74
It all happens in an eye-blink. The light is fierce and white. I hear a rush of rubber against the road. The sound of an engine. Tires squealing as a car brakes hard in front of me, a steel fender stopping an inch short of my knees. I react instinctively, putting both hands out to protect myself. They land on the warm hood of the car. Brown and white. A Ford badge on the grill.
I raise my head and see red and blue lights. They flash silently on top of the roof. My arms and legs shake and threaten to give way. My lungs burn. I can't catch a breath.
I see my reflection in the windshield of the car, cast in red and blue. My hair's a mess, the killer's blood spattered over my face and cheerleading outfit. I look down at my legs, illuminated by the headlights. Dirty from the fields. Bare
