then. You can clean up the dog shit while you’re waiting.”
“Luger would never poop on the floor,” he said hopefully, though he was kind of expecting a doggypocalypse.
“You wish. Stay sharp, drive careful, see you soon.”
The snack kept him going the rest of the drive past sleeping fields and darkened houses, but he turned in at their place with his eyelids drooping, ready to let go and sleep. The car was warm by then, and the night outside was cold. He pulled around the loop to make space for Charlie and sat for a bit, idling on the driveway, letting the heat run and staring down toward the road. He was tempted to snooze right there till Nick came home, ignoring the cramped seat and the seatbelt digging into his hip. I don’t want to move—
From toward the house, repeated, deep sounds nagged at the edge of his awareness. He rolled down his window. A barrage of thuds came from somewhere inside, while Luger bayed over and over, his bark hoarse and low.
Before Brian could get out, gravel crunched and something cold touched the side of his head. “My boss wants to talk to you about Mr. Turov.”
He slammed the car into gear without thought, stomping on the gas. The man outside yelped and thumped against the car, and for a second, Brian thought he’d lost him, but the back door swung open despite his speed down the drive, and he could hear someone struggling to get in. He swerved sharply but the narrow drive forced him to swing right back. Whatever he did was wrong because the door shut and that cold voice came from behind him now. “Stop! I’ll blow your head off.”
He powered the car out onto the road without slowing, swerving across the pavement, hoping nothing was oncoming. As soon as he’d straightened out, he hit the gas harder, picking up speed.
“Stop.” The cold steel pressed the back of his neck. “Slow down.”
“No, no, no. Dead can’t talk. Stop is dead.” He gave half his brain permission to go full-on Bry while he drove like hell, hoping for an idea or a cop car or Nick. Nick! He couldn’t afford to pass out, but maybe he could Find Nick for a second, figure out where he was. If he drove past Nick at seventy miles an hour… He squealed around a corner, fighting the wheel to stay on the pavement. “Go away!”
When he hit the straight part he sped up, swerving a couple of times to toss the guy in the back seat around, then tried to do a one-second dive into Finding. Amber-steel— shit! Eeeek! He corrected as his left tires hit the gravel, pulling the car sideways. The wheel jerked in his hand. The man behind him began shouting louder.
“Bad, bad, bad, bad, bad!” he shouted back, loud enough to drown out whatever the man was telling him to do. Bry is too weird to follow orders. Every second he expected to get shot or stabbed or something, but maybe the guy in the back was confused. Maybe he was scared of Brian’s driving. Brian stepped harder on the gas. I need a sheriff. The irony made him laugh in the middle of his babbling.
He roared through a stop sign. On the dark midnight road, no cop car waited in hiding to bust him for it. The man behind him reached between the seats like he was trying to climb forward. Brian hit the brake hard enough to jolt the guy against the driver’s seat, then stomped on the gas again, tossing the man backward.
Can’t go on like this. Either the man would figure out how to stop him, or he’d crash Nick’s car and kill himself. Maybe I can crash on purpose and kill the back-seat guy? He swerved left and right and heard the man curse and call him crazy. Crazy like a fox. A burst of energy rose inside him, making the world seem brighter and clearer. I need to whack the back seat, not the front. Where? How?
He hung a right, powering his way off the far shoulder, pebbles flying. Nick had taken him all around here, teaching him to drive. Where?
The man in the back suddenly wrapped a hand around his neck, squeezing down. “Stop the fucking car!”
Brian giggled and sped up despite the lack of oxygen, flying on something high. “Stopping crashy boom boom.” He began drifting over the center line, faster than ever.