Gregorson floored the gas. The red car screeched past them even faster, and cut their path again so that Gregorson had to slam on the break. Victor rolled off the backseat, body slamming against the back of the front seats, while Thorn grasped the neck of his father's seat until his knuckles went white. Their opened drinks tucked into the cup holders in front flew out in streams until the board dripped with sugar and coloring. Gregorson swerved onto the other lane and removed his foot from both break and gas while the red car flung itself into the distance like a blazing gunshot.

Mother's hand gripped his arm once their lights were like fireflies a mile away. "We need to stop somewhere."

"You said you wanted to drive all night. I told you the psychopaths drive this late."

"I know what I said, alright? But I don't want to drive anymore as long as we have to share the damned road with freaks like that."

A whimper rose from the backseats. Mother unbuckled her belt and turned.

"You're okay, Thorn?"

The younger who was still clinging to his father's seat nodded. "A little scared though."

"Me too," she said with a small smile. "But we'll be alright." She reached a hand down to Victor still crumpled on the floor. "How you doing, kiddo?"

He took his mother's hand and pulled himself up to his knees. "What happened?" he asked in a still sleepy voice. "My left side feels wrong."

Gregorson observed the white car as it passed at normal speed. The windows had a heavy tinting job bordering on being illegal, but he swore all he could see was the silhouettes of two women. A mother and daughter perhaps? His eyes flicked to the little red dots in the distance. Then why had they conspired with the red car? They certainly were not following them.

He convinced himself they must have been just as afraid of the red car. They'd wanted to break free from the game as well (heck, they could have been the victims before his family had caught up), but still, they could have been decent human beings by not making him and his whole family believe two groups of psychopaths were hunting them down.

"You'll be fine. There will be a bruise or two though. You know what I've told you both about keeping your seatbelts on."

"Yes, mommy," they muttered in union, but only Thorn clicked his seatbelt in place.

"You complain now but you both would have been better off if you had them on a minute ago... You boys alright with sharing a bed for the night?"

Neither of them said a word, but they didn't deny her either.

"You really want to stop?" Gregorson asked.

"Yes. The first motel we see is where we're stopping. Boys, be on the lookout, alright?"

"What if the first one we see is all dingy and crumbling?" Gregorson thought aloud.

Mother sent him a pointed glare. "We stop anyways."

The boys said they would help her look through yawns, but of course the road dragged on and there was no motel in sight. Endless, timeless, lightless, and open desert alone was their refuge.

An hour later, with his eyes drooping but his hand constantly guiding little sips of what was left of his Monster to his lips, Gregorson picked out an old wooden sign caught between overgrown ferns. It said there were two more miles until a small town would make an appearance. He did not catch the name, but two miles was close enough.

"Honey, you awake?" he whispered. His wife stirred in her seat, but she didn't answer. He glanced behind his shoulder and caught Thorn's long fingers brushing through Victor's thick and blond skater hair while his eyes watched the starry sky passing by. Despite the exhaustion pressing on his eyelids, Gregorson smiled. It wasn't like Victor to collapse on his brother's legs on car rides, but it was so like Thorn to play with Victor's hair when he thought he wouldn't be caught.

He remembered walking into Thorn's bedroom once, perhaps three years ago, to ask if he could borrow his MacBook charger until he found where his had been misplaced. Victor had gone swimming with the Swansman boys from across the street while Thorn had been busy rereading The Picture of Dorian Gray for his honors English class. Sometime between Mother catching him up on their said whereabouts as she welcomed him home and dinner prep time when Gregorson needed the charger, Victor had crashed in on his brother and accidentally fell asleep.

He had just poked his head through the doorframe with the question ready to leave his lips when he saw. Thorn, with his newly battered paperback set aside (no doubt from their fight) had laid next to Victor and traced his freckled cheeks with the back of his nail. He was saying something he couldn't hear, but Gregorson had spun right around so Thorn wouldn't feel horrified at being caught enjoying his brother's presence. Mother had told him many times that he shouldn't worry about how bad the boys fight because the loudest screamer—Thorn—loved the other most. He had not believed her until he caught that sweetness happening.

Glancing into the rear view mirror, he watched Thorn a moment longer. His fingers pinched a strand of hair that had fallen across Victor's nose and tucked it against a cluster behind the ear. He found another stray by the sight of his eyes narrowing and fingers reaching, but all the sudden he froze. Glanced into the window on his side.

Gregorson followed his gaze. A car had moved from the grassy shoulder to the second lane. He couldn't remember seeing a car there.

Thorn's breath caught. In the silence abounding around them, even Gregorson heard the dry swallow. "Daddy, the red car's back."

He pressed on the gas and squinted into the shadows ahead. Where was the town?

The red car rolled up to their side with the window rolled down. "Hey, partner," yelled a waving bearded man in the passenger seat, "You wanna play some cards?"

Howling guffaws from the man driving and a man in the backseat floated into the streams of the silent night. The driver leaned closer to the passenger with a massive smile on his face.

"Come on, boy, we'll show you and your folks a good time."

Gregorson pressed on the brakes, but so did the red car. The three men laughed anew as the backseat window rolled down.

"We just tryin'a be good neighbors," said the third: a bulky middle-aged black man.

Thorn rolled his window down before Gregorson could stop it. "Fuck off you creep," he shouted. "We're not your neighbors."

The driver slapped his hand against the steering wheel. Their smiles melted all at once.

"What did your boy just say to my friend?" seethed the driver.