chatter on the radio, and they put me into the truck, facedown on the floor between the rear seat and the front buckets. Shortie sat in the front with my Glock in his hand, while the big guy got behind the wheel, turned the truck over, and reversed it out of the ditch.
A fresh flood of fear rushed through me then as I suddenly realized who the big guy was. He was the guy who killed Eardley, who followed him up to the roof of the hotel and chucked him off.
They’re going to kill me, too, I thought, as my fear began to morph into a full-on paralyzing terror.
I couldn’t let that happen. To let that happen was to die, I knew. Training, training, you’re trained. What to do in a situation like this? Don’t let your mind run away and hide on you, I heard some long-ago instructor say like he was right there in the truck with me. Breathe, focus, and still yourself.
As we bumped along the dirt and gravel mountain road, I did just that. I took a breath and concentrated on just the air, and the way it felt coming in and out of my chest. After two or three breaths I actually felt much better—back to sheer panic instead of out-of-body terrified.
To keep myself from freaking out again, I forced myself to think.
I was still alive. Why? Why not just blow me away and bury me in the woods? Where the hell were they taking me?
They didn’t know what to do with me, I realized; or I would already be dead. They needed to find out what I knew. Another blast of fear rocked through me. They were going to torture me to find out.
As I lay there with the horror of this new realization rattling through me, I suddenly found it. I figured out my one advantage, how they had screwed up. I had one window. It was tiny, almost microscopic, but I needed to take it. I had no other choice.
“Ahhhhh!” I suddenly screamed as we went over the next pothole. “My back! Ahhh! I have a bad back! The pain! I need to sit up!” I said, getting up on my knees.
“You do and I’ll shoot you,” Shortie said, putting the gun to my head.
“Do it, then, you son of a bitch! Shoot me!” I yelled as I continued to rise.
I heard him rack my gun.
“Fine, do it. Put me out of my fucking misery!” I screamed as I got up and sat on the seat.
And proceeded to go absolutely berserk.
I began by rearing back into the backseat and kicking Shortie right in his chin with the heel of my right shoe. Damn, that felt good. As he screamed in pain, I reared back again and kicked the big bastard of the driver hard in the back of his head with the heel of my other shoe.
Then I double-kicked out with my feet toward the windshield between the front bucket seats, jammed both of my feet into the steering wheel, and started thrashing around like the trapped animal that I was.
The big guy yelled as he hit the brakes, and the little guy was hitting me in the side of the head with the pistol butt, but then we were off the road in the woods, the truck went to the left sideways, and we were toppling over.
I’d never been in a rollover before. In the spinning cab, I bashed off the ceiling and the seats again and again like a sock in a dryer. The driver-side window smashed in and then the windshield. We kept rolling.
When we came to a stop, what felt like a million years later, we were right side up. Shortie’s door was missing and so was Shortie. The roof on the right side had crumpled and come down about three feet. I looked to the left at the big dude, moaning, still belted in the driver’s seat behind the deployed air bag.
I noticed his left arm had an open fracture, the bone protruding below his sleeve. As I stared at it, something warm flowed down the right side of my head and began dripping off my chin. I couldn’t wipe at the blood because of the handcuffs.
I didn’t know how I was still alive, and I didn’t care. I wriggled away out the missing passenger-side door, dropped out of the crushed truck, and began to run into the woods.
Chapter 21
Devine waited in
A fresh flood of fear rushed through me then as I suddenly realized who the big guy was. He was the guy who killed Eardley, who followed him up to the roof of the hotel and chucked him off.
They’re going to kill me, too, I thought, as my fear began to morph into a full-on paralyzing terror.
I couldn’t let that happen. To let that happen was to die, I knew. Training, training, you’re trained. What to do in a situation like this? Don’t let your mind run away and hide on you, I heard some long-ago instructor say like he was right there in the truck with me. Breathe, focus, and still yourself.
As we bumped along the dirt and gravel mountain road, I did just that. I took a breath and concentrated on just the air, and the way it felt coming in and out of my chest. After two or three breaths I actually felt much better—back to sheer panic instead of out-of-body terrified.
To keep myself from freaking out again, I forced myself to think.
I was still alive. Why? Why not just blow me away and bury me in the woods? Where the hell were they taking me?
They didn’t know what to do with me, I realized; or I would already be dead. They needed to find out what I knew. Another blast of fear rocked through me. They were going to torture me to find out.
As I lay there with the horror of this new realization rattling through me, I suddenly found it. I figured out my one advantage, how they had screwed up. I had one window. It was tiny, almost microscopic, but I needed to take it. I had no other choice.
“Ahhhhh!” I suddenly screamed as we went over the next pothole. “My back! Ahhh! I have a bad back! The pain! I need to sit up!” I said, getting up on my knees.
“You do and I’ll shoot you,” Shortie said, putting the gun to my head.
“Do it, then, you son of a bitch! Shoot me!” I yelled as I continued to rise.
I heard him rack my gun.
“Fine, do it. Put me out of my fucking misery!” I screamed as I got up and sat on the seat.
And proceeded to go absolutely berserk.
I began by rearing back into the backseat and kicking Shortie right in his chin with the heel of my right shoe. Damn, that felt good. As he screamed in pain, I reared back again and kicked the big bastard of the driver hard in the back of his head with the heel of my other shoe.
Then I double-kicked out with my feet toward the windshield between the front bucket seats, jammed both of my feet into the steering wheel, and started thrashing around like the trapped animal that I was.
The big guy yelled as he hit the brakes, and the little guy was hitting me in the side of the head with the pistol butt, but then we were off the road in the woods, the truck went to the left sideways, and we were toppling over.
I’d never been in a rollover before. In the spinning cab, I bashed off the ceiling and the seats again and again like a sock in a dryer. The driver-side window smashed in and then the windshield. We kept rolling.
When we came to a stop, what felt like a million years later, we were right side up. Shortie’s door was missing and so was Shortie. The roof on the right side had crumpled and come down about three feet. I looked to the left at the big dude, moaning, still belted in the driver’s seat behind the deployed air bag.
I noticed his left arm had an open fracture, the bone protruding below his sleeve. As I stared at it, something warm flowed down the right side of my head and began dripping off my chin. I couldn’t wipe at the blood because of the handcuffs.
I didn’t know how I was still alive, and I didn’t care. I wriggled away out the missing passenger-side door, dropped out of the crushed truck, and began to run into the woods.
Chapter 21
Devine waited in
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