on top of me acting like a shield? Kind of heavy. Whoever it was squashed me into the ground, but considering the alternative? Happy they tackled me.

“Are you injured?” The word rumbled against my ear, penetrating the ringing I’d not even realized muffled my hearing. It was Jace, my neighbor.

“I’m okay. I think.” Pretty sure I shouted the words.

He shifted off of me, and I