No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

Darby huddled low under a hailstorm of settling glass. The
gunshot echoed like a firecracker in the thin air. Her body
urged her to stay down in her seat, as low as possible, beneath
Rodent Face’s line of fire, but her brain knew better: He’s
coming toward us. Right now.
Go, go, go—
She found the gas pedal with her toes and stomped it. The
truck surged forward, engine thrumming with power, knocking
them back into the seats. The world heaved. Luggage thudded
noisily in the back. Then Darby righted herself against the
clammy leather, peered sideways over the steering wheel —
just exposing an eye, an inch — and guided Sandi’s F150
toward the highway.
Jay grabbed her wrist. “Darby—”
“Stay down.”
“Darby, he’s shooting at us—”
“Yes, I noticed—”
CRACK. A bullet pierced the truck’s windshield and
Darby flinched. A chilly breeze whistled to her left; her side
window was blown out, too. Snowflakes blew inside, slashing
her cheek.
“He’s chasing us,” Jay said. “Drive faster—”
Darby was trying. She increased pressure on the gas, and
the truck fishtailed but accelerated. The tires sprayed ice chips
through the windows, peppering the interior with cold grit.
Lars fired again — CRACK — and the truck’s side view
mirror exploded. Jay screamed.
Darby tugged her down with her free hand. “Keep your
head down. It’s fine—”
“No, it’s not.”
“He’s not going to catch us—”
CRACK. Another hole punched through the windshield, a
jagged star-shape above Darby’s head. But Lars’s gunshots