Part 2 - THE COLD METAL COLLAR

"Get down!" Marcus screamed, shoving a hand against Carrie's shoulder to press her beneath the dashboard.

He slammed on the brakes. The Honda screeched, fishtailing violently on the wet asphalt before coming to a jerking halt twenty yards from the cruiser.

The cop racked the shotgun. The harsh, metallic clack echoed over the idling engines.

"Reverse, Marcus," Sean commanded from the backseat. His voice was frighteningly calm. "Do it now."

"It's the police!" Marcus yelled, his hands shaking on the steering wheel. "I can't just run from the cops! If we surrender, maybe they'll protect us."

Sean let out a bitter, exhausted laugh. "Take a good look at his badge, kid. Left side of his chest. Tell me what you see."

Marcus squinted against the glaring spotlight. The cop was walking forward slowly, weapon raised. Pinned to his uniform shirt, right above his nameplate, was a small, silver pin shaped like a coiled snake.

"A snake," Marcus whispered, his blood running cold.

"My uncle's crest," Sean said. "He owns half the precinct. That man isn't here to arrest you. He's here to deliver the girl."

Raleigh, squeezed into the cramped back seat next to Sean, let out a furious, deafening roar. The dog threw his weight against the rear window, the glass bowing slightly under the force. The cop paused, aiming the shotgun directly at the windshield.

"Put it in reverse," Sean said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "When I say go, you floor it."

"He's going to shoot!"

"Just do it!"

Marcus shoved the gearshift into reverse. His foot hovered over the gas pedal.

The cop raised the weapon to his shoulder.

"Now," Sean said.

Marcus stomped the pedal. The Honda lurched backward with a mechanical scream. At the exact same second, the windshield exploded inward.

Glass sprayed across the cabin like icy rain. Marcus squeezed his eyes shut, turning his face away as the deafening boom of the shotgun filled his ears. The car swerved, jumping the curb and smashing into a row of metal trash cans. The engine stalled.

Silence slammed back down on them, broken only by the hiss of the radiator and Carrie's frantic, terrified breathing under the dash.

"Carrie?" Marcus gasped, patting the floorboard blindly. "Carrie, are you hit?"

"I'm okay," she whimpered, curling tighter into a ball. "I'm okay."

Marcus looked up. The cop was closing the distance, pulling a fresh shell from his belt to reload.

"Sean," Marcus choked out, looking in the rearview mirror. "Sean, we're stuck."

Sean didn't answer. He was slumped against the door, his eyes half-closed, blood pouring freely from a new graze on his shoulder. But his hand was moving. He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a heavy, antique pocket watch on a gold chain.

He didn't open it. He just held it, staring at it with a strange, profound sadness.

"Sean!" Marcus yelled. "Do something!"

"Raleigh," Sean rasped, his voice barely a whisper. "Window."

The dog didn't need to be told twice. Raleigh backed up onto the opposite seat, bunched his massive hind legs, and launched himself forward.

He shattered the remaining glass of the rear side window, exploding out of the car like a dark missile. The cop barely had time to raise his weapon before a hundred and forty pounds of muscle and teeth slammed into his chest.

The shotgun discharged harmlessly into the sky. The cop screamed as he hit the pavement, Raleigh pinning him down, snapping furiously at the heavy tactical vest protecting the man's throat.

"Start the car," Sean wheezed, dropping the pocket watch onto the center console. It landed with a heavy thud.

Marcus fumbled with the keys. The engine turned over, coughing once before roaring to life.

"Call him off!" Marcus yelled. "We have to go!"

Before Sean could speak, Carrie sat up from the floorboard. She didn't look at the chaos outside. She reached out and grabbed the gold pocket watch resting on the console.

Her fingers traced the engraved metal cover. She went completely still.

"Marc," Carrie whispered, her voice cutting through the sounds of the struggle outside.

"Not now, Care!"

"Marc," she repeated, turning the watch toward him. "This engraving. The texture. It's braille."

Marcus stared at the watch. The ornate bumps on the gold cover weren't just a design.

"What does it say?" Marcus asked, his heart in his throat.

Carrie's lower lip trembled. "It says... 'For my daughter. Keep listening.'"