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"What about the other two?" |
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"They had accidents too." |
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Kyna's eyes landed on a pair of too-pale bare feet sticking out past the edge of the couch. "Oh!" |
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The siren was getting closer. |
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"Come on, Kyna." Cyrus pulled her gently but firmly to her feet. |
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Her eyebrows were stuck in the up position. "Why on earth are you wearing that tacky shirt? What happened to your clothes?" |
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Cyrus slipped his automatic into the waistband of Dessotti's jeans, picked up her briefcase and tucked it under his arm. Then he picked up the paper sack containing his old clothing with the same hand and pushed Kyna toward the door with the other. |
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"You can do a fashion critique later. Right now I think we better leave before the police arrive." |
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"Police? Who called the police?" |
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Kyna paused long enough to grab Dessotti's briefcase before she hurried out the door. |
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When they got to the car, Kyna was still woozy so Cyrus drove back to the motel. While she was at the front desk checking out, he threw their suitcases into the Lincoln. Then they fled Seattle. It was late and there was little traffic, but he drove below the speed limit and kept one eye glued to the rearview mirror. To the west, the moon had just found a gap in the clouds and its light tipped the turbid, black Pacific waters with creamy-yellow caps of foam. To the east were the mountains under a crown of angry black clouds that sent waves of icy wind down through the coastal firs to coat the car's windshield with layers of airborne salt. |
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Once they passed Portland, they switched places. Cyrus needed time to think, so he scooted down in the front seat and pretended to sleep. His mind kept straying to the moon, and every time its steely eye peeked through a gap in the trees his skin tingled. |
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