No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

sticky, duct-taped in patches. A crunchy sea of Taco Bell trash
on the floor. Lars’s plastic model airplane. The van’s interior
was still as warm and moist as an exhaled breath, the
upholstery still reeking of clammy sweat, dog blankets, and
the piss and vomit of a dead girl.
The ignition was right there.
No. The snow was too deep. She’d seen the highway with
her own eyes. State Route Seven was buried, unrecognizable,
all hopeless powder. Four-wheel drive or not, the Astro would
high-center in seconds, trapping her on the on-ramp, and then
the brothers would run her down and shoot her through the
window—
What if it doesn’t?
What if this, right now, is my only chance to escape?
The keys chattered in her right hand. She closed a fist
around them. She desperately wanted to slide into the killers’
vehicle, to turn the engine, to shift into gear, to just try and
drive it, to just please try—
Coming closer: “Daaaaarby—”
Make a choice.
So she did.
She slammed the door. Pocketed Ashley’s keys. And, with
the Brothers Garver still pursuing somewhere behind her, she
circled around the vehicle on aching bones and ran for the
orange glow of the visitor center. She had to warn Ed and
Sandi. She had to do the right thing. They’d all escape the
Wanapani rest area together. No one else would die tonight.
Ed and Sandi, I can still save you both.
She had, at best, sixty seconds before Ashley and Lars
caught up to her. Sixty seconds to make a new plan. She
looked back at that cartoon fox, at the nail gun in its furry
hand, that stupid slogan now a ghoulish promise:
WE FINISH WHAT WE START.