Fangs | mlm

Chapter 28 - On edge

But he didn't say anything. He simply followed the two of them to the door, and then outside. His breath began to come out as white clouds of smoke. A shiver made him wrap his arms around himself. And continuing the embrace, he dragged himself behind them; surprisingly, the stranger was leading them, not William.

Down the beaten path they went, two empty fields surrounding them on both sides. They peeked over their shoulders every now and then for fear that the vampires would show up. And soon there was a car, not a van, under a cover that they had to pull aside. The car seemed so tiny compared to the vans they had driven. It appeared to be a kind of reddish shade, although no one could confirm it because of the dark, which made almost every colour appear a shade of grey.

Eleonora and Trevor sat at the back, while William and the stranger at the front, the latter settling behind the wheel. Having made sure the headlights wouldn't turn on, he started the engine and stepped on the gas pedal. And they drove onto the lane, which seemed to have more holes in it than the asphalt itself.

The time spent in the car was wordless. As the radio didn't play, the engine was the sole noise inside, drowning out any other, including their heavy breaths. And yet soon another noise became audible, as if the car had been given another engine. However, no one believed it; they weren't so delusional. They knew another vehicle had been following them—their headlights were also unlit—and now almost caught up with them.

William looked into the rearview mirror and saw a van, the driver's face unrecognisable. He exchanged glances with the stranger, who nodded at him. Then he turned to the other two.

"Keep your heads down. We're in the chase," William informed them.

Eleonora and Trevor looked at each other, their faces speaking terror. They didn't know what to do. What did the chase even mean? They slid down their seats and curled up on the floor, making sure their heads weren't visible in any window.

Meanwhile, William opened the glove box and reached into it. He went through it until he took out a gun. To him, it looked like a gun the police would use, heavy and black. He unlocked it and peered over his shoulder.

And then nothing was happening for a while. They drove in silence, two roars of two different engines becoming one in their ears. Eleonora took the brunet's hand in hers when the atmosphere had become too tense, too uncertain, and squeezed it so that his skin wrinkled and reddened.

Suddenly, it was no longer quiet. Shards of glass flew into the air and landed on their backs or the floor, scattered in a minefield-like structure. Their instinctive reaction was raising their arms over their heads and squeezing their eyes shut. They couldn't help screaming at the top of their lungs. And at the same time the bullet hit the headrest and got stuck in it, a bang joined the clamour. The moment seemed so long as if endless, like their apprehension would never decrease.

William shouted, "Are you alright?" and looked back, when it seemed to have calmed down.

No one answered him at first. They were too terrified to check. What if someone wasn't alright? But when they did check, despite the overwhelming panic and shock, they were fine, to their awe. Someone had almost shot them, and they were fine.

"Yeah," Eleonora finally managed to say.

William nodded and said, "Good". A sneer appeared on his face. He turned the crank to open the window, from which he then leaned out. Standing flat on his feet and leaning out the window, he began to shoot at the van, the flames brightening his face in the night-time.

He couldn't settle on one shot. It was thus a series of shots coming at the van. He could hear the windscreen and rearview mirror shatter, but no screams or voices to follow. It meant that his bullets must have missed them, although it wasn't so terrible as he'd taken his revenge already.

It was quiet again. For a moment they could breathe in relief. They spent this time trying to relax, to soothe their hearts so they would no longer palpitate. It proved difficult in such an environment. However, it wasn't a situation that they hadn't been in before—it was as if the chase with the witch hunter had repeated.

But then the other roar was becoming more clear and louder. The stranger stepped on the gas pedal flat, but the car didn't start moving faster. And so the van seemed to catch up with them. It wasn't visible in the rearview mirror on William's side any more. It must have switched to the other lane.

Trevor stretched out his head to look out the window, and saw the shining hood of the van. So he asked, "They're catching up. What are we going to do?"

"Um, hope for the best, I guess," William said, looking out the driver's window; his words didn't soothe anyone.

Now the van was going next to them on the other lane. They wondered for a moment why they hadn't overtaken them. However, one of the windows opened, and Ashe emerged from behind it. She was holding a rifle or a shotgun. No one had time to settle on what it was, as they aimed it at them and immediately pulled the trigger, the bullet coming out of flames. They weren't nice after all.

Trevor felt something sting him like a bee or a wasp. He didn't realise that it was the bullet that had hit him until Eleonora took his face in her hands; he saw panic and terror in her eyes. For a moment, he felt like he wasn't himself any more but someone else, like a spectator watching the three of them shout, scream or cry in horror, watching all their faces in fresh sweat, watching every muscle of their bodies tense up. He felt like he was drifting further and further away from the car, from the pain—this agonising pain. For the first time in years, he might have been calm.

One of the last things he would remember was shoving Eleonora's hands away. The other was the expression on William's face. It spoke fear he'd never seen before. He thought: Am I dying? Is it actually happening? And the worst thing was that he didn't know if he had the strength to fight it. How was he to fight death? He wasn't sure if he would survive. He was exhausted. He couldn't take the suffering any more. Somehow his body had to unplug itself.

And there it was. The very last thing he would remember was William shouting, "Stay with me, Trevor! Stay with me! Don't go! Do you hear me!? Trevor!" These sentences and his voice he'd grown fond of would play on repeat in his head until he lost consciousness and everything became dark. It was as if the theatre curtain had been dropped and he was the sole actor on stage, panting for breath but proud of himself.