Page 39 of The Circle

It sucked before, but it really sucks now as I’m trying to stand and getting smacked all over the goddamn place.

And, very suddenly, I get hard confirmation that Danny and Alec are okay. I hear an incredibly familiar sound. It is a sound that isn’t uncommon, but something about hearing it from Danny and Alec is pacifying in a way that has always brought me joy when those two are involved.

The sound of gunfire.

Bullets ping off the outside of the van and I can tell they’re from guns fired by Alec and Danny. Ping. Ping. Ping, ping, ping.

It’s a weird, atonal, violent melody. Beautiful music to my ears as their shots ricochet and I stumble and fall, stand, and stumble and fall again.

I take another breath. I smile.

… I feel safe.

DANNY

“He’s turning up ahead, bru!”

“I fuckin’ see!” I shout back.

There are a bunch of sheep blocking the road in front of us. Because of course there fucking are.

I saw them about five seconds ago and got really goddamn happy because that meant Cillian was going to have to stop or else just plow through a bunch of sheep that seem to have wandered out from wherever they’ve wandered and are blocking the road.

And while there’s a reasonable argument to be made that he wouldn’t care and could just mow ’em down, I also think it might be, like, a dealbreaker for getting into heaven or something for an Irishman to kill sheep? I dunno. Not like the guy doesn’t have fifty other things that would prevent him from getting into Irish heaven, if such a thing exists, but I guess he has a soft spot for fuckin’ sheep because he turns.

Into a forest or something.

Because of course there’s a fuckin’ forest that he’s able to turn off into. Why wouldn’t there be? Christ, will this day never end?

He takes the van all herky-jerky, wobbly-bouncy into the cover of the trees and Alec yells at me again, “Look, look! He’s turning!”

“I FUCKIN’ SEE!” I yell back.

I turn the bike squealing in the direction of the van. We pass a wooden sign that says we’re now in “Cairn Wood,” just below a sign that reads, “Forest Service.”

Great. We’ve already shot up one tourist landmark and now we’re about to lay waste to a national park or something. Once we get out of this and get Alec’s kid back to her mom, I’m never coming to Ireland a-fuckin’-gain.

I don’t prepare Alec for the little bump up ahead that we’re about to hit because there’s no time. I just smash into it at full speed and it sends both of our asses off the bike seat and up into the air.

I grip the handlebars tightly and Alec grips me just as tightly. Maybe even a little more tightly than is absolutely necessary. It’s not just a reactive tightening of his arms around me. There’s a kind of intention behind it. Like he’s letting me know that he’s still there. That he doesn’t plan on going anywhere. Or something like that.

Or maybe I’m just projecting. I dunno. Doesn’t matter, I suppose.

We land back down with a hard thwomp and the bike feels like it might just shatter apart underneath us. But it doesn’t. It holds on. But I don’t know how much more abuse this thing can take, so I shout, “Shoot it!”

“What?” Alec yells over the roar of the bike’s engine and the general bedlam.

“Shoot the fuckin’ tires out!”

“But Christine—”

“I know! But if he gets away, we’ll have an even bigger problem! Shoot!”

I should have just tried to take the wheels out before I even let Cillian lead us on the goddamn chase, but I didn’t want to risk Christine’s safety at that moment. Which feels counterintuitive, but which made sense at the time.

But now, seeing that he’s either going to get away or wreck the fuckin’ van anyway, I don’t see a lot of other good options.

Alec draws a pistol up next to my shoulder and fires on the van. The sound of the gun going off that close to my ear makes me wince, but I hold onto control of the bike.