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turning away from the roadblock. The sweep of his headbeams lit four black shapes rushing in. Coming at them. A man with an axe. A woman with a tire iron. A woman who seemed to have no weapon and a kid maybe twelve or thirteen from the size of him with something bigger than a softball swinging at his side. |
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From behind Trev came a quick, high sucking sound. |
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'Oh my God!' That was Francine. |
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It isn't a softball, Trev realized as he rammed the pedal to the floor. |
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It was the head of a girl, and the kid was swinging it by its long hair. |
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He figured he could speed through the group. Not touch any of them. |
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But if he tried that, the bastard with the axe might bash the windshield, let the rain in. So he steered for the axeman. |
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The guy didn't try to dodge clear. He met the car face on, swinging the axe down from straight overhead with both hands as if he planned to split a log. It chopped into the hood. Then its handle caught him in the belly, hoisting him off his feet. |
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Something whacked the windshield in front of Trev's face. |
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The head. Face first. The blow mashed its nose flat. Teeth broke from its open mouth. Pale blurs of eyes glanced in at him. Then the head bounced away and through his side window Trev saw the kid stumbling backward, still hanging onto the thing's hair. |
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