Chasing Impossible

He doesn’t see me against the wall, but I’m not stupid enough to think he won’t find me. My slick palm causes a weak grip on my switchblade. That Hunger Games nonsense where the underdog can win with a stick is bullshit. I could try to fight, but I’d rather not be tortured.

Escape is my only option. Fighting signifies I have a choice and I don’t. Set fates typically end in the cruelest fashion.

I don’t close my eyes as the shadow inches closer, I only try to imagine what it would have been like to lie in Logan’s truck, listening to a babbling brook and staring at the starlight.

And bunnies. I would have loved to have seen bunnies.

Pretty images of a pretty world that doesn’t exist.

Garbage crackles under his feet in his search for me and intuition causes him to swing in my direction. Adrenaline shoots through my veins, fear floods my mouth, I duck, a shot to the wall behind me, loose rocks cutting my face, my knife slips and the cut into his body misses the mark—off to the side.

He grunts, I push him away, willing my feet to move faster, willing air to push further into my lungs.

Then there is another bang and then there is...

Logan (#ulink_891bddd8-b548-52aa-9137-07a1c0403e93)

I’m running and it’s not fast enough. My shoulder rams into people and they shout at me as I pass, but I don’t care. My cell’s in my hand, next to my ear, and it’s ringing. Over and over again. Abby hung up. We were disconnected. The world is functioning in slow motion.

Police sirens wail. From multiple directions. From every direction. People are screaming. My sight is on the alley. Abby’s in that alley.

As I approach it, a girl stumbles out and she latches onto me. She has blond hair, but the rest of her is covered in red...marked by blood. Chunks of something on her shoulder. Her eyes are too wide and she shakes. “They’re killing people. They’re killing people in there.”

I grab onto her arms, not caring what I’m touching. “Did you see a girl? Long dark brown hair? Your height? My age?”

She nods, too quickly. “She was with a guy, they went left. He came out. She didn’t. I was hiding. My boyfriend said he’d be right back.” She’s growing higher in pitch and tears fall from her eyes. “Oh, God. Oh, God. Help me! Please help me! They shot my boyfriend!”

The girl starts screaming and her panic becomes a pulse in my brain. I release her and race into the darkness. A deafening bang reverberates against the walls and instinct causes me to slam my back into the concrete.

Abby. It’s her name in my heartbeat. Her life as a prayer. Please, God, protect Abby.

“Let’s go!” A deep voice yells and there’s footsteps. Several of them. I crouch against a Dumpster. Two people run past and across from me, a shadow emerges from the alley to the left—Abby’s alley.

“I said let’s go!” the guy calls again.

The shadow steps into the dim light of the moon. The guy’s older than me, but not by much. Hat over his head, jeans, and a gun in his hand. “Did someone double back? I heard someone out here.”

My skin prickles, and as if he can hear my heart beating, he focuses on my general area.

And then he’s off. Gone. Running.

A new shadow cuts into the game and he’s heading to where I need to be. I chase and we’re trapped in a maze. My pulse pounds in my ears, my breaths come out in short bursts. An intersection of paths and then a loud male curse. “Dammit!”

My lungs burst with fear. Abby.

All the thoughts cease and it’s instinct. Find her. Protect her. Kill whoever has hurt her. The shadow crouches over a form. Pushing hair away from a face and my entire body seizes in pain. I reach down, swipe up a piece of long metal, swing it back and...

The shadow’s head snaps up and so do his arms. In his hands is a gun pointed straight at me, and right above him, the razor-sharp edge of the metal halts near his head.

“I’m with her,” he states.

My heart races and I wish for the cold blood that must run through Abby in order to live this life. “Prove it.”

“You were with her earlier. The two of you flirted all fucking night. Kissed near the stage.”

So he spied. “Not enough.”

“I haven’t shot your brains out yet.”

Good enough. I drop the metal and he lowers his gun then flips Abby over. Terror seizes me at the sight of blood seeping through her shirt and the gash on her head. I run a hand over my face. The police won’t find us fast enough. She’s dying and the police won’t find her. I swing Abby up in his arms and the guy jumps in front of me.

“What are you doing?” He’s in a ray of moonlight and I can see his face. This guy’s midtwenties and that ice exists in his eyes.

“I’m getting Abby help.” She’s too light, too pale, acting like a shattered porcelain doll, her breaths come out ragged and all that causes my heart to rip open.

He swipes up a phone—Abby’s phone—and a knife covered in blood.

“That’s evidence,” I say. “Leave it.”

He pockets both like I didn’t speak. “I’m aware.” I don’t have time to argue. As I shove past him, he grabs my arm. “Did you see who shot her?”

Yes, but I don’t trust him. “No.”

I jerk out of his hold and his gun’s out as he sprints ahead of me.

“You tell the police you were on a date,” he says. “You went to get the car. You got separated. Abby called. Got scared. Went into the alley to hide and you went after her. You never saw me and when Abby wakes up, tell her I got her phone and blade.”

“What’s your name?”

“She’ll know who I am,” he says as we reach the street. “Now go.”

Sirens. Multiple sirens. The gunshots. The bar scene. The place is a powder keg and they’ll be coming in hot. I look to the left, look to the right, no cops in sight, but a crowd begins to gather.

I shift Abby in my arms as she’s dead weight. Dead weight. Fury and fear collide in my chest. “Someone call 911. Tell them she’s shot.”

They stand there, staring, understanding from the sirens that police are on their way, but I need them here. Right here. Right now.

“Now!” I scream with so much force that the word scrapes my throat.

People react then. On their phones. Falling out into the streets. Throwing their hands in the air, waving down the cops.

I drop to my knees. One arm hugs her tight. The other brushing the brown strands covering her face. Blood’s smeared over her cheeks. My gut cramps and twists. “Abby? Abby, please.”

I can’t lose her. I can’t.

Nothing. Silence and it kills me. I search for her pulse point and there’s blood. Too much blood and it’s pouring from her back, from her front. She’s been shot. They shot her. Rage rumbles through me and I kiss her forehead, not sure how so much wrath and terror and grief can exist at once.

“LMPD!” Their shouts are echoed, but still too far away.