Read Emily Kimelman - Sydney Rye 04 - Strings of Glass for Free Online Page B

sprinting back into the
trees as the men closed the distance between us.
    She
struggled to keep up with me but I yanked her forward until we reached a small
cement shed in the thick of the trees. I pulled her to the far side and rested
against the wall, my breathing even.
    “Stay
here,” I said. She grabbed the sleeve of my coat.
    “Please,”
she said, struggling for breath. “Don’t leave me.” Her eyes were
black and huge. Her accent British.
    “Stay,”
I said,
slipping back into the trees. There was garbage all over the place. The men
stomped through it, crackling on plastic water bottles, and tinging on cans.
They were walking around like they were not vulnerable; like
they were the lions. Ha!
    Crouching
I ran back toward the beach. One of the men, fat and disgusting, his belly
hanging exposed under his too-short shirt yelled
something and another man answered laughing. He was about twenty
feet into the trees and alone, didn’t even have a flashlight. What was his
plan, beat me to death with his dick?
    I
circled around my would-be attacker and then leapt
lightly onto his back bringing my pipe across his neck and squeezing. The man
smelled like rotten meat and sweat. He brought his chubby hands up and tried to
pry the pipe from his throat but quickly dropped to his knees, then onto his
face. When his breathing stopped so did the pressure on my pipe. I slid back
behind a big tree trunk waiting for the other man they’d sent after us.
    He
called out once, twice, and by the third time,
he’d found his friend laying lifeless. Before the yell of warning could leave
his lips I brought the lead pipe hard behind his knees. He grunted as much in
surprise as pain and I stepped forward bringing the pipe across the back of his
head. He fell onto the dead man and I ran back to the woman.
    She was
huddled against the wall, her torn kurta slit up to expose her bare hips.
    “Here,
take my pants.” I unbuttoned and pulled them down, glad that I wore boy
shorts rather than bikinis underneath. I pulled them over my worn low-top
Converse
sneakers and pushed them at the woman.
    She took
them with a trembling hand. “Thank you.”
    “Come
on, we need to keep moving. I only got two.”
    She
stepped into the jeans, gingerly pulling them up over her hips. I held my hand
out and she took it. I led her quickly back toward my bike. The road continued
down to a tourist town. I hoped that we could ride away without them noticing.
    But
before we even reached the Bullet I heard the whine of the van’s engine and the
buzzing of several scooters cutting through the night. I climbed onto the
motorcycle and she got on behind me. She wrapped her arms around my waist and
clasped her fingers.
    I
cranked it once, twice, three times, but
the Bullet stayed silent. Shit! The van rolled down the road, its high beams
reflecting off the beat up chrome of the Bullet and
making the night around us seem that much darker. “Come on,
baby!” I yelled, jumping onto the crank
hard. A putter. “Now!” I jumped again, shaking
the bike, willing the damned engine to start.
    A
scooter shot out past the van and I made eye contact with the man riding it
right as the Bullet backfired with a loud bang and a puff of black smoke. I
took a deep breath and stomped on the crank one more time. The engine came
alive, vibrating the bike. She was ready to ride.
    I peeled
out spraying rocks. The ting of them hitting the scooter told me how close they
were. I lowered over my handles; the woman clung to me,
pressing her face against my back. The road sloped down sharply and I took it
at full speed. My headlight caught a rut in the road just in time for me to
choose a bank. The Bullet was faster than the
scooter and checking my mirrors I saw that I’d gained some distance but there
were three scooters and a van following us.
    The road
turned to pavement and quickly the town surrounded us. Tourists,
sunburned and dreadlocked, meandered along the side of the
road. They looked