Echoes of Us Read Online Free PDF Page B

decelerate.
    Sixty miles per hour.
    Fifty.
    Thirty.
    “Don’t, Peter.” Ryan kept one hand wrapped around our wrist, but pressed himself forward, toward the front of the van. “Don’t stop.”
    We pulled over onto the side of the road, hitting the rumble strip. Then the sparse grass. Peter put the van in park, but didn’t kill the engine. The police van rolled to a halt behind us, wheels crunching gravel.
    We hadn’t been speeding. Even in his rush, Peter wouldn’t take a chance like that. Why had we been picked out?
    Was it Marion? Had she been sent by the government, after all? She could have memorized our license plate. Peter switched vehicles as often as he could, but we hadn’t gotten the chance since leaving the farmhouse.
    Our heart thundered.
     I said.
    The highway was on our left. If we had to escape, we could only go right, through the tall, brittle grass. There wasn’t cover for a good dozen yards or so, until the edge of the trees.
    “Peter,” Ryan said. His grip was crushing—I would have wrenched away if I weren’t so focused on the police van. Its side door swung open.
    A man stepped out. He wore the pressed black pants and collared shirt of a businessman. But we saw the gun holstered at his hip.
    He moved toward us slowly. His partner stayed behind.
    He was three feet from the back bumper when Peter threw the car into drive.
    We screeched from the curb, lunging in front of a car. The driver blared his horn and stomped on the brakes just in time to avoid impact. Hally screamed.
    The sirens wailed again. Peter’s knuckles shone white on the steering wheel. He swerved left. Cut off another car. Put as much distance as he could between us and the police van hot in pursuit.
    Horns bellowed up and down the highway.
    After Hally’s initial scream of surprise, no one in the van made a noise. No one shouted or said, Peter! or asked him what the hell he was doing—we were going to die, we were going to hit someone—
    “They’re gaining,” Dr. Lyanne whispered, and that was all.
    The police were only two cars behind us. Then one. Then none at all. The road ahead of us cleared of cars.
    The black van drifted left, straddling the center lane. It was still gaining speed, though Peter gunned our engine for all it was worth. The van started to pull up beside us, its front bumper aligning with our back wheel well.
    I saw the collision coming the second before I felt it.
    Metal shrieked. We flew against Ryan. Tumbled against the car door. Something rammed into our shoulder. Luggage.
    The world spun. Wheels skidded. Everyone careened in the opposite direction, Ryan’s body slamming into ours even as he fought to grab on to the seat. Our head cracked against the window.
    The pain blinded. It took us what seemed like minutes but was probably seconds to realize the car was no longer moving.
    Something choked us—our purse strap. Dizzily, we tugged at it. Then Ryan was there, helping us wrench the purse free from a pile of suitcases.
    “Eva,” Ryan was yelling in our ear. “Eva, get up!”
    The blow had jostled my thoughts beyond comprehension. But I understood the terrified urgency in his voice, and I understood get up and I went where his arms pulled me. He yanked the side door open. A suitcase tumbled out, smashing into the grass.
    Grass. We’d spun back to the curb.
    I tried to shake my head clear. Groaned as the nausea increased. Where was everyone? Was everyone okay?
    “Jaime,” I gasped. I turned, searching for him. The others could all run, but some days Jaime had trouble just with walking.
    “Peter’s got him,” Ryan said. “ Come on , Eva—”
    He dragged us from the van, both of us tripping on the uneven terrain. I glanced back. Saw Peter pull Jaime from his seat. The boy wrapped his arms around the man’s neck. We were almost to the line of trees, but we were leaving them behind—the others were gone, must have run ahead—Peter and Jaime had to