Chapter 8 - The Cornered Truth
The clash between the two men was brutal and instantaneous. Vance swung the tire iron with feral strength, targeting Tom’s head. Tom dodged to the side, the metal bar whistling through the air and smashing into the hood of the rental car with a sickening crunch.
Tom swung his heavy flashlight, catching Vance squarely across the jaw. Vance stumbled back, spitting blood, but the pain seemed to only fuel his rage. He tackled Tom around the waist, driving both of them to the gravel ground.
I scrambled out of the broken truck door, my hands bleeding, my heart in my throat. "Tom!" I screamed.
"Stay in the truck, Rachel!" Tom yelled as he struggled on the ground, pinning Vance’s arm to prevent the tire iron from coming down on his chest.
Vance was older, but he had the desperate, unnatural strength of a man possessed by madness. He managed to free his hand, bringing the butt of the tire iron down onto Tom’s shoulder. Tom groaned, his grip loosening.
I looked around the gravel lot desperately for anything to use as a weapon. Near the old garbage bins sat a heavy, rusted metal fire extinguisher. I ran to it, lifting its awkward weight with both hands, and sprinted back toward the struggling men.
Vance had managed to roll on top of Tom, his hands shifting to Tom’s throat, choking the life out of my husband. Tom’s face was turning purple under the dim fluorescent lights.
"You took everything from me," Vance gasped, his voice manic. "Sarah was my sister!"
"You killed her!" Tom choked out, his hands clawing weakly at Vance’s wrists.
I didn't hesitate. I swung the heavy fire extinguisher with every ounce of strength in my body, striking Vance squarely across his back.
The impact made a dull, heavy thud. Vance cried out in pain, his grip breaking from Tom’s throat as he tumbled sideways onto the gravel.
Tom rolled over, coughing violently, gasping for air. I dropped the extinguisher and knelt beside him, pulling him up. "Are you okay? Are you okay?"
"Get back," Tom gasped, pushing me behind him.
May you like
Vance was already pushing himself back up from the gravel, his eyes burning with a murderous light. He looked at me, then at Tom, and then his eyes drifted past us—toward the truck where Emma was looking out through the cracked window.
"Emma," Vance whispered, a horrifying smile breaking through his bloody teeth. He raised the tire iron again, preparing to lunge past us toward the child.
