The town filled with people running in every direction at once, every one of them pouring out of that small building and going wherever their legs pointed—some barefoot, some still holding drinks, some with blood on their clothes. Screams overlapped. Bodies collided and kept moving.
Daphne's car sat where she'd parked it, opposite the restaurant. Door hanging open, interior light still on, keys in the ignition.
She'd tried it. The engine had turned over once, coughed, and died. Not once more. Not at the worst possible moment in her life. She'd left it standing there with the door open and run straight into the road, arms out, and been lucky enough to find a black SUV that actually stopped.
Vince arrived beside the abandoned car in a burst of black smoke that spread low across the asphalt from the point where he landed. The smoke curled around the open door and the rear bumper before thinning.
He lifted his head and pulled the air in through his nose, slow and deep.
