Free Paradise by Jill S. Alexander Page A

back.”
    “Get on out, Paisley.” Levi stood behind Paradise. “Keep your lights off as long as the moonlight holds out. And don’t stop in that thicket for nobody or nothin’.”
    I let up on the clutch and leaned on the gas. I stayed in low gear as I followed the old bootleg road into the woods. Nobody, nothing. Jason, Freddy, Michael Myers. Maybe clowns. I hate clowns.
    I pushed on. Rolling over the deep ruts was a little like crawling across gravel on my hands and knees. And it hurt like that too. It hurt because this shouldn’t be how chasing a dream goes down for me or Lacey or anybody else. If I didn’t have to hide my drumming or the band, I wouldn’t be in this mess. Lacey might even be sober.
    The trees crowded against the Bronco. The moonlight disappeared. I’d driven downhill, deep into the wooded bottom, into a cave-like darkness so black that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face. The night’s rain pooled in the bottom, turning it into a soaked swamp. Water sloshed against the tires. I had to hit the lights or lose the trail.
    I grabbed for the headlight switch but got the turn indicator. Blinking left. Blinking right. I slowed to a creep as I hunted for the lights.
    With no warning, just a jarring thud, the right front tire slammed into a hole. My neck snapped forward as I hit the brake. No clutch. The Bronco coughed and choked to a dead silence in the deep woods. Levi’s warning not to stop snuck up on me. I pushed my back hard against the seat, sinking lower.
    Lacey started singing, “Oh-o, say can you see-eeee…”
    “Shut up, Lacey.” I pushed in the clutch, turned the ignition key, pressed the accelerator. The engine roared.
    “By-y the dawn’s early li-ight.”
    With one foot on the brake and one on the clutch, I hit the blinkers again. Still no lights.
    Lacey hummed for a few seconds; then she grunted as if she was trying to get up.
    No way would I be able to drive us out and corral her at the same time.
    “Shut up, Lacey. Please. Just lay down.”
    I tried clearing my mind, focused on finding the freakin’ lights. But she just wouldn’t stop moaning and grunting.
    I whipped around.
    Lacey was flat on her back across the seat and silent. Not a movement. Not a word. But the grumbling, a deep huffing grunt, continued all around the Bronco.
    I slammed the lock down on my side, reached across, locked the passenger door.
    Twigs snapped in the darkness. A sliver of moonlight sliced through the trees. The thicket shook. Whatever was coming was heavy footed. Not alone.
    Sweat dampened my neck. A cold bead snaked down my spine.
    I revved the engine and slapped at the dash. I found a knob, twisting and turning it and finally pulling it out.
    The headlight beams burst into the thicket. I shrieked. Four. No. Six feral hogs—the size of stocky bulls—darted in the brightness and charged the Bronco.
    “I gotta go pee,” Lacey mumbled.
    WAP. WAP. Lacey slapped at the door. If she got ahold of that handle, got out, the hogs would mangle her.
    “NO! God, Lacey please.” Keeping my foot on the brake, I shifted into neutral and let off the clutch. I reached over the seat and grabbed her arm. “If you never listen to me again, just lay back down.”
    Lacey looked at me like she didn’t know who I was. Then she fell back. Passed out.
    When I turned around, I could see the trail ahead blocked by a hulking black hog. A male one with tusks. Pissed off. Its nostrils flaring with every angry huff.
    I pushed in the clutch, wrestled the stick shift into low gear, goosed the accelerator. Nothing budged. Not the Bronco’s right front tire. Not the wild hog.
    “C’mon.” I tried reverse. Maybe back out of the hole. The tire barely budged. The other front tire squealed as it spun deeper into the mud.
    “Crap.” I knew what I had to do. Gun it and get out of the hole. But I didn’t know if the hog would move. Hitting it would be like hitting a wall head-on.
    I couldn’t honk. If I did, the