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With both thugs hot on his trail, he crawled from one stall to the next. As the thugs came after him, vendors yelled as their displays crashed and merchandise broke. When Dylan reached the last stall, he pulled himself up and Hollis screeched up in Salvador’s ‘56 Buick Special.
“Dylan!” she called.
Dylan dove into the car just as the two thugs untangled themselves from the last stall. Hollis hit the gas and they took off. But, not before another classic car, driven by a third thug, slowed down just long enough for the other two to jump inside.
Hollis floored it, trying to lose the other car. “Who are those guys?” she asked.
Dylan shrugged, slipping the Ka-Bar back into his boot. “No clue.”
Hollis noticed his torn, bloody sleeve and her eyes widened. “Oh, shit, you’re bleeding!”
“I’ll be fine,” he said with barely a glance at the wound. They hit a bump and went flying. “We need to get back to the waverunners.”
Pop! Pop!
Bullets whizzed through the air. One cracked the windshield and Hollis and Dylan ducked as low as possible. As more slugs hit the car, Hollis struggled to see through the shattered glass.
“There!” Dylan said and pointed toward a sugar cane field. “We can lose them in there.”
Hollis spun the wheel and the Buick skidded onto a dirt road between sugar cane fields that soared higher than ten feet. The other car roared around the corner in hot pursuit.
“Where now?” Hollis asked. The dense fields towered over them on both sides.
“Pull over,” Dylan ordered.
“What?”
“We need to make a run for it.”
“Are you crazy?”
“We’re never gonna outrun them in this.”
Brow furrowed, Hollis’s foot pushed the pedal against the floor, but the car wouldn’t go any faster. Dylan was right. Suddenly, she slammed on the brakes, spun the wheel and drove straight between two rows of sugar cane. But, they were too narrow and the car got stuck almost immediately.
Hollis and Dylan jumped out and took off together down a row. Taller than corn fields in August, the giant tropical grass soared toward the sky and they didn't look back as they ran, weaving between rows.
When they heard gunshots again, Dylan grabbed Hollis and pulled her down with him. They slid into a giant stalk like it was home base and laid low, breathing hard, listening.
Dylan yanked the knife from its sheath and he focused on the ground in front of them, waiting for the thugs to come trampling down a row of sugar. Suddenly, only the chirp of birds and buzz of insects filled the air. They waited, straining to hear where the thugs were, breathing hard, shoulders pressed together, eye level with the base of the sugar cane stalks.
Crunch.
Their heads jerked toward the sound which was way too close for comfort. Two pairs of boots appeared a couple of rows over. Hollis covered her mouth and Dylan lifted his knife. Sweat dripped down his temples as he waited, nerves taut and ready to strike.
Fuck. They were getting too close.
“Stay here,” Dylan whispered. “I’m going to lure them away.”
Hollis grasped his arm and their gazes met. He gave her a quick, hard kiss then disappeared into the sugar cane stalks. She let out a breath and hunched low, waiting for him to return. The sound of the thugs’ approaching footsteps suddenly faded as they pursued Dylan further into the field and away from her.
They had seen two pairs of boots, Hollis thought.But, hadn’t there been three thugs?
Just as the thought hit her, hands wrapped around her ankles and yanked her back through the row of stalks. Hollis screamed and tried to flip around. She clawed at the ground, but the third thug had her in an iron grip and dragged her up.
“Let me go!” she yelled and tried to squirm away. She punched at his chest, hit him in the gut with an elbow and he doubled over with a grunt. But, the man was bigger and stronger and knocked her upside the head with a meaty fist.
Hollis saw stars and when her legs gave out, the thug grabbed her and tossed her over his shoulder.
