The approaching car slowed down.
No, don’t...
As its headlights moved on, the car itself crept up alongside the MG.
Sandy suddenly wondered if it had a trailer hitch.
Don’t even think about it.
Just go away, whoever you are.
With a quiet whine of brakes, the car stopped.
“She’s sure a peach,” a guy said.
He’s seen me!
No, maybe he means the MG.
He had sounded as if he might be standing over the driver’s door, peering in.
“What’s it doing out here?” asked a different voice. The voice of someone farther away. Probably the driver.
A woman.
Sandy felt a sudden, vast relief.
“I reckon it broke down,” said the guy.
“Yeah. Or the dumb shit run outa gas.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it ain’t,” the woman said.
“Sure is a peach.”
“Get on out and see what’s in it, Bill. He might have some good stuff, a fancy-ass car like that.”
Don’t do it, Bill! Stay in your car!
“What if the guy’s just off in the trees takin’ a whizz or something?” he asked.
“Ya gonna do it, or ya gonna sit here all night?”
“Wanta get me caught red-handed?”
“Yer as yella as peed-on snow.”
“Am not,” Bill said.
“Yella, yella, yella!”
“Shut up.”
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you!”
“Don’t you talk to me that way, ya yella bastard!”
Sandy heard skin hit skin. The woman blurted, “Ow!” Bill must’ve slapped her. “Yella cocksucker!” she squealed.
Then came a flurry of blows and the woman yelping and cursing Bill and pleading for him to stop while he pounded her and grunted with the effort and gasped, "Ya like that? How’s this? Ya like this? Fucking bitch. Ya like this?”
“Stop it!” She was crying like a kid being spanked. “Yer hurtin’ me!”
“Yella, huh?”
“No! Please! I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it!”
The blows kept falling.
The woman, sobbing wildly, grunted and cried out each time she was hit. “I’m sorry!” she gasped. “Ya ain’t yella!”
“I’m fuckin’ tired of yer mouth, bitch!
“No! OW!”
“Ya like that? How ‘bout this?”
Smack!
Shoving her elbow into the passenger seat, Sandy pushed herself. up until she could see over the top of her driver’s door. The other car was stopped on the road beside the MG, only four or five feet away,
Still too low for a view inside, Sandy grabbed the steering wheel with her left hand and pulled herself higher.
Bill seemed to be kneeling on the front seat, hunched over as he thrashed the woman behind the steering wheel. Sandy couldn’t see her at all. But she could hear her crying and begging, could hear her clothes being tom, her skin being punched and slapped by Bill.
What’s gonna happen when they stop?
One of them’ll get out and find me, that’s what.
She wished another car would show up. If it came from behind, Bill’s car would be blocking the lane. Maybe he would quit beating the woman and make her drive away.
This was a back road, though. It didn’t get used much, especially at night. Another car might come along seconds from now—or maybe not for hours.
I’ve gotta get out of here.
Sandy pulled herself up the rest of the way. Though she hunkered low behind the steering wheel, she knew that her shoulders and head were in plain sight. If Bill stopped beating on the woman and either of them looked...
Reaching down, Sandy fingered the floor underneath the seat and found the knife.
Just let him try any crap with me.
She set the knife down across her lap, then twisted the ignition key. The engine spluttered, roared to life.
Bill twisted and ducked his head to see out the passenger window. “Hey!” he yelled.
Sandy stepped on the gas and let the clutch up. The MG jumped forward and died.
No!
In silence, it continued to roll forward.
Sandy tried to start the engine again. It sputtered, whinnied, didn’t catch.
Looking back, she saw Bill’s door fly open.
Her stomach knotted.
The engine caught.
Yes!
Easy does it! Easy does it!
She let up on the clutch and the tiny car surged forward, shoving her against the seatback. The leather was cool against her bare skin.
“Wait!” Bill shouted.
She looked back and saw him running toward her.
Gaining on her.
A big, heavy man with hair that was pale and curly in the moonlight. He wore a gray sweatshirt. The sleeves were cut off at the shoulders.
“Leave me alone!” Sandy yelled, swerving onto the pavement.
“Wait up! Where ya going? I ain’t gonna hurt you!”
The engine seemed to shout in protest against going so fast in first gear.
Sandy glanced over her shoulder again.
And gasped.
Bill was almost on her.
She shoved in the clutch, jerked the stick backward hoping for second gear, and let the clutch up. The gears made a nasty grinding noise, so she shoved the pedal down again.
Though she hadn’t killed the engine, she wasn’t in gear.
She was coasting.
“No sweat,” she muttered, trying to calm herself. “Just try it again, and...”
Bill grabbed her hair.
She couldn’t turn her head, but she heard his hard breathing and his shoes smacking the pavement. “Stop the car!” he yelled. He jerked her hair. It tugged at her scalp, turning her face to the right and pulling her head backward.
“Let go of me!” she cried out.
“Stop the fucking car!”
Suddenly not caring how much it might hurt or what damage it might do to her—wanting only to get away from this man—she stomped the gas pedal to the floor. The engine roared. The car, still out of gear, only coasted.
Shit!
“Stop the car or I’ll rip your head off!”
She jerked the steering wheel.
The car cut sideways.
To the left.
Bill shouted, “Watch out!’ Then he cried, “Ah!”
Sandy heard and felt only a slight bump, but the hand abruptly let go of her hair. She twisted her head and looked back.
Bill was down, tumbling on the pavement in the beams of his own car’s headlights.
Giving up on second gear, Sandy tried third.
She let the clutch pedal up and the MG rushed forward as if given a quick, strong shove.
“All right!” she yelled.
In the rearview mirror, she saw Bill push himself to his knees. He seemed to be staring at her.
He was better lit than before.
Behind him, his car was on the move.
The woman must’ve recovered enough to drive. She was coming to pick him up.
Then they’ll come after me!
As the car bore down on Bill, he raised an arm.
Then he tried to get up off his knees.
He shouted, "Donnnnn’t!”
At the last instant, he tried to dive out of the way. But the car chopped his legs out from under him. He flew head first over the hood and crashed through the windshield.
Blasted through the glass all the way to his waist.