Chase Baker & the Humanzees from Hell (A Chase Baker Thriller Book 8) by Benjamin Sobieck Page A
Authors: Benjamin Sobieck
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measure, but nothing connects. Or so it seems at first.
I can’t tell if it’s Hillary’s driving, with her foot pounding on the accelerator like it’s stomping an ember that floated into a gas station, or a lucky shot at the sidewalls, but it’s obvious the rear passenger side tire is flat. We should be OK since I specifically asked for run-flat tires at the rental agency, but the Jeep still shudders and pulls toward the ditch. Hillary overcorrects, sending us briefly into a 70 MPH fishtail before things settle down again.
Damn. I’m not getting my deposit back for this rental.
The taillights on Doctor X’s car come into view a moment later. We could follow him back to wherever he came from, but I doubt he’ll do us that favor now that the Jeep’s headlights offer a clear outline of the wrinkles on the back of his head. The other option, now that we’ve put some road between the shooters back at the museum and us, is obvious. Doctor X’s car isn’t cut out for these country roads outside Austin, a point I’m sure he’s realizing after turning onto a washboard gravel lane. Even in a Jeep with a flat tire, we’re riding his ass like a skid mark in a pair of old underwear. It won’t take much to run him off the road, but it’ll need to be done correctly to avoid killing everyone.
“Pull up to his left side parallel to his left rear tire, then turn to the right like you’re changing lanes,” I say to Hillary over the thwump of the flat tire’s complaining.
I just described the PIT maneuver, something law enforcement agencies use during high-speed chases to force a vehicle to stop quickly. This can mean forcing the fleeing vehicle into a roll, a spin out or a fishtail, sometimes with devastating results. I don’t want Doctor X dead, though. The PIT maneuver is designed to stop, not kill, and the odds of survival are better than bumper-to-bumper ramming.
That’s the theory, anyway. I’ve never pulled the PIT off myself, and I’ve certainly not tried it by talking it through with someone else at the wheel and a flat tire on a washboard road. This is something for armchair Rambo types to debate while watching breaking news delivered by Chopper 5 Eye in the Sky.
“You sure?” Hillary says.
“If I’m wrong and we wind up dead, I owe you a Coke in heaven,” I say, shouting above the cacophony.
“Or hell,” Hillary says.
She waits to make her move until we reach a straightaway that I wish was another mile longer. Besides nudging a vehicle piloted by an irate driver, the trick with the PIT is in the recovery. We very well could flip in the ditch or find our faces compressed into the bark of one of the bigtooth maples flanking the road.
With translucent knuckles, Hillary guides the Jeep into position next to Doctor X’s car. He doesn’t seem to realize what’s happening, because if he did he’d swerve a bit to throw the physics off. Gravel churns in rocky pops in the foot-long margin between our two vehicles, adding to the deafening racket filling the cab. I glance at the curve coming up in the road. We’re in perfect position, and we can’t wait a second more. It’s do or die. It could also be die or die, depending on how this turns out.
“Now, Hillary,” I say.
Hillary’s gusto evaporates. She hesitates at the wheel.
“I know this seems crazy, but do it. When he spins out, hit the brakes,” I say, begging her to take action before it’s too late.
Hillary adds another millisecond too many to her hesitation. I reach over and yank the steering wheel to the right. The front bumper of the Jeep connects with Doctor X’s car. I don’t hear the sound of the two vehicles colliding. Thinking back to the rule about hearing explosions, I know this isn’t a good thing.
For a moment I feel weightless. My guts lose their gravity and nearly careen out my mouth. That feeling quickly gives way to a violent correction. It’s like the entire universe collapsed into a single point, followed by
I can’t tell if it’s Hillary’s driving, with her foot pounding on the accelerator like it’s stomping an ember that floated into a gas station, or a lucky shot at the sidewalls, but it’s obvious the rear passenger side tire is flat. We should be OK since I specifically asked for run-flat tires at the rental agency, but the Jeep still shudders and pulls toward the ditch. Hillary overcorrects, sending us briefly into a 70 MPH fishtail before things settle down again.
Damn. I’m not getting my deposit back for this rental.
The taillights on Doctor X’s car come into view a moment later. We could follow him back to wherever he came from, but I doubt he’ll do us that favor now that the Jeep’s headlights offer a clear outline of the wrinkles on the back of his head. The other option, now that we’ve put some road between the shooters back at the museum and us, is obvious. Doctor X’s car isn’t cut out for these country roads outside Austin, a point I’m sure he’s realizing after turning onto a washboard gravel lane. Even in a Jeep with a flat tire, we’re riding his ass like a skid mark in a pair of old underwear. It won’t take much to run him off the road, but it’ll need to be done correctly to avoid killing everyone.
“Pull up to his left side parallel to his left rear tire, then turn to the right like you’re changing lanes,” I say to Hillary over the thwump of the flat tire’s complaining.
I just described the PIT maneuver, something law enforcement agencies use during high-speed chases to force a vehicle to stop quickly. This can mean forcing the fleeing vehicle into a roll, a spin out or a fishtail, sometimes with devastating results. I don’t want Doctor X dead, though. The PIT maneuver is designed to stop, not kill, and the odds of survival are better than bumper-to-bumper ramming.
That’s the theory, anyway. I’ve never pulled the PIT off myself, and I’ve certainly not tried it by talking it through with someone else at the wheel and a flat tire on a washboard road. This is something for armchair Rambo types to debate while watching breaking news delivered by Chopper 5 Eye in the Sky.
“You sure?” Hillary says.
“If I’m wrong and we wind up dead, I owe you a Coke in heaven,” I say, shouting above the cacophony.
“Or hell,” Hillary says.
She waits to make her move until we reach a straightaway that I wish was another mile longer. Besides nudging a vehicle piloted by an irate driver, the trick with the PIT is in the recovery. We very well could flip in the ditch or find our faces compressed into the bark of one of the bigtooth maples flanking the road.
With translucent knuckles, Hillary guides the Jeep into position next to Doctor X’s car. He doesn’t seem to realize what’s happening, because if he did he’d swerve a bit to throw the physics off. Gravel churns in rocky pops in the foot-long margin between our two vehicles, adding to the deafening racket filling the cab. I glance at the curve coming up in the road. We’re in perfect position, and we can’t wait a second more. It’s do or die. It could also be die or die, depending on how this turns out.
“Now, Hillary,” I say.
Hillary’s gusto evaporates. She hesitates at the wheel.
“I know this seems crazy, but do it. When he spins out, hit the brakes,” I say, begging her to take action before it’s too late.
Hillary adds another millisecond too many to her hesitation. I reach over and yank the steering wheel to the right. The front bumper of the Jeep connects with Doctor X’s car. I don’t hear the sound of the two vehicles colliding. Thinking back to the rule about hearing explosions, I know this isn’t a good thing.
For a moment I feel weightless. My guts lose their gravity and nearly careen out my mouth. That feeling quickly gives way to a violent correction. It’s like the entire universe collapsed into a single point, followed by
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