No Exit by Taylor Adams 2

11:09 p.m.
In the men’s restroom, she told Ashley everything.
The van. The dog kennel. The little girl named Jay from
San Diego. The electrical tape, the bloodied hand, the
unknown menace of a yellow card. Even the farts. And no
matter how quietly she whispered, her words seemed to echo
inside the restroom, ringing off tile and porcelain. She was
certain the others could hear.
Ashley exhaled, visibly shaken. His eye sockets shadowed
harshly under the fluorescent lights, like dark bruises, and for
the first time all night, he looked as tired as Darby felt. And,
another first — he was speechless.
She watched him, trying to get a read. “So.”
“So?” he replied.
“So. We have to do something.”
“Obviously, but what?”
“We stop him.”
“Stop him? That’s vague.” Ashley glanced back, watching
the restroom door, edging closer to her. “Do you mean kill
him?”
She wasn’t sure.
“Jesus, you’re talking about killing him—”
“If it comes to that.”
“Oh, my God.” He rubbed his eyes. “Right now? With
what?”
Darby opened her two-inch Swiss Army blade.
Ashley choked on a laugh. “He’s going to have a gun, you
know.”
“I know.”