His jacket was tough leather, and still offered some protection. If he kept his back pressed to the road, and his legs lifted, he might live another second more—and another—and another—
A lights appeared above him again. Bright and growing brighter.
Trevor.
Ethan’s head was raised from the road, eyes forward, but the front bumper of the Hummer was now above him.
His head was under the car.
Tires spun on both sides of him. His ears filled with the thrum of rubber on asphalt. If he wanted to die, all he had to do was twist his shoulders and throw his body under one of those tires. It would all be over. Quick and merciful.
But he didn’t want to die.
Live, damnit, live!
Ethan reached both hands into the air, stretching up to find the bumper. He grabbed it and pulled. He was never good at pull-ups, but somehow he found the strength to lift himself up off the burning asphalt.
For a moment he hung free in the air, suspended between the car’s bumper and truck’s chain.
The Hummer gained on the truck. The chained slackened.
Ethan felt the pull of gravity bring him closer to the road. He reached one hand to grab the front grille guard, turned this body over, and climbed onto the bumper.
Facing down, he saw the road rush below him, black and red. He was bleeding fast. He could feel his body weaken from the loss.
If he slipped now, with his face to the road, he would fall straight into his grave.
Ethan secured his grip and tucked his legs. Glancing up, he locked gazes with Trevor behind the glass. Trevor had that look of gritty determination that so often carried him through swim meets and baseball games.
The look of a winner.
It gave Ethan a sudden surge of hope.
Riding the bumper, he felt a change in the highway as the road descended, sloping down toward—he glanced back—what is that?—a suspension bridge. It spanned a deep gorge. They were dipping into a valley, where the road crossed a dry riverbed.
They were going even faster now. The tanker truck gained on the downhill run. Ethan felt the sharp tug at his ankle as the metal chain grew taut. He slipped a little from the bumper—but caught himself and held on.
Barely.
24
Trevor knew Ethan couldn’t hold on much longer. He sped up—the needle inching past 98 miles per hour—to give the chain some slack and Ethan a chance to climb up onto the hood.
The Hummer had a sunroof. If Ethan could get to the roof, they could pull him inside and remove the chain.
But Ethan wasn’t climbing.
He was clinging to the front grille guard. Frozen by fear. Ethan looked weak and helpless. His face pale. His hair slick with sweat and blood.
Trevor needed to get him inside.
But how?
I have to go pull him in.
It was the only way. Claire and Dakota weren’t strong enough to lift Ethan’s weight, and Trevor wasn’t about to ask them to go outside and risk their lives in a rescue attempt.
He said to Claire, who sat beside him, “Take the wheel.”
She looked stunned. “What?”
“Drive!”
“Why?”
Trevor unbuckled his seat belt. “I have to go get him.”
Claire’s look of surprise gave way to terror. “I can’t drive.”
“You have to.”
He grabbed her hand and slammed it down in on the steering wheel.
She recoiled, wrenching her hand free.
“No! Don’t make me do this.”
She was trembling now.
Trevor kept his voice calm. “If he stays there, he dies. If he falls, he dies. I have to go get to him.”
Dakota said, “I’ll drive,” and climbed over to the front.
The needle bobbed around 100 miles per hour.
“Don’t slow down,” Trevor warned.
To make room for Dakota to slip behind the wheel, Trevor moved his driver’s seat back, then carefully switched his feet on the gas pedal, now pressing down hard with the ball of his left foot instead of his right. He half stood up from his seat, keeping pressure on the accelerator.
Dakota slid under him, trading places.
He gave her the wheel. “Got it?”
“I can’t see.”
Dakota’s view was blocked by Trevor’s body.
“Keep it straight,” he said. “You’ve got a bridge dead ahead.” He inched his foot to the edge of the accelerator pedal. “Put your foot on the side of mine.”
She did. Their feet touched together on the pedal.
He eased his foot off the accelerator, giving her control of the car.
Trevor opened the sunroof, then said to Claire, “Hold onto my legs.”
“Right,” Claire said, visibly relieved that she could do something to help.
Cold wind buffeted Trevor as he climbed out through the sunroof. He snaked forward on his belly, sliding over the edge of the roof and down the windshield.
They were coming up fast on the bridge below.
Dakota kept pace with the truck. She had a steady hand at the wheel.
Behind Trevor, Claire held his ankles. When he glanced back he saw her head and shoulders sticking up through the sunroof, her blonde hair whipping in the wind.
Trevor himself eased down the windshield and forward on the hood. He reached his right arm out for Ethan, keeping his left palm flat on the hood to brace himself.
His left hand, wet with sweat, slid forward on the smooth metal. He dried his hand on his shirtsleeve, then pressed his palm again to the hood.
It held.
With his free hand he grabbed the collar of Ethan’s leather jacket.
“Gotcha.”
As he pulled on the jacket, Trevor felt resistance.
He pulled harder.
No use.
Ethan looked up at him. Blood flowed into his exhausted eyes. All the fight had drained out of him.
Trevor screamed, “Push yourself up!”
Ethan nodded.
With one hand Ethan let go of the grille guard and grabbed Trevor’s wrist. Trevor pulled him up over the grille guard and onto the hood of the Hummer.
Trevor pushed with his left hand against the hood and shouted to Claire, “Pull me in!”
She tried, but Claire was weak. It wasn’t working.
I’ll have to bring Ethan in myself.
As the tanker truck raced onto the bridge, the chain around Ethan’s ankle grew taut.
It yanked at Ethan.
Trevor held onto the kid, and felt Claire’s hands slip from his ankles.
Oh, shit!
“Trevor!” Claire screamed.
His foot came free of her hands. Trevor slid across the hood, then caught the front grille guard with his left hand.
The road sped under him. The left front tire spun inches from his dangling foot.
The Highwayman felt alive.
This new body belonged to the long haul trucker, Stanley, but the heightened sensations were achingly familiar.
The Highwayman could feel the cool desert wind… tight jeans hugging fat thighs… thin hair brushing a wrinkled brow… the resistance of the gas pedal under the sole of a cowboy boot.
He felt the road change as the big rig reached the suspension bridge. Thick suspension cables sung past the cab windows. A wind swept up from the gorge and made the petroleum tank shudder.
A faint scent of mesquite and creosote laced the desert air. The Highwayman inhaled deeply.
Up ahead, a pair of headlights betrayed another vehicle, a postal delivery truck entering the bridge from the opposite direction.
Ignorant of danger, it cruised toward the Highwayman’s petroleum truck.
This new trespasser had picked the wrong night—and the wrong bridge. He would not live to see the other side.
This will be fun.
The Highwayman swerved into the opposing lane.
25
&nb
sp; Dakota’s head was pounding. Her neck felt hot and her left shoulder ached. Her vision of the road blurred, then focused, then blurred again, like a camera lens adjusting.
Whiplash? she wondered.
Minutes ago, when that truck smashed into the Hummer and knocked it off the road, she’d been tossed around pretty hard. Now something was out of whack. She should be in a doctor’s office, not behind the wheel of Trevor’s H3, chasing down the maniac who almost killed her.
But she had to be strong. Ethan’s life depended on her.
I’m here, Ethan. I’m here.
She was in the driver seat now. It was all up to her.
What the hell am I doing?
Trevor had never let Dakota drive his car before. Everything felt wrong. The seat was too far back. She had to sit forward to reach the pedals. The steering wheel was slick with Trevor’s cold sweat.
He’s as scared as I am.
The revelation hit her hard. Dakota had always thought of her older brother as fearless. He always seemed to toss his troubles away with a laugh and smile.
Not tonight.
The road ran fast beneath her. The needle on the dashboard tickled the 100 miles per hour mark. A flat tire could end it all.
Dakota wanted to slow down, but couldn’t. She had to keep on the tail of the speeding truck. That was the key to Ethan’s survival. If she eased up on the gas, even for a second, the Hummer would drop back further, and Ethan would be dragged onto the road.
She needed to go faster.
Put some slack in the chain.
Only then could Ethan climb for safety onto the speeding Hummer.
Dakota applied more pressure to the gas pedal, closing with the truck.
As the Hummer crossed onto the long suspension bridge, Dakota saw dim headlights approach from the other end—a third vehicle on the bridge.
“Great,” she muttered, and clenched the steering wheel tighter.
Lights from the third vehicle shone on the suspension cables, and Dakota noticed for the first time that the bridge was enormous, like the Brooklyn Bridge or the Golden Gate, except it didn’t span a body of water, but stretched out over a deep, dry—
The tanker truck swerved into the wrong lane.
Oh, no!
The lunatic driver was aiming his truck for the oncoming vehicle, like a game of chicken. Only it wasn’t a game.
More like a suicide run.
“Dakota!”
Claire’s warning was muffled. She was standing up with her shoulders through the open sunroof and her head sticking outside.
“I see it!” Dakota said.
She had to stay behind the tanker truck. She jerked the wheel to the left, matching the movements of the maniac ahead.
Trevor slipped from the front grille, but recovered his grip.
Dakota straightened the wheel, then saw Ethan pull himself up onto the hood. His face was gashed and smeared black with grease. He looked exhausted but alive.
As Ethan climbed over the grille guard, Dakota glimpsed the back of his jacket. It had been scraped thin by the road. Blood seeped through the leather.
Oh, God.
Another few seconds on that road would have killed him.
Don’t let him fall.
Trevor helped Ethan up onto the hood.
Ethan’s jeans were shreds. His legs were a bloody ruin. He tried to swing one leg over the guard grille, but his muscles didn’t cooperate.
Trevor unhooked the chain around Ethan’s ankle. Ethan was now free of the tanker.
Dakota eased her foot off the gas pedal.
The Hummer slowed.
“Careful!” Claire screamed above her.
You’re not helping, Bitch.
Ethan and Trevor clung to the hood. If Dakota tapped the brakes, the boys could be tossed forward.
Ease off slowly.
100 miles per hour—95—90—
Suspension cables glided past the Hummer in geometric waves.
The tanker truck pulled ahead.
Trevor helped Ethan up onto the roof.
The pulpy flesh of Ethan’s legs smeared blood across the windshield. Dakota’s view of the bridge was painted red.
“I’ve got you,” Claire said, and started to pull Ethan inside, but—
A scream of metal.
The back end petroleum tank rose high into the air. Its underbelly was suddenly exposed.
The Hummer rushed toward it. The distance between them collapsed.
The vehicle ahead of her had come to dead stop—
Collision!
The air shimmered with shattered glass. A hailstorm of shards pelted the Hummer’s windshield.
Claire screamed and ducked her head inside.
The tanker truck jackknifed in the air, taking out suspension cables.
The third vehicle—a postal delivery truck, accordioned by the impact—leapt into the web of suspension cables on the other side.
Dakota applied pressure to the brake pedal.
Trevor slipped from the roof.
Nearly fell.
Dakota gasped. She took her foot off the brake. If she stopped suddenly, she’d throw her brother from the vehicle.
But she was heading straight for the collision.
The back of the petroleum tank rode up the rails, snapping suspension cables. Thick cables whipped through the air like a cat o’ nine tails.
One cable struck the back of the Hummer and smashed the rear window.
Dakota steered to the right, returning to her proper lane to speed past the destruction, but—
The postal truck tumbled into her path.
No way out!
26
Dakota saw the gap narrow.
On one side was the railing of the bridge. On the other was the tumbling postal truck.
In moments, the gap would close. She’d be trapped on this side of the bridge with nowhere to escape.
She couldn’t hit the brakes, or Trevor and Ethan would fall from the hood.
Faster, she thought.
The speedometer read 105 miles per hour. The highest mark was 110.
“Hold on!” Dakota pressed the accelerator to the floor and jerked the wheel to the right. A small adjustment. The Hummer roared into the gap, threading the needle.
The postal truck smashed into her side door. The metal buckled, but held. The Hummer jumped to the right, recoiling from the impact. Dakota heard a loud crash as her head hit the window, but she hardly felt it.
Right in front of her she saw Ethan struggle to stay on the hood. He grabbed onto a windshield wiper blade. His body slid. The wiper blade tore loose in Ethan’s hand. He slid to the edge, about to fall, but Trevor grabbed him. How Trevor stayed on the hood, she didn’t know.
The Hummer’s tires rode up onto the bridge’s sidewalk. The passenger doors scraped the railing. Sparks flew.
Claire screamed words that made no sense.
Dakota ignored it. She focused on the road as the postal truck flew past her. The Hummer cleared the impact zone.
In the mirror, Dakota saw a new threat behind her. The petroleum truck rode the rail, plowing through suspension cables.
A suspension tower buckled and bent, pulled down by the weight on the cables.
It toppled toward the Hummer.
Claire looked up through the sunroof.
The suspension tower fell toward her.
“Dakota!” she screamed.
“I know! I know!” Dakota answered.
The Hummer was riding with two wheels up on the sidewalk. The car steered away from the rail, and bounced back onto the road.
Claire didn’t know how fast they were going, but it wasn’t fast enough. The suspension tower was toppling. They had to outrun it.
“Faster!” she screamed.
Trevor helped Ethan to the sunroof.
Claire grabbed Ethan’s wrists and pulled him inside.
He fell through the open roof, his weight on top of her. She dropped down heavy onto t
he back seat. The weight of Ethan’s limp body crushed the air out of her.
He screamed in agony. His back and legs were slick with blood.
The tower landed right behind the Hummer.
It crashed onto the span of the bridge.
Concrete and asphalt exploded on impact.
The petroleum tanker truck continued to ride up on the rails, sliding along, taking out one cable after another.
The rails snapped and broke away.
The tanker truck flew out over the side of the bridge.
But the cab of the truck was still caught in a web of suspension cables.
The Highwayman rode the tanker truck down.
He saw the ravine below.
The cab was enmeshed in thick suspension cables.
The petroleum tank flipped over the cab.
The tanker fell in a long arc, first out from the bridge, then down and back toward it.
Heading straight for a support pillar.
The tank smashed into the pillar.
Nine thousand gallons of petroleum ignited in a fireball.
The pillar buckled.
And collapsed.
Trevor rode on top of the Hummer, gripping the edge of the sunroof. The H3 was almost to the end of the bridge.
He glanced back.
The bridge was giving way. The center dropped out.
Behind the Hummer, the great span of the road broke into sections. Metal and cement tumbled into the ravine.
The car bucked and tilted, rear wheels dropping down, nose rising up. The section of the bridge directly under the Hummer was falling away. Trevor could hear the road break and crumble under the back tires.
He lost his grip on the sunroof.
There was nothing for him to hold on to, no ski rack, just smooth metal that slipped under his hands as he slid back toward the rear of the car and the chasm below.
He tried to kick himself forward, but his feet flailed in the open air. His shins bang against the back edge of the roof as the metal rushed under him, giving way to emptiness.
His knees went over the edge.
Then his waist.
Then his chest.
If only there was something to grab—
The tire!
Trevor kept a spare tire mounted to the back door.
As he slid and fell from the roof of the car, Trevor grabbed for the spare tire, felt hard rubber in his hands, and held on tight.
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