Free Already Dead by Jaye Ford Page B

clenching her teeth and holding on tight as the tyres fought for purchase on the dirt. Gravel sprayed the chassis in a deafening clash. Then they were shuddering toa stop, no time to check the rear-view before Brendan was clutching at her wrist, pulling on her arm. ‘Same as before,’ he yelled, already half out the passenger door.
    She grabbed for the handle on her side. ‘No.’
    â€˜We stay together.’ He didn’t give her a choice. As he hauled her across the seats she hit her arm on the centre console, bashed a knee into the gearstick, crushed a hip against something solid; his fingers dragging at her skin, the force threatening to tear her arm from its socket.
    Outside, the rush of air from the motorway hit like a cyclone. She glanced backwards, saw the dark-blue sedan rocking to a stop on the dirt, a cloud of dust rising from its tyres, red lights flashing on the windscreen. He was a cop? She wanted to scream for help. Wanted to run for her life.
    â€˜Move!’ Brendan bellowed over the continuous howl of traffic.
    â€˜Brendan, let go.’
    He jerked her arm, pulling her around the doorframe. ‘ Come on! ’
    â€˜It’s the police.’ She hauled against him, dug her runners into the dirt, but they were slipping, sliding on the gravel as he dragged her forwards.
    â€˜No. They’re here. I’m not ready. I’ve got to get to Kate.’ His voice was all but swallowed up by the roar of a truck and the vortex of air that grabbed at her singlet, sandblasting her arms and face with grit.
    Twisting, trying to break free, she saw the sedan’s door open.
    â€˜Come on . We can still make it from here,’ Brendan shouted.
    Make it where? They were kilometres from anywhere. Just bush and tarmac and a wall of traffic. Behind them, aman’s head and shoulders rose above the door. His hands rested on the open frame.
    No, not resting. Holding a gun, double-fisted. Aiming it at them.
    â€˜ Nooo! ’ she shouted. Turned her head, yelled it at Brendan too.
    Then Brendan was in her face, grabbing her by the shoulders, pushing her down and making her run bent over like they were dodging bullets. Christ, had the guy fired already? Then she saw where Brendan was heading, where he was taking her. To the edge of the blacktop.
    She fought his hold, yanking, shoving, skidding, desperate. ‘No, Brendan, no .’
    â€˜We can lose him over there. We’ve just got to get across the road.’
    â€˜It’s a fucking motorway.’ Wind pulled at her as though it was trying to help him.
    â€˜Move.’
    â€˜ No . We won’t make it.’ A truck’s horn blared, a howling noise that mimicked her own cry as it passed. She could see the edge of the tarmac up close now. Tiny pebbles held together by shiny black tar. This close, the airstream was a force, sucking at her, tearing at her face, filling her nose, her ears. She thought of Zoe and a wail poured from her throat, the sound disappearing on the wind.
    â€˜I’ve got to get to Kate and Scotty.’ Brendan was ordering, pleading. There was terror in his voice, in his eyes. Panic and irrationality.
    Then his attention skipped away from her. Pupils moving fast, taking in what she’d heard behind her. Not just the roar of moving vehicles but tyres slithering to a stop on gravel, a helicopter up above. She couldn’t seethem, couldn’t take her eyes off the man trying to drag her to her death, but she saw the flicker of decision in his and knew desperation when she saw it.
    He had her by the forearms. She turned her hands and closed fingers around his wrists, hollered into the wind, ‘Don’t, Brendan.’
    â€˜They need me.’
    â€˜You won’t make it.’
    He paused, the pull on her arms suddenly letting up as his focus settled on the road behind her. She turned her head, saw a minibus in the inside lane, something yellow behind it, and flashing lights further