No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

She pressed the gas pedal and the Ford inched forward in
the sludgy snow, tires spinning, throwing sheets of hard ice.
Steady pressure under her toes. Not too hard, not too soft.
Grinding, skidding motion — but it was motion.
“Come on. Come on, come on—”
“How far away are the police?” Jay asked.
She remembered the CDOT broadcast Ed had described to
her. The jackknifed semi at the bottom of the pass. “Seven, uh,
maybe eight miles.”
“That’s not far, right?”
Darby spun the wheel into a sloppy half-turn, sliding
Sandi’s truck into icy divots, twisting south now. Downhill,
down the off-ramp, facing oncoming traffic — if there were
any. She searched for the Ford’s headlights and flicked them
on. Ashley and Lars had already been alerted by the lope of
the motor, so stealth was out. They were coming, right now.
“You stole her truck,” Jay whispered.
“She pepper-sprayed me. We’re even.”
The girl laughed, a fragile little sound, as a slice of orange
light appeared on the glass behind her. It was the visitor
center’s front door swinging open. A shaft of light, and in it, a
thin figure.
It was Lars.
Rodent Face. All black shadow. The silhouette raised its
right arm, as casually as a man aiming a television remote, and
Darby understood instinctively, grabbing Jay by the shoulder
and hurling her down against the cold leather seat—
“Get down—”
CRACK.
The passenger window exploded. Gummy shards
chattered off the dash. Jay yelped, covering her face.