“But—”
“Freeze!” the police yell.
Our footsteps splash against the puddles on the ground as we run, Zoe and Trent up front, Adam at my side, and Chris behind us. Adrenaline urges me on, and rain splatters against my face as my hood flies back.
We reach the end of the alley and turn onto Hollywood Boulevard. The police have gotten around the dumpster, but they’re slowed by their heavy armor. We weave between people with shopping bags who gawk at us and jump out of the way. Zoe is the fastest of us, leading the way through the maze of tourists and neon signs, their bright colors now faded and blurred in the rain. I don’t think she has any idea where she’s going. We have no plan, no place to hide, no way to escape. Sooner or later, the cops will catch up to us.
Down the street, I spot a hotel with people milling in front of it. A car stops at the door with signs that read LOS ANGELES TAXI CO. Two people get out, laughing, and I dash toward the car.
“In here,” I yell to the others, slamming my hand in the door before it slides shut. We pile into the car, which is empty and has no driver. That shouldn’t surprise me, but it does.
Chris is last and squeezes in beside me. The door shuts. “Go!”
I glance out the back window, but can’t see the cops through the rain hitting the glass. They have to be close. And the car isn’t moving.
The inside of the car is oval-shaped, with vinyl seats along the edges and a table in the middle. Trent looks around the interior, his hands up. “How do I—”
“Please state your destination,” says the car.
“Dude, where are we going?” Trent asks, his voice frantic.
“Anywhere!” Adam says. “Just pick something!”
“Um—”
“8411 Monroe Avenue,” Chris blurts out.
“Confirmed,” the car chirps. “Navigating to 8411 Monroe Avenue, Los Angeles. Estimated travel time: twenty-six minutes.”
But nothing happens. “Why aren’t we moving?” Chris asks.
An outline of a hand flashes on the top of the table. “Please scan payment.”
“Adam, you have to do it,” I say. “Hurry!”
He presses his hand to the scanner and the car glides forward. The only sound is the rain against the roof and the windshield wipers snapping. We’re all breathing heavily and dripping on the yellow vinyl seats, although from the holes in them and the stuffing sticking out, they’ve seen worse days.
“I think we lost them,” says Chris.
“They’re going to track us.” I stare out the window for any sign of the cops, but don’t see them. “They tracked us before.”
“Trent, where’s that laser pen?” Adam asks.
He digs it out of his jacket. “Here.”
“Throw it out!”
“What?”
“That’s probably how they found us. Get rid of it!”
“Ugh. Fine.”
The window opens and rain flicks inside at us, but Trent throws the laser pen out. For a full minute, I keep my eyes on the road behind us, certain that a cop car will show up at any second. Only after we’ve left Hollywood Boulevard do I sit back in the seat and let myself relax.
I brush damp hair off my face, feeling like a drowned rat. Adam is just as wet, yet somehow still looks put together. His black shirt is soaked through to his skin, showing the outline of his chest and arms. It’s not a bad view at all, but I take off his coat and hand it back to him.
“Thanks.” He doesn’t put it on and instead removes his glasses to wipe water off his face. His hair looks darker when wet, making his blue eyes stand out even more.
Zoe huddles in the corner of the car, her forehead pressed against the window. Chris touches buttons on the table’s screen, and a mini-fridge full of drinks opens underneath. Trent grabs two bags of peanuts and shoves them in his coat pocket.
“Where are we going?” I ask. “Whose address was that?”
“My girlfriend’s place,” Chris says. “I found the address while we were on the train. I need to know if I’m…”
He trails off, but I know what he means. It’s time to find out if we’re all dead.
06:13
The taxi stops outside a drab two-story apartment building with bars on the windows. It reminds me of places where I’ve lived in similar shady neighborhoods.