Karter stumbled, knocking his shoulder into the doorframe and pinballing off. I grabbed the back of his shirt to steady him and we raced down the alley. When we hit Market Street, people were still milling around in ones and twos but the street was mostly clear.

“We gotta get out of here!” I shouted.

Karter grabbed my hand. “C’mon!”

We sprinted to the truck and dove inside. Karter fumbled with his keys. Through the rear window I saw the four men running out of the alley, looking up and down the street.

“Go, go, go!” I screamed.

Karter threw the truck in drive and we lurched forward, turning off the main road and speeding toward the house as fast as his ancient pickup could take us. The entire cab rattled and the engine knocked loudly as we picked up speed.

“I gotta slow down,” Karter said. “This rickety shit might fall apart.”

“What the hell is going on?” I fumbled with my phone, dropping it onto the floor of the truck, where it slid under the seat. “Shit!”

“I—I don’t know,” Karter said. “What are we gonna do?”

As we approached the straightaway that led to my house a pair of headlights in the oncoming lane flooded the cab of the truck. I still didn’t see anyone behind us but we’d slowed to thirty miles an hour and the engine kept faltering like it might stall. I didn’t want to get caught on the road alone.

“Flash your brights!” I yelled. “Flash your high beams!”

Karter flashed the truck lights and laid on the horn. The car slowed and pulled onto the shoulder.

I recognized the decal on the side of the vehicle. “It’s the Public Safety people! Pull over!”

We skidded to a stop on the low slope next to the road and I jumped out as a short, broad-shouldered woman exited the Public Safety vehicle and rushed over to me.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

“No! Somebody attacked us in the theater!”

The woman’s expression turned stern. “Get in your vehicle and lock the doors.” As I climbed back in the truck with Karter, the woman got on the radio in her car.

“What is she doing?” Karter asked. “Is she calling the police?”

“I don’t know.”

A few minutes later, a car skidded to a stop behind us. Karter gripped the steering wheel and threw the truck in drive.

“Wait!” I yelled, recognizing the person exiting the car behind us. It was Dr. Grant. She rushed to my side of the truck and I rolled down the window.

“Dr. Grant!” I half screamed at her. “These guys tried to attack us at the movie theater!”

She glanced down the road, then reached for her walkie-talkie.

“Wait!” I opened the passenger door and got out.

“Briseis, what are you doing?” Karter asked.

“Just give me a second.” I steered Dr. Grant toward the back of the truck.