He lunged for her, hit her hard with a fist between the shoulder blades. Anne went down, hit the ground, rolled, holding tight to her last chance.

He kicked her as hard as he could.

Anne tucked into a ball like a small animal, trying to protect herself. She got her knees underneath her and ducked her head.

Tommy watched in horror from beside the car as Shadow Man attacked Miss Navarre, hitting her, kicking her, tearing at her like a wild beast from a nightmare.

Tommy had never been so scared. He had never imagined anything as horrible as this. He felt so small and so alone. He was just a little boy and the Shadow Man was a demon.

They needed a hero, him and Miss Navarre. But there was no hero. He had to be the hero. He had to save the day. That was what his father had taught him.

He willed together as much courage as he could find and started running.

“STOP IT!! STOP HURTING HER!! STOP IT!” he shouted at the top of his lungs until his throat burned raw.

He ran as hard as his legs would go, and he hurled himself at Shadow Man like a small missile, fists swinging, feet kicking.

It was the second’s distraction Anne needed.

Crane turned to intercept Tommy’s attack, and she sprang to her feet, turned, and swung with all her might.

The tire iron connected with the side of his head and Anne imagined she felt bone give way beneath its force. Crane staggered sideways, his knees folding under him, his hands grabbing hold of the side of his face.

“TOMMY, RUN!” Anne shouted. “RUN!!! GET IN THE CAR! GET IN THE CAR!”

Tire iron still clutched in one fist, she grabbed at the boy, catching him by the back of his jacket, pulling him around.

“RUN!! RUN!!”

He caught hold of her free hand, and she ran for all she was worth, dragging him with her.

“GET IN THE CAR! GET IN THE CAR!”

Tommy jumped in through the open driver’s-side door and landed on the passenger’s seat.

Anne was right behind him, pulling the door closed after her. She could see Crane in her peripheral vision, lurching toward them, one arm outstretched, the other hand clamped to his face.

The seat was back too far, set for a man. She could hardly reach the pedals, had to hold tight to the steering wheel to keep from falling back.

“HURRY!!!” Tommy squealed, bouncing like a ball in his seat. “IT’S COMING!!”

Peter Crane flung himself against the passenger’s door, his left eye hanging out of the shattered socket as he let go of his face to try to pull the handle.

Anne threw the car in gear and hit the gas. The Jaguar’s tires spun on the damp grass and the car fishtailed away from Crane, leaving him falling.