General
Sailing in the Bahamas is a dream come true, right? Clear blue water, suntanning every day, cocktails on the deck with ice cubes clinking, tropical fish, brightly colored coral reefs.
—Tenemos que irnos de aquí. No podemos hacer nada. Ya hay gente ayudándolos y llamando a la policía. Lo único que podemos hacer es buscarnos un problema.
Titubeé.
—¡Dale! ¡Vamos!
Comencé a mover el carro. Tenía un ojo en la carretera y otro en el espejo retrovisor tratando de ver el accidente. Vi luces rojas intermitentes en la distancia. Por un momento quité el pie del acelerador. Entonces lo pisé hasta el fondo, gané en velocidad e hice una izquierda.
At the turnoff to Fastback Beach, Spider stomps the brakes and the car fishtails. He straightens it but we've passed the turnoff, so he cuts a U-turn in the middle of the highway, laying rubber that smokes around us. Then we're on the gravel trail leading down to the beach.
Below us, white in the moonlight, stretch miles of sand. This is a perfect place for drag racing. Spider steps on it and the car jumps ahead. I put my hand down for balance and brace as we hit a dune and become airborne.
There's a masked man in the passenger seat, pointing a gun at me. A masked man. A gun. In my car. "Drive!" He waves the gun at me.
