flash
The air in the tiny counseling room tasted of stale paper and cheap disinfectant. Principal Ortega’s hands were folded tightly over her clipboard, her knuckles white. Across from us, ten-year-old Milo Ashford—a boy I hadn't seen since he was a toddler—sat curled into himself like a question mark. / Chapter 8 / 10

Chapter 8 - COLLISION ON THE TARMACLena didn't slow down.

She slammed her foot harder on the accelerator, driving the battered Ford straight through the broken perimeter fence, scattering warning cones and crunching over gravel like an armored vehicle.

"What are you doing?!" I yelled, grabbing the overhead handle.

"Ending this!" Lena roared.

The Ford rocketed across the tarmac, heading directly toward the side of the idling Cessna.

Ethan turned around just in time. His face twisted in absolute horror as he saw our rust-bucket sedan barreling toward him at seventy miles per hour. He shoved Owen and Milo away, stumbling backward as Lena slammed on the brakes.

SCREEECH!

The Ford spun in a violent 180-degree arc, slamming its rear bumper directly into the landing gear of the Cessna with a sickening metallic crunch.

The plane shuddered violently, its right propeller clipping the concrete with a shower of fiery sparks before grinding to a smoking, dead halt.

Before the dust could even settle, I flung my door open and threw myself out of the car.

"Milo! Owen!" I screamed, sprinting across the tarmac.

The hired muscle lunged toward me, raising the heavy metal wrench, but before he could take another step, Lena slammed into him from the blind side like a linebacker, sending both of them crashing hard onto the concrete.

I didn't look back. I reached the base of the plane stairs where Owen and Milo were tangled together, crying out in terror.

"Mom!" Owen sobbed, throwing his arms around my waist.

"I've got you, I've got you both," I panted, pulling them both down off the metal steps and shielding them with my body.

From the cockpit door of the disabled plane, Ethan staggered out, bleeding from a gash on his forehead, holding a heavy black leather briefcase in one hand and a small, heavy object in the other.

His eyes were wild, unhinged, completely divorced from reality.

"You ruined everything!" Ethan screamed over the whine of the dying engines. "If I'm going down, nobody walks away!"

He raised his arm.

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