The Night Monster_ A Novel of Suspense - James Swain [103]
The pickup was up to the challenge. It caught up to me, and started to hang on my bumper. I couldn’t make the Legend go any faster without blowing the engine. Seppi turned around, the seat belt pulling at her throat. She let out a horrible shriek.
“They’re going to kill me!”
“We’re not going to let that happen,” I said.
“You can’t stop them!”
The pickup flashed its brights. I felt like the driver was playing chicken with me. I glanced to either side of the road. I was surrounded by empty farmland, most of it fenced. I considered going off the highway and trying to escape across a field, but quickly discounted the idea. It would buy us time, but the ending would be the same.
Instead, I pushed my foot down to the floor, and kept it there. The Legend found new life, and within a few seconds, I was clocking a hundred and fifteen mph. A sign appeared warning me that a steep curve lay ahead.
“Hold on,” I said.
Seppi grabbed the “Aw shit” handle over the door. In my mirror, Linderman grabbed Buster, and held him protectively against his chest.
I hit the curve in the road without slowing down. I had been involved in enough car chases as a cop to believe that I was good enough to do that. The driver of the pickup didn’t have the same faith in himself and slowed down.
I came out of the curve like a rocket. The road ahead was perfectly straight, with not another car to be seen. I heard a loud, throbbing sound, and realized it was my heart pounding in my ears.
Ten seconds later, the pickup appeared in my mirror. There was a good quarter of a mile separating us. Just enough distance to give me a momentary respite. The sound of a bullet hitting my car quickly dispelled that feeling.
I looked straight up. A bullet had ripped across my roof, and left a seam directly above where I sat. Five inches lower, and it would have blown my head clean off.
“They’ve got a high-powered rifle,” I said.
Seppi brought her hand up to her mouth like she was going to puke.
“We’re sitting ducks as it is,” Linderman said. “Slow the car down, and put on your emergency lights. I want them to think we’re pulling over.”
“We’re not?”
“Just do as I say.”
I let my foot off the gas, then flipped on the emergency flasher. The Legend quickly lost speed, and the pickup caught up to us.
“What now?” I asked.
“Just watch.”
In my mirror, I saw Linderman roll down his window. He was crouching low in his seat, so as not to be seen by the pickup’s driver.
“How close are they?” Linderman asked.
“About a hundred yards back,” I said.
“Are they directly behind us?”
“Yes.”
“Put your indicator on, and slow down some more.”
I did as told. The pickup drew dangerously close. At any moment, I expected another bullet to hit my car, and my life to be over.
“How far back are they now?” Linderman asked.
“About three car lengths,” I said.
“Perfect.”
I stared at my mirror. Linderman stuck his body through the open window, and aimed the Mossberg at the pickup’s windshield. Flames spit out of the shotgun’s barrel as he fired. I heard three shots in rapid succession followed by the sound of the windshield imploding. The pickup veered off the road, and took down a fence. It rumbled across a barren field before abruptly disappearing.
I pulled off the road and parked in the grass. The three of us got out. The wind was blowing from the north, and I could hear the strains of country music in the distance. I pulled Buster out of the car, and went to where the pickup had taken down the fence.
“What are you doing?” Linderman said.
“I want to find out what happened to them,” I said. “If they’re still alive, they’re going to call for reinforcements. We’re twenty-five miles from Daytona. We’re not going to be able to run away from them.”
“We need to leave, the sooner the better,” Linderman said.
I was holding my car keys. I threw them to him, and they hit Linderman squarely in the chest.
“You go,” I said.
I followed the tire tracks across the field with Buster beside me. The sound of Garth Brooks grew