Losers: Part II

The sideshow had erupted into chaos.

People were running in every direction. Cars were driving dangerously fast and close through the panicked crowd, trying everything they could to get to the road. Manson had a tight grip around my arm as he dragged me through the crowd, and I was holding onto Lucas’s hand so we wouldn’t get separated.

It was impossible to tell which way was which with all the people spilling around us, jostling and shoving. People’s panic heightened as police officers moved through the crowd, some of them with dogs. Sirens were wailing, lights were flashing.

I squeezed Lucas’s hand and he squeezed back, a reassurance that he was still there. Luckily, Manson seemed to know exactly where he was going as he led us through the pandemonium. I soon spotted the Mustang and the El Camino parked ahead of us, side by side.

“Are you sure Dante had someone watching the cars?” Lucas shouted over the commotion.

“Dante keeps his word,” was all Manson said before he wrenched open the Mustang’s passenger door and hurried me inside. He and Lucas exchanged words, then the two parted as Lucas got into the El Camino and started her up.

“Are we really going to run from the cops?” I said, my fingers fumbling with the straps as I buckled into my seat.

Manson grinned as he cranked the key and the engine roared to life. “Damn right we are. Are you scared?”

“No,” I said. “I’m excited.”

Manson and Lucas would keep me safe. Safe from Nate, from the cops, from any other danger this night could throw our way. I wasn’t scared, but my heart was still pounding as the Mustang lurched forward. Manson laid on the horn and the people in front of us leapt back, some of them yelling furiously. Lucas drove close behind us as we slowly made our way through the crowd, moving at snail’s pace.

“Come on, motherfuckers, move!” Manson laid on the horn again, and the crowd finally parted enough to let us through.

We had to go.

Instead of trying to wedge his way onto the crowded road as the cops closed in, Manson sped toward the back of the parking lot, with Lucas close behind. The car scraped painfully as Manson hopped the curb to get to the street. A dark road ran along the backside of the lot, leading away from the chaos and into the fields.

The moment we were on open asphalt, Manson’s speed increased. We were flying down an unknown road in the dead of night, and we swiftly surpassed 100mph. Dark shapes flew by on either side, faster and faster as Manson shifted through the gears.

My cell vibrated, and I looked down to see an incoming call from Lucas. I picked up, and before I could get a word out, he said, “People are tailing us. I don’t know who the hell it is, but it ain’t cops.”

“Shit,” I hissed, and Manson looked over at me in alarm. “Lucas says people are tailing us.”

“He’s sure they’re not just running too?” he said, and Lucas heard him without me having to repeat the message.

“Considering one of them tried to fucking sideswipe me, I don’t think so,” he said.

Turning in my seat, I looked out the back window. At first, all I could see was the harsh glare of Lucas’s headlights. But then, another vehicle sped up alongside him, surpassing him and gaining on us.

“Shit, Manson, they’re getting close,” I said. He’d already noticed them; his gaze kept darting towards the mirrors, keeping an eye on every side of the vehicle. While one vehicle was gaining on our left, another suddenly appeared, speeding up on our right.

It was difficult to see in the dark, but I was almost certain who was following us. On the left was a gray Mercedes. On the right…a red Hellcat.

“Fucking McAllister,” Manson said. “These assholes don’t know when to quit. Shit.” He slammed his palm against the wheel suddenly. “Tell Lucas we have another problem. I’m really low on fuel.”

Glancing at his fuel gauge, I found the indicator to be well within the red. For the first time that night, fear stabbed into me. We were going so fast, and with only our headlights illuminating the road, Manson’s sight was limited.

We were close to 120mph.

Lucas suddenly yelled in my ear, “Fuck, they’re going to —”

There was a loud bang, the impact throwing me to the side as the Mustang swerved erratically. I screamed, nearly dropping the phone as Manson struggled to get the car steady again. The Hellcat had swiped the back bumper, and was already pushing its speed to try again.

“They’re going to run us off the road,” I said, my voice shaking. “Shit, Manson…shit…”

“They’re not going to do a damn thing,” Manson said. His eyes kept darting towards his fuel gauge, even as his speed kept climbing.

“Put me on speaker,” Lucas said, and I quickly did so. “Listen, there should be a crossroads coming up. Look for the train tracks, then take a hard left as soon as you pass them.”

Manson nodded, his knuckles white as he gripped the wheel. There was a sudden sharp glare of light in the side mirror, and Lucas’s headlights swerved behind us as the Hellcat veered toward him.

“Shit!” he yelled. “They’re trying to fucking kill us, Manson.”

Manson grit his teeth. “Can you get beside me and box them out?”

“No. They’re on both sides, I’ve got no room to move.”

“This is fucked,” Manson snarled. “The car is running on fumes, I can’t keep this speed.”

I spotted the railroad crossing sign ahead, glowing in our headlights. “There! There’s the tracks!”

The narrow road Lucas had told us to take was going to require an extremely sharp left turn. There was no way Manson could make it without slowing down, but we were barreling towards the tracks at a terrifying speed.

“Oh my God,” I said the words in the barest whimper, but Lucas still heard me.

“Manson is going to take care of you, sweetheart, don’t worry,” he said. But I didn’t like the way he said it; something in his tone raised red flags of worry in my head.

“Please be careful, Lucas,” I said. The tracks were coming closer…closer… “Please don’t do anything that might —”

“Hold on to something, Jess,” Manson said. But I didn’t even have time to brace myself before he wrenched the wheel to the side.

The tires screeched and the car swerved, the back end sliding as we turned hard to the left. The car bumped so hard that I dropped the phone, and I grabbed onto the harness and held on for dear life. The g-force was so intense it made me nauseous. Manson straightened out, and the Mustang bounced hard as it flew down the narrow pot-holed road.

He kept glancing in the rearview mirror, his eyes growing wider with every passing second.

“Goddamn it, Lucas,” he said. “He didn’t follow us.”

Turning in my seat, I saw only darkness behind us. When we turned, Lucas must have kept driving straight, leading our pursuers away from us.

Scrambling to pick up the phone, I called Lucas again. It kept ringing and went to voicemail. I tried again — no luck. With every unanswered ring, I felt sicker.

“He’s not answering,” I said, my voice sharp with dread after I’d called Lucas for the fourth time. If the bastards succeeded and ran him off the road, at that speed the resulting crash could be fatal. We had no idea where he was, and we didn’t have enough gas to go back.

“Text him,” Manson said. “Tell him to meet us at the house. I think I can make it back if I’m careful.” My breath hitched as I typed, and Manson suddenly reached over, grasping my thigh. “He’ll be okay, Jess. He’ll be okay.”

He sounded like he was trying to convince himself as much as me.

***

The Mustang was sputtering as we pulled into the yard, its fuel completely depleted. It didn’t even make it inside the garage before it turned off. Manson hurriedly got out, bringing his cell to his ear as he walked back toward the gate. I ran to join him, and together we looked down the road.

But no one was coming.

Manson dialed the number again.

And again.

“Come on, you fucking bastard, pick up,” he said. I waited with bated breath to see if this was the call Lucas would answer.

Nothing.

“Fuck!” Manson moved as if to redial, paused, then started pacing, running his fingers through his hair.

“He should be here by now,” I said. My hands wouldn’t stop shaking. The thought that Lucas was out there somewhere alone, possibly wrecked, possibly hurt, possibly…no. Don’t think about that. “We need to go look for him.”

Manson nodded, latching on to my suggestion like it was a lifeline in a churning ocean. “We’ll take the Z, it has a full tank. I need to find the —”

The rumble of a familiar engine reached my ears, and it felt as if my heart burst apart as a pair of headlights turned toward the house.

Lucas pulled up next to us, rolling down the window as he grinned. “Miss me?”

He barely had a chance to pull the handbrake before Manson wrenched open his door. The car stalled as Manson pulled him out of the seat and into an embrace, squeezing him so tightly that Lucas wheezed, “Jesus fucking Christ, I’ll take that as a yes.”

There was damage to the driver’s side of the El Camino — long white scratches in the paint, and a massive dent on the fender. But all that mattered was that Lucas was here — alive and safe. Manson wasn’t letting him go, so I threw my arms around Lucas from behind, clinging to him, trying to keep my breathing steady as his familiar scent surrounded me.

The very thought of something bad happening to him had thrown my mind into a panic. I didn’t even want to fathom the thought of waking up to a world without him in it.

“Don’t fucking scare me like that,” Manson said. “I didn’t know what the hell you were doing.”

“Shit.” Lucas chuckled softly. He pulled on my arm, tugging me in front of him so I was squished into a hug between him and Manson. “Don’t tell me y’all were stressed over me? Come on, I’m faster than those fucks.”

“Shut up,” Manson said. “Just…just shut up.”

We held each other in silence. We held tight until the panic subsided, until the sickening dread of loss had finally vanished. And then we held on even longer, because frankly, I simply never wanted to let go.