Nightwitch by Ken Douglas Page A

rolled out of her mouth. Her lips turned into a pair of burning worms, struggling to crawl off her face. She caught him in a glowing gaze. For an instant he thought she was going to come at him again, and engulf him in the fire and heat of her, but her eyes burst into flame, taking away her sight, leaving her to rage aimlessly, while the fire consumed her, changing her into a mass of glowing oranges, whites and reds as she burned.
    Crab-like, he scooted away from her, buttocks scraping the ground as the fireball blazed, radiating the heat of hellfire, singeing his eyebrows from over half a lawn away. He covered his face with his palms and lost the hair on the back of his hands. He tucked his head and rolled across the sidewalk, over the curb, and into the gutter, which afforded him some protection.
    Beaten and battered, he raised his head from the protection of the cement curb and chanced a look. The night was losing oxygen to the flame, forcing him to fight for air. He thought again that he might die this night, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the spectacle of her. The ball of hot fire and death rose a few feet from the ground, hovering above the lawn, lighting up the block and casting long shadows.
    Then, without warning, it shot into the night sky, pierced the clouds and was gone.
    “ Time to move,” he said aloud. He pushed himself up from the gutter, took a quick breath and looked out into the dark. He wanted the gun, but it would take too long to get his night vision back. He had to give it up, which he regretted, because if Carolina found it, she’d know it was his.
    Aching, with his hands on his knees, he jerked and staggered back to the car. He crossed himself with his right hand as he reached for the door with his left. He gasped when he saw the back of his hand on the handle and felt pain as his fingers closed around it. He hoped the burns weren’t as bad as they looked.
    Fighting the pain and fighting to stay conscious, he managed to get the door open. The key was still in the ignition. He pulled himself inside and started the car. The engine burst to life and he shoved his foot to the floor. The car screeched down the block, leaving behind black skid marks, as porch lights came on and doors started to open.
    He was still standing on the gas as took a corner six blocks away. She was angry now and that was good. It would keep her coming after him and he was putting as much distance between himself and his daughter as he could. He took another corner, but was going too fast now and lost control on the rain slicked street.
    He tried to turn into the spin, but was too late. The wind was knocked out of him as the car charged over the curb and up onto a lawn. One of the front tires blew, ricocheting through the night like a gunshot. He grabbed a weak breath and stomped on the brakes. The car, still out of control, chewed up a row of hedges as it barreled toward a lone pine tree.
    He pushed harder on the brakes. The rear tires locked, ripping up the lawn even more. He yanked on the wheel, pulling it to the right to avoid a head on collision, but he wasn’t quick enough. The left headlight made a popping sound as the glass broke and the left fender screeched as it scraped against the tree. He felt a stinging sensation as a pine branch, bent back by the charging car, gained its freedom when it encountered the open window. Pine needles tore across his face, stinging him and leaving small trails of blood in their wake.
    He kept the wheel cranked hard to the right as he pulled his foot from the brake and shoved it back onto the accelerator, and he gobbled more air as the rear wheels sought purchase, digging into the wet grass.
    He started to ease off the gas when he saw the wolf, two houses away, in the middle of a another lawn, surrounded by a chain link fence. Staring at him. Daring him. He bit into his lip and tasted blood. Lightning cracked overhead, lighting up the cloud cover and bathing his world in a ghostly