Gangster boy laughs.

“Let’s get out of here.”

The weight on my back vanishes. Gangster boy lifts my up by the collar of my jacket. “You’re kind of pretty for a little thing,” he sneers. He reeks of cigarettes.  “Maybe I will take you along.”

“I’d rather chew glass than share a car with you,” I manage to choke out.

Sarcasm has always been my best weapon, for some reason. Unfortunately it doesn’t really swing any physical power. Gangster boy’s friend, Ray, comes into view. A pale guy with similar gangster garb. He looks unmoved by my predicament.

“We’ll see about that,” gangster boy says, twirling his crowbar around with one hand. “What do you think?”

Seeing the crowbar makes me lose it. I bring my combat boots up and kick him as hard as I can in his groin. While he doesn’t let go of my jacket, he does swear in pain and loosen his grip. I claw my fingernails across his face and bite his hand as hard as I can.

He spits out a string of profanities and drops me. I scramble to my feet and sprint away, heading for the front seat. Ray is right behind me. For a pale skinny guy he’s sure fast.

Maybe he’s a vampire.

I dive for the driver’s seat and grab the keys to the Mustang. Ray drags me out by the belt loop of my jeans. I literally shove the keys into my shirt, hoping they stay hidden in my camisole. Gangster boy grabs me by the neck and starts cursing in my face.

Apparently he plans to kill me and he just doesn’t know how to articulate it any other way.

He slams my entire body against the cement pillar that’s holding up the awning over the gas station. I gasp, feeling the air rush out of my lungs. He grabs me again and tosses me to the ground, kicking me in the stomach. I double over in pain, covering the back of my neck with my hands.

But that’s before I remember that you’re only supposed to do that if a bear attacks you. Idiot, I think. How do I get out of this?

I roll to my side, just missing gangster boy’s crowbar as it clangs against the ground where my head just was. Terror shoots up from my feet to my brain. I jump up and take a crowbar to the hip.

“Stop!” I plead, desperate.

 Gangster boy slams the crowbar towards me. I cover my face and close my eyes. Bam. It takes me a moment to realize that it isn’t my head that got hit. Or my stomach.Or anything else of physical importance. I peek through my hands, shocked to see Chris’s powerful arm blocking the crowbar.

He’s standing protectively in front of me. He whips his hand underneath the bar, twists it out of gangster boy’s hand and slams it into his head. I stifle a shocked gasp into my palm. Gangster boy goes down and Ray tries to advance on Chris.

I take a step backwards, gripping my throbbing hip. Chris twirls the crowbar around in his hand like it’s a baton, using it to thrust it forward into Ray’s stomach. Ray makes a weird gagging noise and bends forward, grabbing his abdomen in pain.

Join the club, I think.

Chris then drops the bar and takes Ray by the neck.

“I should kill you,” he growls, every muscle in his body tense, bulging.

Ray chokes out an unintelligible response.

“Get the hell out of here,” Chris warns, kicking the now-terrified gangster forward. “You come back and I will kill you.”

Ray, still gripping his stomach, nods weakly and takes off across the gas station. I can only stare at gangster boy’s unconscious body strewn across the asphalt. There’s no blood or anything, but it’s still freaky to see.

“Where is it?” Chris asks, breathing hard.

He’s amped up, his cheeks flushed red.

“Chris…where’s what?” I stammer, still shaking with shock.

“Where’d he hit you, Cassie?” he demands. “Did he hit you in the head? Yes or no?”

“What? No.” I grimace. “My side, though. It’s killing me.”

Chris swears and lifts my jacket. He pulls the shirt up underneath and I peer down at the skin right above my hip. It’s turning black and blue right in front of my eyes. “Dammit.” He places his hand on the skin. “I’m sorry, Cassie.”

Our eyes meet. I inhale sharply, realizing I must have dirt and gravel all over my face. Being the self-conscious idiot that I am, I look down and cover my face with my hand, embarrassed. Chris threads his fingers through mine and brings my hand down. “Cassie,” he says, his voice rough.

I look back up. Raw emotion is burning in his eyes.

“We have to get out of here,” I whisper. “There’ll be more like them.”

Chris nods slowly.

He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear and draws me closer. For one awkward yet incredible moment I think he’s about to kiss me. Instead he slips his arm behind my back and starts leading me to the car. I limp and hobble like a grandma on roller-skates thanks to the profound pain radiating through my body. Chris opens the passenger door.

“I didn’t find any gas,” he says, sliding his arms underneath my legs. He lowers me onto the seat, taking his sweet time pulling away from me. My pulse is pounding — but from the traumatic attack or his touch I can’t tell.

“We’ll just have to go as far as we can on what we have, then,” I reply.

He rubs his chin. Closes the door. Walks around the Mustang and gets into the driver’s seat. It’s funny how after just a few hours he’s automatically started driving my car.

“I’m sorry they hurt you, Cassie,” he says. He swallows, every muscle in his body taut, hard. “I won’t let that happen again.”

I smile despite everything.

“Thanks,” I reply in a soft voice. “For saving me.”

He doesn’t answer. He just moves his hand towards the ignition, looking for the keys. “Cassie…?”

 I grin.

“Oh, I have them,” I say. “I didn’t want them to drive off and steal the car.”

I reach down into my shirt and take the keys out, tossing them to Chris. He stares at me, then at the keys, then back at me. A self-satisfied smirk touches his lips. “That’s good to know,” he says.

“What’s good to know?”

“Where you hide your important stuff.”

“Shut up.”

He starts the engine. He takes the Mustang back onto the old road.

“I say we stay away from all cities until further notice,” I propose, wincing every time we hit a bump. “When you were inside I got the crank radio to pick up a signal. They were playing an audio loop of the emergency camps set up for refugees. Apparently the whole state is down.”

Chris swears.

“This could be far-reaching,” he mutters. “Worse than I thought.”

“At least they have someplace for people to go,” I say.

“No,” Chris says, his voice sharp. “Those camps will just be full of panicking people who need help. We need to avoid those kinds of places.”

“Sometimes people need help, Chris,” I point out. “There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Trust me, I don’t think we’re going to want their help.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing.” He shakes his head. “We’ll take a closer look at that hit above your hip once we get far enough away from the populated areas.”

“It’ll be fine,” I say. “It’s just a bruise.”

“It’s still worth checking out,” he insists. “You could have fractured something.”

His hands grip the steering wheel so hard that I’m afraid he’s going to pop it right off. “The President declared a state of emergency,” I say, trying to change the subject. Calm him down.

“No kidding,” Chris laughs, releasing a bit of the tension.

I look down at my hands, still shaking like leaves.

“It’s a cabin,” I blurt out.

“Excuse me?”

“The place I’m meeting my dad,” I explain. “It’s a little cabin we own. We have it stocked with supplies. You…you’re welcome to come if you want.”

“I gotta find my brother first.”

“After you find your brother, then,” I say. “My dad says strength is in numbers, anyway.”