Hush Hush by Erik Carter (best short novels of all time .TXT) 📗

him had been the hardest thing Amber had ever done. But again she was shocked—and subsequently overjoyed—when her father did the right thing.

There was a spasm in her left thigh, and she took her good hand off the steering wheel for just a moment to massage it. For the longest time, the idea of a wedding ceremony frightened her, the idea of standing in front of a crowd of people, all of them able to see the left side of her body.

Spastic hemiplegic cerebral palsy impaired half of Amber and gave her a slight limp. It had brought her physical discomfort, had shown her the cruelty in the hearts of other human beings, particularly during childhood, and had been an unwelcome defining characteristic.

But it was part of her. So two weeks ago, she strode proudly down the aisle, hobbling, putting the palsy out there, making it visible, front and center.

Her lips pulled open for a yawn, and she brought her right hand up, as though she could stop it. It came out anyway.

She opened her eyes wide and focused on the road ahead, the patch of light on the streaking asphalt. Silver clouds, a large moon, and a spattering of stars decorated a bright and bluish nighttime sky. The swamp was well lit, glowing sapphire shadows, and beside her she could see the shapes of palms and swaying grass, the sparkle of water in the ditch.

She wasn’t far outside of Titusville, in Brevard County where the road was called Cheney Highway, so she knew that the land on the right side of the road was St. Johns National Wildlife Refuge, which had been established in 1971 to save the dusky seaside sparrow from extinction. The efforts had failed. The last known individual died at Disney World, of all places, and the species was declared extinct back in ’90.

Vanished.

Just like all those poor souls in her dark imaginings moments earlier.

A pair of headlights in the distance ahead. It was the first car she’d seen since she’d turned onto 50 and left civilization behind.

As she continued toward it, something felt off. She squinted, leaning closer to the windshield for a better look.

It wasn’t moving. The car was parked diagonally across both lanes on her side of the divided highway. Its headlights blasted across the median and disappeared in the swamp. As she drew closer, she saw that its flashers were on too.

She took her foot from the gas, put it on the brake, flicked on her blinkers.

Two men outside the car. Standing upright and still.

What in the world? It didn’t look like there had been an accident. And it certainly wasn’t a construction project.

Strange.

Slower yet. Within yards. This close, she could see that the men were looking in her direction. But their mouths were sealed tight, no panic, excitement, or pain on their faces.

A slight flash, something reflected by her headlights.

A gun.

One of them was holding a gun! A shotgun.

No, both of them had guns. The second man held a revolver.

Her heart jumped, and her mind instantly flashed to her research, the ramifications she’d worried so much about.

She’d known from the very beginning there could be trouble.

No time to think. She just brought her foot all the way down, smashing the brake pedal. A screech from the tires. The seatbelt cut into her collarbone. Her head went forward, hair flicking into the steering wheel.

And the Bonneville stopped within fifty feet of the parked car. The men looked through her windshield. Their expressions didn’t change. They charged toward her.

She threw the gear selector into reverse, gripped the wheel as best she could with her weak left hand, and tossed her other arm over the passenger headrest as she looked back through the rear window. There were shouts from the men, indiscernible.

She jammed her quivering, spasming left hand into a crook of the wheel, against the airbag, and yanked hard. More squealing from the tires. The tangy smell of burnt rubber. A glimpse through the windshield as she turned around. The men were shouting, approaching, aiming their guns.

She listened for the crack of a gunshot, the metallic thump of a round striking her car, sounds she was certain she would hear.

But they never came.

The Bonneville came to a halt, throwing her against the door. She used her good hand to put it in drive and then smashed the gas pedal. The engine roared. A chirp from the tires, and she rocketed off, driving the wrong way on an empty highway, heading back to Titusville.

They hadn’t fired. They had guns, they charged her, but they hadn’t fired. They weren’t trying to kill her, then.

She tasted that subtle relief for only a moment before a new realization replaced it.

If they weren’t trying to kill her, yet they were armed and blocking her path, what did they want?

She pressed harder against the pedal, her calf straining.

A look to the rearview.

The car was following, lights on.

And yet…

She was getting away. Easily. They weren’t driving fast. They weren’t exactly chasing her, only following.

She couldn’t fathom why, but at that moment she was simply thankful that things were working out the way they were.

Maybe she’d escape these men, this sudden, unknown threat.

Then two additional sets of headlights appeared in front of her, flashing into existence so suddenly and so close that it made her scream.

A pair of cars. A quarter mile away. They must have been sitting at the side of the road, parked in one of the rare paths that led off the side of 50 into the wilderness. They flew up the road toward her, one in each lane, blocking her out.

She yanked the wheel to the side and laid on the brakes. The Bonneville shook horribly, its seams and rivets creaking. More of that smell, the sour odor of annihilated tires.

The seatbelt locked and cut into her collarbone, right where it had earlier. Burning. It would leave a mark.

She looked through the windshield. The cars were closing in, braking. She turned. The car behind her was closing