Far From You

58

FOUR MONTHS AGO (SEVENTEEN YEARS OLD)

“Seriously, this is creepy. What are we doing here?”

Mina leaves the keys in my car so the lights will stay on. I get out, shutting the door as Mina props herself up on the hood. Her hair is illuminated by the headlights. She looks unearthly, almost glowing, and I’m struck by it for a moment, half forgetting that I’ve asked a question.

“I told you, it’s for the Beacon.”

“Mina, the only people who come out here are tweekers and couples who don’t mind screwing in a backseat.”

I skirt the edge of the cliff. The drop down is an endless gape of darkness. My leg’s stiff from being in the car. I stretch it out, nearly overbalance.

“It’ll just take a few minutes. Get away from the edge, Soph.”

“I’m feet away from the edge.” Okay, maybe only about a foot, but still, plenty. “What is so important about this story? Amber’s going to be pissed that we’re late.”

“I’ll tell you later. After I figure…After I write it. Seriously, get away from there. I just got you back from your aunt; I’m not gonna let you fall off a cliff. Come over here.”

She snaps her fingers, and I stick my tongue out but walk away from the edge so I’m closer to the car. “You should at least entertain me until your Deep Throat or whoever shows up.”

“I’m so proud of you for that reference.” Mina places a hand against her chest dramatically, wiping away pretend tears with the other.

I kick dirt at her and she squeals, scrambling farther up the hood until she’s pressed up against the windshield. “Okay, I’ll tell you,” she says solemnly. “But you have to promise not to breathe a word.” She looks to her left, then her right, before leaning forward and hissing: “Alien takeover is imminent.”

“Oh no! The little green men are coming!” I fake a gasp, and she beams at me for playing along.

I hear the crunch of footsteps before she does, in that last brief moment when everything is still okay.

Mina’s sitting on the hood, so her back’s to him. I’m facing him, and at first, it’s too dark to see something’s wrong.

Then he steps into the beam of the headlights, and I realize two things in quick succession: the person—a man—coming toward us is wearing a ski mask.

And he has a gun pointed at Mina.

“Mina.” I choke on her name. I have no air; it’s all been sucked out of my lungs. I grab her arm, drag her off the hood of the car.

We have to get away, but I can’t run—I won’t be fast enough. He’ll get me. She needs to leave me behind. She needs to run and not look back, but I don’t know how to tell her this; I’ve forgotten how to speak. I almost fall as her shoulders knock into mine. Our hands grasp as her mouth drops into an O, her eyes fixed on the man as he advances on us.

This is happening. This is actually happening.

Oh God, oh God, oh God.

He stops just a few feet away, saying nothing. But he points to me and gestures with the gun, his meaning clear: Get away from her.

Mina’s nails dig into my skin. My leg shakes; I lean against her, and she takes some of my weight.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Mina whispers between quick, staccato breaths.

“There’s cash in our purses.” I falter over the words. “Keys are in the car. Just take it. Please.”

He stabs the gun at me again, quick and angry.

When I don’t move, he strides forward. He seems impossibly huge in that moment, coming toward us. Terror seizes me so quickly, so harshly, so unlike anything I’ve ever known, that if I could, I’d shrivel beneath the weight of it. Mina whimpers and we stumble back, still clinging to each other, but he’s too fast. I’ve been so distracted by the gun that I don’t see what he has in his other hand before it’s too late.

The rebar connects with my bad leg, smacking the twisted bone. I yell, a wretched, cut-off sound, and I collapse belly-first onto the dirt. My fingers scrabble at the ground, dig in. I need to get up.…I need…

“Sophie!” Mina starts toward me, and then she screams as the rebar swings into my line of sight and glances off my forehead. My vision blurs, my skin splits open. Pain, white-hot, stabs through my skull, wetness trickles down my face, and the last thing I see, hear, feel, is him raising that gun, speaking muffled words behind a mask, then the sound of two shots, fired one after the other, and a warm splatter: her blood. It’s her blood on my arm.

Then there’s nothing. No shooter. No blood. No Mina.

Just dark.