In the Clearing (Tracy Crosswhite #3)(86)

But then the truck slowed, and for a moment Darren thought maybe Eric had not only heard him but was actually listening for a change. Just as quickly, however, he thought maybe their luck had finally run out and a cop was ahead. He turned to look. In the truck’s headlights, someone was walking the shoulder of the road, a girl in a coat with her back to them.

Eric turned down the music. “Well, look what we have here,” he said, pulling alongside the girl. Kimi Kanasket. Darren swore under his breath, sensing that this was not good.

Kimi wore a wool coat that extended to her knees; her legs were bare to her shoes.

“Hey, Kimi,” Eric said, elbow out the window.

Kimi turned her head but didn’t otherwise acknowledge them. She kept walking.

“Where’re you heading?”

“Home.”

“You want a ride?”

Darren knew what Eric was doing. If he got the chance, he’d screw Kimi just to screw Cheryl Neal and Tommy Moore. But that wasn’t going to happen. No way Kimi would fall for it, which would only make Eric angry.

“No, thanks. I’ll walk.”

“That’s crazy. It’s a long way, and it’s freezing out. Come on, we’ll give you a ride.”

“I’m good. I walk it all the time. My parents are waiting for me.”

“What—you don’t like us?”

Kimi didn’t answer. Darren could see and sense her discomfort. She wasn’t afraid. He doubted much scared Kimi, but she was clearly uncomfortable. “Let’s just go, Eric,” he yelled into the cab.

“Shut up. We’re having a conversation,” Eric said. “What is it, Kimi? You don’t like us? Is it because we’re the Red Raiders?”

Hastey leaned across the cab and let out an Indian war cry.

Idiot.

Kimi rolled her eyes.

“Eric,” Darren said, “let’s just go home.”

“Where’s your boyfriend tonight, Kimi? I heard he dumped you because you weren’t a good enough lay. Or maybe you Indian girls don’t put out.”

Kimi stopped walking, turned, and faced the car. “You know where he is. And you know who he’s screwing. Maybe you weren’t good enough, Eric.”

“Fucking bitch,” Eric said, jerking the Bronco to a stop and reaching for the driver’s door, but struggling to free his seat belt.

The delay gave Darren time to get up and jump down out of the bed. “Run,” he said to Kimi. She looked at him, eyes wide. “Just run. Get the hell out of here.”

Kimi ran.

Eric, delayed by the seat belt, stumbled out of the cab, swearing and yelling at Kimi, who’d bolted into the woods.

Darren wrapped him in a bear hug. “Let her go, Eric. Just let her go.”

“Get off me.”

Darren tightened his grip. “No. Not until you calm down.”

After a few more seconds, Darren felt Eric weakening. “Fine. I’m calm. Okay. I’m calm.”

“Let’s just go home,” Darren said. “Okay? Let’s go home, and let’s play tomorrow night and focus on what we set out to accomplish.”

“I said, ‘Fine.’”

Darren released his grip and Eric shoved him in the chest, but Darren ignored it, not wanting to escalate the situation. Eric was snorting like a bull. He got back in the car and slammed the door, brooding. Darren looked at Archie, who was half standing in the bed like he might jump out, eyes wide. He contemplated grabbing him and the two of them just walking home, but it was more than three miles in the freaking cold, and it was already late. “Sit down,” he said. He pulled himself up and into the bed, but at that moment he knew he was done with Eric Reynolds and Hastey Devoe. Maybe he and Archie could remain friends, but after Saturday night he was through with both those idiots. He had plans beyond football. He wanted to become an engineer and design planes for Boeing, and he wasn’t about to let either of them screw that up for him.

Eric hit the gas, and the Bronco jerked forward, engine roaring, picking up speed. Just as suddenly, the front bumper took a nosedive, tires burning as they caught the asphalt. Darren and Archie were slammed against the cab. Darren’s head whipped backward, striking something solid. The Bronco started to spin, Eric doing a donut in the middle of the road, rubber burning. He punched it, and the Bronco shot down the road in the direction Kimi had run.

“Goddamn it,” Darren shouted over the sound of the heavy-metal music and the wind. He pushed Archie off him and felt the back of his head, which was pounding. He was seeing stars.

The Bronco left the asphalt and plunged into the underbrush, pitching and bouncing. Darren had one hand gripping the roll bar and another holding Archie by the collar of his jacket, struggling to keep from being tossed out of the bed. Hastey was hooting and hollering, shouting out his dumbass war cry.

“Eric,” Darren yelled, his voice a whisper compared to the wind and the radio. “Eric. Stop.”

They plowed down the narrow path. The Bronco started up an incline. Darren was struggling to keep himself and Archie from sliding to the back of the bed, the muscles of his arms straining as he fought to hang on. Tree branches whipped against the bed. He ducked his head. The incline steepened, the engine straining.

Eric yelled, “Shit!” and the next instant, Darren was weightless. His butt came up off the bed of the truck, and he lost his grip on the roll bar and on Archie. It all happened so fast, and yet it seemed so slow. He was airborne, he and Archie flying out of the bed, floating for a second before he slammed down hard against the ground. A shock wave of pain passed through him. He rolled multiple times, striking rocks in a seemingly endless cycle before finally skidding to a stop. He lay there, his body and mind processing what had just happened, trying to assess whether or not he was injured, and if so, how badly. Slowly, he struggled to his feet, sore, but as far as he could tell, not seriously injured. Archie was close by, moaning and mumbling in the dark. Darren walked over to him.