Page 23 of Colin Gets Promoted and Dooms the World

I wanted to believe him. I really did. In the world I knew, though, people like Eric didn’t slum it with people like me, not unless they had some dark and nefarious purpose in mind. I searched for anything nefarious in his gaze but found nothing but sincerity.

After a long pause, Eric said, “C’mon. Let’s keep walking, okay?”

“Okay. Yes. I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.” He released one of my hands but hung on to the other tightly as we started moving again. “I hope you stick around long enough to appreciate how incredibly boring I am, though. It’s not pretty.”

Stopping at the corner of Sixth and West 47th, we waited while traffic rumbled past, stepping off the curb when the light turned.

Horns blared off to our right as we began to cross, but since New Yorkers routinely lay on the horn to say hello, to comment on an attractive passerby, or to express their dissatisfaction with life in general, I barely noticed.

Then Eric’s hand latched on to my arm, first pulling me to a stop and then pushing me backward as he pivoted his body in front of mine.

Before I could do more than blink, a car careened into the intersection, plowing through the crosswalk not ten feet from us before ramming into the side of a UPS truck with a deafening crunch.

“Holy crap!” I yelped as broken glass sprayed across the asphalt.

Eric looked at me, holding both of my arms now. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I gave him a shaky smile. “Nice reflexes.”

His hands released me. “I’m going to see if they need help.

” As he moved quickly toward the crumpled car, I trailed after him, my shoes scraping across tiny shards of glass.

Traffic around us had come to a halt. The driver of the UPS truck stumbled down the steps of his truck and onto the street, eyes wide as he stared at the damage, while the curious and the concerned both drifted closer to the accident.

Eric was the first to reach the car, leaning down to peer through the shattered window on the driver’s side.

Then he straightened, looking over his shoulder at me with a bemused expression.

“Are they okay?” I asked as I neared him.

“There’s no one in here,” he replied, shifting to one side so I could see. Sure enough, the car was empty. The radio was still playing and a travel mug sat askew in a cup holder, its contents splashed everywhere, but there was no sign of the driver.

“Did they roll out of the car or something?” I wondered, looking back down the street as if I’d find the driver brushing themself off after completing a tumbling pass through traffic.

Eric tried the door handle. “It’s locked. And look—the seat belt is still fastened.”

“What the heck?” I leaned down to peer into the car again. “How is that possible?”

“I don’t know.” Eric’s expression was grim as he stepped back from the car. Other people had joined us by this point, stooping to gaze into the wreckage, shaking their heads, pulling out their phones.

Before I could say anything, there was a shout from somewhere back down Sixth Avenue and the furious blare of car horns, followed by the unmistakable sound of another accident.

Heads swiveled like a mob of meerkats tracking trouble on the open savanna.

Seconds later, we heard a high-pitched scream behind us and wheeled around to see a taxi barrel up onto the sidewalk halfway down the block on West 47th, scattering pedestrians as it rammed into a storefront and sent plate glass flying in all directions.

That was all it took to send most of the people around us hurrying away.

I couldn’t blame them—I wanted to run as well.

Something bad was clearly happening. Eric, though, was already sprinting toward the taxi, and if I wanted him to think I was a good person, I had no choice but to follow.

By the time we got there, a few panicked people were climbing over the taxi to escape a jewelry store while a small crowd gathered.

“Is anyone hurt?” Eric asked loudly as we came to a halt a few paces away.

Two women stood nearby, one with her arm around the other.

They looked like mother and daughter. “A few cuts and scrapes,” the older woman said, “but I don’t think the car hit anyone.

” The younger woman shivered and stared at the sidewalk as she pressed a wad of tissues to a bloody gash on her cheek.

“There’s no one in here!” a man yelled from next to the taxi.

I exchanged a glance with Eric, then looked back at the site of the first accident. Empty cars, seat belts still fastened—these people had disappeared while driving. It sounded like a plot device from a Marvel movie, but I had a sinking suspicion that something much darker was going on.

Sirens wailed off in the distance as Eric helped a few more people climb over the crumpled hood of the taxi and out of the store.

He was good in a crisis, I thought as I watched him.

Almost weirdly good, in fact. He knew exactly what to do, taking charge in a calmly authoritative way, checking on each person before moving on to the next.

The strobing lights of an ambulance appeared several blocks away, but traffic along West 47th had come to a halt thanks to the accident up ahead, and it was going to be a long, slow crawl to reach us.

I did what I could to help while Eric took charge of the scene, triaging the injured and keeping people away from the empty taxi.

He didn’t relax until the paramedics arrived, and then he stepped back and stared at the crumpled car for a while, hands on hips.

The police had made it to the other accident and an officer was headed our way down the sidewalk, waving off the questions shouted at her by gridlocked motorists.

“Let’s go,” I suggested, touching Eric’s elbow. “The authorities have it from here.”

Glancing at me, he nodded. “Okay.” His gaze slid back to the taxi, though, as we started walking away, his brow furrowed with concern.

We went a whole block without speaking, each of us lost in our own thoughts.

Eric was probably trying to understand what had just happened, whereas I had a pretty good idea.

People didn’t just vanish from their cars while driving—not unless something creepy and supernatural showed up and, say, devoured them.

I shivered. It was one thing to overhear secondhand reports of strange disappearances.

It was quite another to watch an empty car careen into traffic moments after its driver had been taken by the Thing I’d freed.

“I’m sorry to cut this short,” Eric said as we stopped at another set of lights, “but I should head home. I have a big presentation tomorrow.”

“That’s okay,” I replied, dredging up a smile. “I’m feeling a little out of sorts, anyhow.”

His hand clasped mine, just for a moment. “Are you and Amira free this weekend? I want to take you both to the Cloisters. It’s one of my favorite places in the city.”

My smile this time was more genuine. “That sounds great.”

His eyes searched mine before he leaned in to brush his lips against my cheek. “I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Stay safe.”

A little while later, wedged uncomfortably into a seat on the subway, I felt like the pining heroine of a Jane Austen novel, my heart going pitter-patter with the first stirrings of love after little more than a couple of Regency dances and some sustained eye contact.

All I wanted was to see Eric again. I tried picturing our glossy, perfect future together—picket fence, two dogs, lazy Sundays in bed—but reality kept intruding.

The Thing had been right there, snatching people from their cars.

Had it been following me and Eric? That was a terrifying thought.

More and more, I was convinced that Management had bound it for a good reason.

If so, we really were screwed if I didn’t find a way to stop it.

Shouldering the fate of humanity sucks, I reflected as said humanity coughed into my face and stepped on my shoes.

I didn’t like the thought of Eric being hurt by the chaos I’d unleashed on the city, though.

Saving the world meant saving him, too, and Amira, and even Lex.

The rest of humanity didn’t deserve my help, but those three did.

As I exited the train at my stop, I glanced down the platform and noticed a woman stepping out of the next car.

She was tugging a hood over her head, but not before I saw that her pale hair had been braided into a coil at the nape of her neck.

My steps slowed. I knew that woman. I’d caught her staring at me on the subway last week.

Then someone jostled me from behind and I lost sight of her.

She was just another commuter, I told myself as I tried to find her again in the crowd of people leaving the platform.

Why, then, did seeing her again make me feel uneasy?

I kept looking over my shoulder as I walked home.

Maybe spotting that woman again was just a coincidence, but I certainly hadn’t imagined the Thing popping into my bedroom for a late-night chat.

More and more, it felt like I was being hunted.

All the more reason, then, for me to find a way to fix things.