Page 51 of Shane
Flipping the left turn signal, he put them back in the middle lane and stepped on the gas. Because of their early takeoff, it was now past noon, and Smart’s flex cuffs were the only hindrance to them going inside anywhere to eat. Her hands were still cuffed in front of her, but that didn’t make her less of a flight risk. Maybe Shane would be the food delivery person today. Then, after he gassed up, they could find some out-of-the-way place to eat and stretch their legs.
The sign for the rest stop flashed by. They’d just crested a hill and had a long stretch of interstate winding straight ahead of them when—
BANG!Felt like their left rear tire had blown.
“What the shit?” Everlee exclaimed while the SUV bucked across the far left lane, then took a sharp right down the center lane. Shane battled to keep the Land Cruiser clear of other traffic and on the interstate. Forget that. He cranked the wheel hard to the left, striving to not over-correct and make this recovery worse. He aimed for the grassy median between east and westbound lanes. But that small correction sent the SUV’s rear end into a wicked three-sixty drift that propelled them toward the right shoulder. Which was gravel. Which should’ve given the tires something to latch onto, allowing him to brake safely.
Instead, the SUV’s rear end slid sideways and dumped them onto the slick, grass-covered slope that led to the fenced field alongside the interstate. Which posed a different set of problems. Like rolling. Totally losing control of the SUV. The gas tank possibly exploding. All of them being trapped and burned alive and…
Fuck. No.
But who the hell was gunning for them? Because that blowout was not due to a worn tire. No way. Shane had checked their ride thoroughly before take-off. He spared a quick glance in the rearview to see which cars were behind him. Could someone have been following them all this time? Before he could lock onto any specific vehicle, the rear window spiderwebbed, and a hailstorm of chipped safety glass rocketed through the SUV.
“Duck!” he ordered, as instinctively, he jerked sideways just before those chips spattered into the dash and the back of his headrest. Everlee and Smart were crouched low on the backseat by then. Son of a bitch! Who was after them?
Shane didn’t have time to sort it out. He cranked the wheel a hard left, then a quick right, aiming to get back on the road. At last, he had the SUV somewhat under control, but he was driving too fast on one rim, the rubber from the blown tire completely gone. Things went from bad to worse. An old farm tractor blocked the shoulder ahead. Just ahead of that were the banked concrete walls of an overpass. A white-haired man in a cowboy hat sat inside the enclosed cab of that damned tractor. With every yard closer the SUV sped, the slower the tractor puttered along. Until—
There was no way to avoid hitting its substantially heavier rear end. Shane didn’t dare go back into traffic and if the SUV hit the incline to that overpass, they’d roll. He switched gears and gunned the motor. Struggling to control the wheel, he aimed the SUV back to the bar pit near the fence. No such luck. Another shot rang out and his side mirror shattered. A third shot peppered the rear of the vehicle. The bastard had gotten close.
Shane floored the accelerator. The Toyota hesitated until, finally, its front tires engaged. But because of the missing tire, its rear end fishtailed in a widening arc that was taking them all the way around the tractor until the front of the Toyota was facing the front of the tractor. They were still spinning, hurtling closer to the overpass. He didn’t want to hit the concrete wall that fed the incline. Shane’s choices were bleak to none, but he damned well refused to hurt the old guy on the John Deere. Just as the Toyota’s rear tires hit the ridge of the shoulder, the SUV bounced. The momentum sent the remaining tires churning up clouds of grit and dust. And—
The steering wheel seized.
“Hold on!” Shane bellowed as chaos took over. The SUV rolled and he flattened his palms to the ceiling just as it became the floor. Everything not belted down shifted from being cargo to lethal weapons. The first frightening rotation tossed the giant ice chest and their gear bags upward and over the rear seat. Shane’s holsters flapped away from his hips.
“Jiminy Christmas!” Everlee yelled. Which was so damned appropriate. Hail Marys were running a mile a minute through Shane’s mind.
Another bone-wrenching spin. Another plea for divine intervention.
Holy Mary, Mother of God… Ouch!
Then again...
Pray for us sinners…. Damn it!
And again…
Now and at the hour of our death…
Each wicked rotation jerked Shane’s body against his harness which was damned near cutting him in half. He had no idea how Everlee and Ms. Smart were faring.
New grown vegetation slashed the dash where windshield had been. Stalks and dirt whipped Shane’s face. At last, the vehicle settled on its roof with a creaky groan in the middle of a shit ton of dust. A husky“Amen”whispered out of him.
He coughed to clear his throat, then yelled, “Everlee! Tuesday!” needing to know they’d survived. That they were still with him. Still somehow breathing and not hurt, damn it!
No answers came back to him. Nothing but the whining sound of a vehicle gunning toward them. “Move your dumb ass, Hayes!” he growled as he jerked at his harness, struggling to get the damned latch loose.
No go. He was locked in, trapped. The light from the sun faded. Storm clouds maybe? God, he hoped. He’d willingly take a twister bearing down on them rather than the killers taking Tuesday. Or him dying without a fight. Fuck! He was so damned helpless!
Until total darkness flooded the SUV’s dusty interior. A purplish fog stole into the ruined vehicle, covering everything. Obscuring his vision. Blocking light and sound. His upside-down body was heavy. He went slack against the harness that wouldn’t let him go. Shane knew then he wasn’t meant to survive. Not this disaster. It was the end of his road, and nothing could change what was happening now. Not cursing. Not praying. Not the women behind him. Not divine intervention.
“Everlee,” he whispered, wishing he’d told her how much she meant to him.
But he hadn’t. So he whispered again, just, “Everleeeee…”
Chapter Eighteen
Everlee rolled her pounding head on her poor swizzle-stick neck, slowly, very slowly. Wondering why a tiny movement hurt as much as it did, and why she couldn’t hear anything but buzzing. Lots of buzzing. Plenty of vibrations, too, like she was inside a giant beehive. She came to in slow, dopey increments of stifled, dumb awareness. Her mouth was dry, her throat drier. As in dusty, nasty dry, like someone had stuffed a dirty rag in her mouth, which—what the hell?—someone had.