“Defeat or escape?” Maggie asked.

“Oh, defeat,” Suzanne said. “For sure, defeat.”

Back in the car, as Maggie drove past a series of increasingly large houses on the town’s south side while we made our way toward the farmland-dominant Woodside, I craned my neck toward the back seat to update Tico and Suzanne.

“So, wait, they’re after you right now?” Suzanne asked.

“Yeah, that seems to be the case,” I replied.

“Well, what seems to be the case is probably not the case,” Suzanne said. “Have you seen how many people are working at the plant and how many soldiers are out on the road? If they wanted you, they’d have you.”

“Gotta say,” Tico chimed in, “girl makes a lot of sense.”

“Call me ‘girl’ one more time and see what happens,” Suzanne told Tico with a face of sudden danger.

“I’m sorry, babe,” he said, and then didn’t duck fast enough as she boxed his ear. Hard.

“Wow.” I laughed, almost as horrified as I was impressed.

Then came the screech.

Crunch.

Glass flying.

Air bags billowing.

Screams.

Darkness.

CHAPTER 41

Maggie

I COULDN’T SEE. I groped for the seat next to me and felt Jordan’s arm, which was warm and damp.

Had I been out? For how long? And what was wrong with my eyes? I put my fingers up to my face and felt stickiness. Blood. I ran the back of my hand over my eyes, and light started to stream in. The first thing I saw were Jordan’s brown eyes staring straight at me, unblinking.

Like he was dead.

But then he shifted in his seat and let out a groan. I heard rustling behind me and saw Suzanne reaching over to Tico, patting him on the cheeks. He wasn’t moving.

I fumbled for my door handle, stumbled out, and took in what had happened. A black SUV had T-boned us on the passenger side and had spun away in the intersection, its front hood accordioned.

I opened the back door on my side, and Suzanne, saying nothing, grabbed Tico under the armpits and assertively yet carefully yanked him out of the car and laid him onto the blacktop. I went around the car to open Jordan’s door, but the handle was cratered. He waved and shouted, “I’m okay.” Phew. He scooted over the driver’s seat and got out.

Suzanne was on her knees, leaning into Tico’s ear and whisper-ordering, “Come on, Tico, get the fuck up.”

I heard a faint grunt emerge from the back of Tico’s throat—a good sign, at least as long as it wasn’t a death rattle.

“That’s my guy,” Suzanne continued. “On the count of three, you’re going to open your eyes. One … two … three!”

Tico’s eyes popped open and took us all in.

“Hey, guys,” he said.

I rubbed the bottom of my shirt over my face, and it came back streaked with blood but not soaked. The gash on my forehead wasn’t too deep, and my left wrist, though sore, didn’t feel like anything was torn or broken.