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I am hardwired to love and protect that woman.

We’re pa.s.sing through Bucktown.

In the distance, an entire city block is hurling hundred-foot flames at the sky.

—

The interstate is dark and empty.

Amanda reaches over and pulls the mask off my face.

The smell of death from inside my home lingers in my nose.

I can’t shake it.

I keep thinking of Daniela, lying dead under a blanket on our front porch.

As we pa.s.s to the west of downtown, I glance out my window.

There’s just enough starlight to profile the towers.

They’re black, lifeless.

Amanda says, “Jason?”

“What?”

“There’s a car following us.”

I look in the rearview mirror.

With no lights, it looks like a phantom riding my b.u.mper.

Blinding high beams and red-and-blues kick on, sending splinters of light through the interior of the car.

A voice booms through a megaphone behind us: Pull your vehicle onto the shoulder.

Panic swells.

We have nothing to defend ourselves with.

We can’t outrun anything in this piece of s.h.i.+t.

I take my foot off the gas, watch the speedometer needle swing counterclockwise.

Amanda says, “You’re stopping?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

I ease down on the brake pedal, and as our speed falls, I veer onto the shoulder and bring the car to a stop.

“Jason.” Amanda grabs my arm. “What are you doing?”

In the side mirror, I watch a black SUV pull to a stop behind us.

Turn off your vehicle and drop the keys out the window.

“Jason!”

“Just trust me.”

This is your last warning. Turn off the car and drop the keys out the window. Any attempt to flee will be met with lethal force.

A mile or so back, more headlights appear.

I s.h.i.+ft the car into PARK and kill the lights. Then I lower my window several inches, stick my arm through, and pretend to drop a set of keys outside.

The driver’s-side door to the SUV opens, and a man in a gas mask steps out with his weapon already drawn.

I throw the car back into gear, hit the lights, and floor the accelerator.

I hear a gunshot over the roar of the engine.

A bullet hole stars the winds.h.i.+eld.

Then another.

One rips into the ca.s.sette deck.

Looking back, I see the SUV now several hundred yards down the shoulder.

The speedometer is at sixty and climbing.

“How far are we from our exit?” Amanda asks.

“A mile or two.”

“There’s a bunch of them coming.”

“I see them.”

“Jason, if they catch us—”

“I know.”

I’m doing a little over ninety now, the engine straining to maintain speed, the RPMs inching into the red.

We blow past a sign giving notice that our exit is a quarter mile ahead on the right.

At this speed, we reach it in a matter of seconds.