I have enough sense to call 911 even though my instinct is to run to Austin after the first shot. Ray heads back into the house just as I finish talking to the operator. Right as I open my car door so I can follow Austin's bloody tracks into the trees behind the trailer, I feel someone yank my arm with enough force to dislocate shoulder.

I scream in pain and find myself looking into Ray's black eyes.

"You're coming with me, bitch!" he says in a low voice.

I look down and see Pixie beside him with tears streaming down her face.

"NO! LET ME GO!" I scream.

He slaps my face. Between that and my throbbing shoulder, I become disoriented from the pain and almost fall to my knees.

"Scream like that again and you're dead!" he growls.

I recover enough to stand straight and he shoves me in front of him. I can feel the tip of the gun digging into my back, urging me to walk forward. We are heading to a red truck parked in the driveway. My head is spinning as I try to think of a way out of this situation. If I run, he'll shoot me. If I scream, he'll shoot me.

Ray shoves first me and then Pixie into the backseat of the truck and gets in the driver's side. I grab Pixie with my one good arm, my left arm, and hold her close as she sobs uncontrollably.

"SHUT UP!" Ray shouts at her.

"Don't yell at her!" I plead.

Ray ignores me.

Pixie claps her hand over her mouth to stifle the sound of her sobs. I hold her face against my chest and kiss her head.

Ray starts the truck and peels out of the driveway, leaving Austin to die in the woods. What he doesn't know is I've already called for help. It's my only consolation as he takes off down the icy street. One handed and shaking, it takes a few minutes for me to get Pixie and myself strapped into seat belts. I don't know if we're going to our deaths or not, but I do know that if Ray doesn't slow down we'll end up in a lethal crash either way.

I hold Pixie close, squeeze my eyes shut and begin praying. The first cop tails us right after Ray merges the truck onto southbound I-35. I realize with relief that hardly anyone is on the roads because of the ice. Then I hear the siren behind us and look over my shoulder, hope surging through me as I spot the police car behind us.

I'm expecting Ray to slow down, stop on the shoulder and tell some bullshit story to the cop, but he must decide that running is in his best interest. I feel the tires spin weightlessly as we speed up, and through the gap in the seats I can see the speedometer climbing: 90, 110, 120...

It feels like we're flying. The tires barely make contact with the icy road. Ray has little to no control of the car now, and soon more cops join the chase behind us in a symphony of sirens. All I can do is hold Pixie close and tell her it's going to be okay, but my voice is shaking and tears are streaming down my face. What will it feel like to die in a fiery car crash? Will it hurt? Or at this speed will we feel nothing? Will we die on impact? Or will we spend our last few minutes in agonizing pain?

By now I'm certain we will never get out of this truck alive, but I keep whispering soothingly to Pixie so she won't know the horror of what's about to happen to us.

Suddenly a new sound hits my ears, soft at first but as it gets louder I recognize the chugging beat of a helicopter circling over the car. Then another. I'm just starting to question what they'll do next when a bullet shatters the window behind our heads. A blast of broken glass hits the back of my head like a snowball, the pieces falling around us in glittering shards, and I'm reminded of the fake snow from The Nutcracker.

We both scream and I instinctively throw my body over Pixie's. Once I have a second back in my right mind I remove both our seatbelts so we can huddle low in the floorboard. Something digs into my hip and I roll over to see that it's a tire iron. If I could use it knock Ray unconscious...

Ray curses and the car swerves manically and my thoughts fall apart. I feel my lower body lift up as the two left tires lose all contact with the road and we glide sideways for a couple of seconds. Then the truck crashes back onto all four wheels. Our bodies slam down and I hold my right arm over Pixie so she doesn't go flying into the air.

Another bullet followed by a third crashes through the glass above our heads. I can't hear anything after that except the roar of panic in my head. I just squeeze my eyes shut and kiss Pixie. This is it. In a few seconds we're dead.

"I love you, Pixie," I whisper.

"I- I l-love you t-t-too!" she whimpers back.

"It's okay, baby. Just hold onto me and close your eyes. It'll be over soon," I say.

I don't realize just how true my words really are. Another bullet shatters the windshield, and I can tell by Ray's shouted curses that it has made contact.

The truck swerves sickeningly and I feel it spinning and spinning and spinning like a carnival ride, like the puke-inducing one all those years ago on the day I lost Seth.

For a second I'm there again in the Texas heat, holding my skirt down and hearing my little brother scream with unbridled joy beside me, and a smile comes to my face. This memory will be my last, and I curl up into it, allow myself to feel the weightless happiness of childhood as the ride flings me into oblivion.

Then, nothing.

The next thing I'm aware of is the sound of a car door opening. I hear Pixie screaming as she is pulled out from under me. A flurry of hands and fingers as she tries to cling to my body and clothes. Then she's gone.

I sit up and realize the truck has stopped on I-35. We are surrounded by no fewer than ten police cars. Two helicopters circle overhead. I look out the open door and see that Ray is using Pixie as a human shield to avoid being shot or captured. He's clutching her close as she tries to wriggle out of his arms. His left shoulder, the exact place where he first shot Austin, is dripping blood.

A dozen guns are pointed at Ray, but not one of them shoots. If I get out and try to grab Pixie, will they shoot me? I realize now that this is why Ray brought us with him. In case this happened, he wanted hostages. He grabbed Pixie out of the truck because he knew she would stand a better chance at keeping him alive. They might risk shooting me to get to Ray, but not a little kid.

I am Pixie's only hope.

Something comes over me, a blanket of peaceful clarity, and I know with certainty that I was meant to be here at this moment, meant to do what I'm about to do. I'm afraid, but the fear is just a nuisance. This is my destiny. This is the answer to every question I have ever asked about myself, my life and my purpose. Even if I die, I'm meant to save her right now in this moment. I could not save Seth from the horrors he suffered, but I can save her.

I grab the tire iron in my hand and scoot closer to the open car door. If I sit on the seat on my knees, I will be at head level with Ray. I grab the seatbelt and use it to pull my body up into the seat. Then I get on my knees, lean out the door and lift the tire iron. With all the force in my body I slam it down onto the back of Ray's head. He immediately crumples, and I jump out of the car to catch Pixie before she hits the the ground.

The next few seconds are filled with the flurry of shouting, a couple of gunshots that barely miss us, and the thundering of many feet. I watch, mesmerized, as one of the cops puts the handcuffs on Ray and two others lift his unconscious body and drag him away.

Then there are hands on me. I won't let go of Pixie no matter what.

Voices are bombarding my head with a tornado of confusion. I can't answer questions. I can't get up. I can't even breathe. All I can do is hold onto Pixie.