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waving a map triumphantly. He headed back to the pump, tucking the map in his back pocket. “Do you think we should stay in Vegas tonight?” she asked. She was tired. The nervous energy that had kept her alert all day was fading now that they had arrived in Las Vegas, and her lack of sleep was catching up with her.
    “I guess it’s up to Mr. C,” David said. “I can help drive. Do you have your license?”
    “Yeah.” Reese heard a stranger’s voice outside the window,and she twisted around to see a burly man in an army-green vest, his muscles bulging out of a black T-shirt, gesturing at Mr. Chapman. He was backing away from the gas pump, hands raised, face white. The man in the khaki vest was pointing a gun at him.
    The shock of recognizing the weapon was like having a bucket of ice water dumped over her head.
    The man shouted: “Give me your keys, now!”
    Reese scrambled away from the window, her heart slamming into her throat.
    Chapman was visibly shaking. “They’re—they’re in the car,” he said, but the man didn’t even glance inside the sedan.
    He pulled the trigger.
    The gunshot was so loud that everything Reese heard afterward seemed dull, as if it were coming at her from underwater. David was saying, “Shit, shit, shit.”
    Mr. Chapman was on the ground. He had no face anymore.
    She couldn’t drag her gaze away. It was nothing like the movies. The lifeless weight of Mr. Chapman’s body, the utter stillness of it, could never be replicated on film. Her stomach heaved.
    The gunman turned to look inside the car. Reese saw a snake tattoo writhing up the man’s thick, sweat-soaked neck. Fear crashed through her in a frigid rush. She yelled, “David!”
    “Get out of the car!” the man screamed at them, pointing the gun at the window.
    “David, lock the doors!”
    David scrambled into the driver’s seat, lunging for the door lock. The locks engaged with a
thunk
seconds before the man reached for the passenger’s side door handle. He snarled when the door wouldn’t open.
    David fumbled with the keys that were still in the ignition. The engine roared to life. The man raised the gun again, pointing it at the handle. David floored the gas pedal, and Reese was thrown back hard against the seat as the car jerked forward. They heard a loud clank as the gas nozzle was yanked out of the tank, the hose snapping. There was a second gunshot, and Reese instinctually ducked down in the seat. The car bounced over a bump in the road so high she was sure David had just driven over a curb. She heard a horn blasting as the car turned sharply, throwing her onto the floor. The tires screeched. She heard another gunshot, popping like a firecracker—and then a giant boom.
    “What the hell was that?” Reese was crouched on the floor of the car, the hair on her arms standing up as if she had stuck her finger in an electrical socket. She felt as if she was about to throw up.
    “Jesus Christ,” David breathed, sounding stunned.
    “What happened?”
    “The freaking gas station blew up!”
    Heart pounding, Reese pushed herself up to peer out the rear window. She saw the dangling end of a gasoline hose spitting fire. The pump where they had been parked was engulfed in flame, and fire licked across the oil-soaked concrete. People were running away from the inferno, abandoning their cars. She could no longer see Mr. Chapman’s body or the man who had shot him.

CHAPTER 4
    The tires squealed as David wrenched the car onto the road, throwing Reese to one side again. Adrenaline surged through her as she clung to the top of the backseat, unable to tear her eyes away from the explosion.
    The Chevron sign disappeared behind a plume of black smoke as a woman ran straight out into the road, her mouth open in a scream. A blue sedan slammed on its brakes to avoid hitting her, its tires burning black marks onto the pavement. Car alarms shrieked to life, a cacophony of sirens and honking horns.
    Reese lost sight of the gas station